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Best Poems Written by Michael F Lewis

Below are the all-time best Michael F Lewis poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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A Message From West Texas - Recited

She sent me a message while I was walking Mr. Reilly,
She said “Look up, and tell me what you see.”
I thought I would impress her with my poetical ways so I answered,
Bus zooming by…
Brown leaves on the sidewalk ahead,
And a shadowy figure that Reilly and I will soon pass,
The smell of the Indian bakery warming my insides on an autumn evening.
“I love fresh bread,” she said, “What do you hear?”
Crisp slate grey sky,
And the wind gently shaking loose more tan and brown leaves,
And cars sliding by,
Each with its unique sound of tires on asphalt,
 Creating its own steady hush.
She then messaged, “You’re very good at this,
I’m going to read that again!”
but I went on…
A few drops of cool rain,
The rain here, even when it’s pouring,
Seems to be made of a lighter liquid.
It’s not the hard thick drops of a West Texas down pour,
And it’s almost disappointing when
I don’t have the residual layer of dirt on my windshield after the rain,
Almost.
They say there is thunder in the springtime,
But I suspect they don’t know what real thunder is,
Here in California.
In the West Texas springtime,
When entire sky is filled with all the mountains,
That are missing from the landscape,
You can feel the power and,
The threatening posture of the storm,
But you take up the challenge and face the lightning,
And it fills you with excitement,
And if you have a lover,
It is during these storms that your fantasies come true.
Silver flashes across your lover’s skin,
Passion filled faces caught in the strobe of lightning,
And the pounding rain beating on the windows.
The mix of cold wet air, 
And the sweaty heat of deep kisses and breath.
They don’t know what they’re missing here,
In California,
But I do,
And maybe someday I’ll have her.

Michael F. Lewis
11/29/2012

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ToCr_Xo1LPk

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Simpler Days

The windows in my mind have panes of green.
Through each, do I admire a different view.
In one I found a most in inspiring scene,
One day as I was casually peering through.
Beyond the grass and Rosa Moyesii,
With fairest skin and blazing copper hair,
She looked inside my pane and into me,
With memories from smiling eyes so rare,
As though what she found there in my gaze,
Reminded her of home, and simpler days.

Michael Lewis
10/04/2012

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Ancient Pose

First moonlight,
Lips buzzed
Numb with new kisses
And wine,
Salty crispy hibachi ribs,
And your authentic sex.
Eyes smiling in the silence,
Small talk, funny faces,
And the sound of the dawn asking for five more minutes
Over crickets and frogs.
And breath,
Taking in your presence in the glow of the porch light.
Eyes into eyes.
Lips on skin, again.

I was almost betrayed by the wind…

“Guard your heart from this poet.
It will be captured
And written into line and verse,
Then sounded back in a Siren's call,
Driven by careless waves,
And his relentless tide,
Into the black jagged stones
That will pierce your hardened hull,
And sink your pretty heart.

In time,
Such a beautiful coral,
To be admired in “ages hence”.
Still framed and frozen
In a moment of passion
When love was so new,
For the first time, again.
Innocence kept and renewed,
Your treasure preserved,
In depths
Only poets will dare to travel.”

You could have expired
With arms folded
In linen and soft hinges
And dropped in dark earth,
But you chose me,
Despite my words,
Despite the wind,
And for that,
Some new poet will be always thankful,
For those that have chosen wormwood
Will never be admired as you are now -

Newly discovered in an ancient pose,
  Outstretched arms reaching for the poet’s heart.
Such a beautiful coral,
I give up my breath and remain,
In the depth,
With you.


Michael F. Lewis
07/09/2014

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At All

words
from my mouth into your breath
the words that made you love
made you madly feel
I am sorry for those words
I am sorry I made you feel madly
sorry I made you love
but I am going to keep your breath
your unspoken whispers 
are the reason I have any words at all

Michael F. Lewis
9/29/2014

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I'Ll Take Care of Your Heart

I'll take care of your heart, 
Till we put the pieces back in place and love away the scars.
I'll take care of your heart,
Till we are tired of the night sky and counted all the stars.
I'll take care of your heart,
Till the world goes dark and the sun refuses to shine.
I'll take care of your heart,
Forever, if you'll take care of mine.

Michael F. Lewis
11/13/2010

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The Double Wide

The eucalyptus sting that burns my nose
And eyes is not enough to mask the tide,
Of eloquent free speech and purple prose,
Delivered from armchairs set side by side.
Although they are so far, they sound so close,
For sounds like ghosts traverse double wide.

From sounds within and noise without my room,
I toss and turn and find I cannot hide,
And from below the stench of death’s perfume,
From some wild thing (or tame) that lately died,
With pier and beam and axles for a tomb,
The lucky beast escaped the double wide!

Michael F Lewis
04/01/09

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My Greatest Wish

If I should find myself beneath a stone,
To forever remember all my days,
I’d wish to think that ev’ry one I’ve known,
Or met or loved or maybe parted ways,
Knew my shoes could be filled by me alone,
And named no other who could take my place.

If I should find myself in hallowed ground,
I’d hope you don’t just mourn an empty shell,
Give cheers and pass the bottle all around,
See to it that I am remembered well,
And know my greatest wish is it be found,
I left each of you with stories to tell.

Michael F. Lewis
12/09/2012

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Flanerie Downtown

I breathe grey air in spaces in between,
And whisky stings my tongue and bides the time,
In steps I aimlessly record the scene,
And cherish my misanthropy sublime.

Wandering the streets and alleyways,
Of this downtown, wherever I may be,
No need for love suffocating my days,
Alone but free to lie with honesty.

I let my flanerie in verses sing,
Excited to report that everywhere,
The happy tattered P.I.G. is living,
“The great imperative” of Baudelaire!

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Artisan Ice Cream

Across the table from an empty chair,
I sat and tried to sound interesting,
She stood so close and we discussed ice cream,
And Cornflakes, and bourbon, and the art scene,
The fact we both have lived in bungalows,
We had seen each other twice before this,
The second time was in a crowded hall,
In a house with a Latin band playing,
I never asked her about a fourth time,
Because wouldn’t that just be so cliché,
She smiled at me again and left me there,
Outside of the artisan ice cream shop,
Across the table from an empty chair.

Michael F. Lewis
02/03/2013

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A Moss Painted Cliff

a moss painted cliff
blue water dances into
a white mist below