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Best Poems Written by Allan Koven

Below are the all-time best Allan Koven poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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What is life?

Euphonies, cacophonies and chromosomal anomalies
intertangled destinies and illusive methodologies 

Occurring in obscure dimensionless time
Millenniums fertilized to create the sublime

Perceived by ideations so pure it would seem
To exist beyond mind and to all in between. 

Lingering as lore to an all distant past
There is no redo, there is no redraft.

The questions, the answers so rightly proclaimed
are composed and transported by thoughts still unnamed.

In limited struggle, the moments unspent 
Become the result of a living lament.

In what and wherefore and why and with whom
we unwrap our existence in this paradoxical womb

Can we find meaning, a clear sign that we see
inclusive to all, this existential decree.

From naught made of all and conceived in a star,
we landed on earth, neither near nor afar

For reasons unknown and telegnosis unclear,
These salient projections are all jockeyed by fear

We stand in the way of unknowing surmise
And find the world is still much a surprise.

A quest overwhelming in distressed sanity
For answers not known play havoc to vanity.

To end these remarks with a questionable phrase
all becomes known in 'one of these days.'

From the moment of birth to when we die, life presents us with dilemmas and questions that amuse, titillate and confuse us.  As we get older, we realize that what we thought we knew was all pure conjecture.  This poem is meant to reflect  the myriad of disjointed thoughts that  have run through my mind throughout the years.  The "why me?" and "what is my purpose in life?" questions usually are met with ambiguity and incoherence.
Many of us are beleaguered with these conceits and although some find solace in religion, for people like me it becomes an existential never ending struggle.  

CAK 8-18-2013

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013

Details | Allan Koven Poem



Closed eyes; under a locked prism of unavailable light 
subjects our third eye to mind's internal creation; 
imagined images viewed by non-existent senses
on an opague three dimensional screen.

In an algorithm of shedded particle waves
Insight quickly fades back into a darkened vision 
of only half a picture without reflection. 

It leaves with us a broken trail of possibilities 
new thoughts, new choices, changes in destiny 
warily made under duress of immediacy 
trying to conceive a canvas framed 
by the hand of God.

It is in response to these panchromatic memories
held back by the sun's blackened light, 
that we clearly notice how the prism 
reflects an undercurrent. of shadeless secrets 
different than the realm of visionary colors.

Sensory detections relinquish an uncompleted picture. 
The image within, at times, may reveal an idea.
the transmission of which however placed
when received should strive to become an emotional 
mover of otherwise placid thinking where wizened leaders 
can in causes wept in sorrow from yesterday's sadness 
proclaim a hope for a brighter tomorrow.


When our eyes are shut tight, there is no light or vision.
We are limited to what we see with our inner mind. 
Nevertheless there is an internal sense,
a feeling of a creative process going on. 
It occurs as insight and often fades into a clouded vision 
of a thought picture barely perceived within.

When we leave the path of contemplative thinking,
we lose the benefit of what could have been. 
The choices we make are usually expedient 
and we struggle to determine 
what it is that we really want. 
Often we are faced and challenged by outside forces 
many of which we deflect as we espouse our point of view
without exploring all the possibilities. 

We see what could be and would like to be 
hoping that it will make a difference.
and help humanity move forward 
to a brighter tomorrow.

CAK  5-23-2103

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013

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It seems I always 
swim upstream 
against the current.
re-creating struggles 
of conflicting contradictions
and unsweetened scripts
at odds with others
in deeds and words
a emotional dissonance 
played out over a lifetime. 
banged and buffered hard
against the onflow;
prevailing opposites rush
to assail my efforts
intent on wearing me down
scraping, scarring, challenging
calling me out with
harsh ridicule and doubt
why must I cause stirred sediments 
to muddy, blind and bewilder me
blurring reason so that
what is seen as truth 
often becomes mixed
with drama and ambivalence? 
how righteous is the direction
of this timeless stream?
shall I swim with it or against it?
go one way or the other;
does it really matter?

I cannot give up
I cannot relent...
this is who I am
a person searching
for kindred spirits
to swim backward 
with me
against the current.
to find some direction,
some marker that guides
this hurrier to a another plane
of purposeful existence.


I think most people at some time are contrarian.
Some from the start; others in their teens.
Some all through their life.
I can't remember being otherwise.
In retrospect, am I really that different
or do I use it an excuse
to be noticed?  Perhaps both. 

CAK 10-13-12013

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013

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Beauty abides, and as her lover, 
I lift her veil to see transparent eyes glimmering
with an enticement worthy of seduction.

