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Best Poems Written by Rebekah Richardson

Below are the all-time best Rebekah Richardson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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A Story Told

I want to tell a story.
Of a cold earth, a wolf and a winter sky.
It's about isolation and that 
soft kind of anguish.
Told in the smell and warmth of a bitter black bean
on a cold morning.
Will I ever learn to make just a half a pot of coffee?
A story - Yes.
Of a cold earth, a wolf and a winter sky.
It's about lonliness and the plight of a single snowflake.
Told in the hesitation of taking in that next breath--
At a check-out line, stop light, ATM, break room.
It's a story about void and the soft crunch
of a wolf's foot on freshly fallen snow.
Told in the acceptance of distant, hallow,
lost gazes and shallow smiles.
It's a story told. And done to death....
Authored in a howl and the crackling of winter trees.

Details | Rebekah Richardson Poem

Broken

Absent Chylde
One that can Love
In Abandonment
In a more perfect Hope
In a Ever-present Grace
What is it to Love in Loss?
To stand at attention...to some....
Divine Order
To an image absent, in everything.
Everything's...Found.
In the Broken Hearted.
When Joy can Ride on Broken Wings

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Empty Cans

Lost...
To the sound of quaters falling into a soda machine
Empty...
Because when it's gone, I'll still be thristy
Lost...
To the day..
To a time when the sun could open a soul
A time of warmth
Of hot concrete on bare feet
When warm grass felt like cold sand.
Empty...
Soda Can
And I'm still thristy

Details | Rebekah Richardson Poem

Blood Bath

I feel the loss tonight
That Glory Absent
That Wordsworth was always mourning
No more, I guess
Than the day I realized
Cruelty
I just feel the loss tonight
In an inner landscape of Void
Not so much the sorrow
As I look up into the night sky
Two Black Pools
Gateways, Reflections Guard
In a red moon and silver dusted leaves
And a sigh,
If Wordsworth were here tonight
I'd envy his sight...his sorrow
And I'd bleed him of his Immortality.

Details | Rebekah Richardson Poem

Threads That Burn

Dawn breaks and gold threads out
And...I run..
Like I could catch the...
Falling..of the moon in my hands.
Ancient Light.
What shelter do you find in me?
Hands pressed into indigo skies...
Like a child waving, Goodbye.
Now, this old temple turns into it's dawn greeting.
The golden chords wrap tight and pulls at every silver string in me.
The thought of giving a breath
...or taking a breath
Holds me to an old silence.
Such things!
When I feel as though
I could of caught her and held her forever in these hands.
To think. The thought....of movement within loss....
Fosters threads that burn and bleed....brighter than gold or silver.