Touching some primordial passion, 
she wreaks havoc on my senses.
And graces me with unspoken words 
that promise delightful pleasure.

Beauty reigns as Queen supreme. 
Upon her throne she emanates majesty
with an exquisite demeanor and 
I stand back intimidated and shy. 
Who can reframe this emotion? 
Not a poet or artists brush.

Her soft rolling hills and gentle valleys; 
expectations of undiscovered treasures
fire an imaginative pose
I am bound up in a mystic rush 
that dominates like a drug's addiction.

And in a exotic haze I lie dreaming 
of ephemeral caresses,
highly charged currents 
that flow unrestricted around 
her coveted reactive spaces. 

Alone, with thoughts in time displaced, 
I wonder, does she entrance all others? 
Or in my silent muse am I the only one 
transformed and felled by her abstract beauty?

Her allure is enduring, enshrined for all to see. 
The recherche picture of her memory 
never grows old and she still remains 
indelibly imprinted on my erotic mind. 
10-12-2012   Revised 9-25-2013 

A question for you...

1.) Is the poem about a woman?
2.) or is it about a beautiful mountainous valley?

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013

Details | Allan Koven Poem



I reached up far to touch a star.
It only took a second.
I thought I heard a salient call 
alas it did not beckon.

While looking for an artful craft
and finding none; the time blew past
I looked toward the heaven's stars
for talents that could break these bars 

Like thickened paint on canvass fashion
Mixed with rich excitant passion 
From Starry Night to sheer delight
but never wrong and never right.

Should I envy those with deep affection
with skills that move in-synced direction
for passions born into their soul
to define their purpose-- take control.

Athletic prowess, artistic flavor, 
a builders trade, a science major,
musicians joy and mountaineer
for all of those we stop and cheer
and think if we could only be
but they are they and we are we.

Somewhere, somewhere deep inside
are struggles there we cannot hide
doubts and fears that suck the joy
from life's sweet gifts; a noxious ploy
of destiny failing in an attempt
to re-discover a lost lament.

CAK  12-2-2012

Sometimes, I find myself lamenting
that I do not possess an 
exceptional skill or talent. It seems
many people find great joy from theirs.
It seems to gnaw at my being and
I grow sorrowful that somehow
I am missing something.

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013

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I bless the day she came my way. Her quirky hat a strange display 
meant not to impress me.

But her shadowed smile softened and I was smitten.
My face turned the flush of a rainbow red and what was written
revealed my growing infatuation.

Something about this lady, giving, loving, wanting, haunting
showing no pretension. 

Her playful wit coming from her heart would set this woman quite apart
from all others.  

What gifts were about to unfold of female attributes that made me bold
and I kissed her behind her ear. 

In later days, as she has told, she thought that I was uncontrolled 
but it still felt grand.

Her blue eyes seduced me and her hills and slopes added to my salient hopes
that somehow she would be mine.

So thank you God I cannot hide the glow within that is my pride
that this  adored sweet precious woman , has become my wife. 

And now we're in our eighth year, so let me make this really clear
I 'm still very much in love with her.

C.A.K 10-12-2013

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013

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Life is like a coloring book
with few or many pages
filled with complex 
outlined images.

We are given a box of crayons
and are asked to color in the 
background and spaces of the images

Sub-titles are allowed.

When the coloring book is finished
we are given a new one to complete.

C.A.K. 12-6-2012


Was I once before or never
Don’t know how or even whether

I was a firefly, a bird of prey 
a centipede, a fish fillet?

A baseball fan to keep the score
a mockingbird, a carnivore?

A blossom in the midst of spring
a sign of what the day might bring.

A germ grown in a Petri dish
a chicken bone an unmade wish

All things and species could I be,
even remnants of a tree.

Of all of these,  I leave this post,
I am for now what I am most.

CAK 7-23-2012


As 'core' beliefs thicken so, 
does it leave us room to grow?
As aging souls say we must, 
complete the cycle which was thrust
upon our bucolic living place 
turned upside down in whorling space
searching for a redemptive life.

But for you, dearest one, do you not remember 
before you arrived, you took this bucking horse of soul, 
tamed it, labeled it and proclaimed it. 
To become what you needed in order
that your ride be contained and controlled. 
It's name is 'balance' and it keeps you level in the saddle 
so you don't fall off. 



If, we are on a soul journey,
then what must that soul become?

A better soul? A wiser soul?
A sad soul? A learned soul?
Until one reaches the end of time,

There are so many lives to live out
to fully experience all aspects of this world.
Animals, plants - more souls searching?

One can speculate, but from my perspective
none of it makes sense.

CAK 4-03-2012


Was the Phoenix reincarnated?
Or was its embers reignited?  
Perhaps before a lowly worm or soldier bee 
or brown turned leaf upon a tree? 
A  seahorse, a shark, which fish shall I be?  
In fisherman's net to be eaten by me?  
And when the cycle is complete 
and x equals x on our balance sheet.
Can we then rest in a celestial lair 
with memories gone and unaware
of trials by all things forgotten?
If choose I must or chosen by me,  
I'll remain in the stars and just wait to see.


Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2013

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Tales of Reconciliation

Tales of Reconciliation

When the moodybirds alight in the silence of the night;
When all is within reason shadow calling unknown mysteries 
hidden by the turning of the seasons.

Within that spectrum shines the light of the sparks, 
tightly wrapped within, smoldering converse remarks, 
engagements of woeful tales of onerous tribulations, 
locked in hurried excitations of irksome frustrations.

Will we then be able to compile a history 
filed and gently stored away in discreet spaces
remembered in memories or perceptions 
of exquisite imaginations?

The intermission of time soon sings its song. 
There are no more choices. 

CAK 12-21-2018

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2018

Details | Allan Koven Poem


What is Poetry?

It is a theosophy of thought and commentary;  
transposed euphemisms of life’s temporal moments;
It is an attempt to fractalize single ideas and envelop them
with metaphorical symbols reinterpreted and played with.

It is an enigma cloaked in a riddle; 
a search for questions still unanswered; 
the magical key that hopes to unlock the mysteries of life.

It is a wantonness crying out for recognition and acceptance.
a reflection in a mirror from a curious viewer
intent on rediscovering a common humanity. 

It is the heartbeat of experience displayed in memories. 
the soul of time and space shown as moments of history. 

It is a moonbeam unseen but bright and clear on a dark night
telling the tale of how the sun and moon danced together;
-the secret mental secretions of man and woman; 
-the interplay of emotions laid bare on dried out parchments. 

It is the place where you are the player creating the tales.
You are the inside story of the poetry of creation.  

CAK   1-20-2014


‘Theosophy’ - refers to systems of esoteric philosophy concerning, or investigation seeking direct knowledge of the mysteries of being and nature, 

‘Transposed euphemisms’ – placing words in a different of order to enhance alternative meanings
of metaphors. Often used to create suggestive images.

“Fractalize” - a made up word meaning to break up into many parts sometimes quasi-mystical, often
using similes to describe the fanciful free style thoughts of the poet.  
“It is a wantonness”- unruly deliberate need that pleads for empathy and understanding from a curious viewer intent on rediscovering a common humanity
“Heartbeat of experience” -  Time broken down into moments of a beating heart remembered for its significance. We remember those specific events or experiences because they become one with who we were physically and spiritually at the time; an aspect of our lives that gets carried forward as a memory in our conscious or subconscious mind. 

“Moonbeam unseen” -  the experience of  love both positive and negative, unseen but compelling. Most often they involve the interactions between a man and woman but not limited to people only. 
 I believe that 50% or more of poems written have to do with the many aspects of male-female relationships..

“Sun and moon danced together” – Romance between the sexes; emotionally charged
 compositions remembered poetically and expressed in all manner of written thought.

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2014

Details | Allan Koven Poem



born among the travelers of her day  
she played in the sandpile with Woody Guthrie 
sung in the chorus with Allen Ginsberg 
walked in the way of The Weavers
and bathed in the rhythms of Miles Davis
she lived unconfined and dreamed of change. 

today, we see her still betrothed 
committed to this sacred ground 
searching asking, questioning, ...
consumed with her desire to know
engaged to a doctrine as a lover's pledge
she marches, occupies, writes, 
relentlessly struggles, driven to ask
to whom shall she lament
for life's ambivalent adaptations?

her life defines her cogent mission. 
she continues to flay against an unjust world
where equity kindness trickles down
and evaporates among negative forces.
shall she rage against God 
for not eliminating suffering 
in the details of man's creation?
shall she cry to the architect 
who left man to face the agonies 
of hunger, war, sickness, 
and the loneliness of death?
to whom shall she lament
for life's ambivalent adaptations?

will the glorification of beauty
love, compassion, and mercy suffice?
will her breath, touch, hearing,
sight or taste suffice?
will her ancestors, her tribes
her spouse, her children
rise up and see her as blessed?
or will a requiem be the one
purpose of her life's fulfillment? 
to whom shall she lament
for life's ambivalent adaptations? 

C.A.K. 3-17-2013 

Copyright © Allan Koven | Year Posted 2014