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Best Poems Written by Stark Hunter

Below are the all-time best Stark Hunter poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Harvey Denning 1909-1923

Harvey Denning

1909 – 1923


“I saw the universe a thousand times.”
I saw the face of God
Spread out across the sky
Like a million cities on fire.
Like Troy cut into little pieces
By the slashing sword of Achilles.
Cut to shreds and bleeding.
There on the ramparts
There inside the fissures and crevices
Of ten thousand unknown dreams.
I read the stories of Homer
And the tales of a thousand and one Arabian nights.
And I read the solemnly immortal words
Of Longfellow, Poe and Defoe.
And I decided inside my mind long before I died
To perhaps write the greatest story ever told.
But I fell from my tree house
There on Dorland Street
There in the cool shadows of the walnut tree.
What would have been my story I wonder.
What visions would I have conjured
For all to read and envision?
My friend, will you write my story now?
Will you take pen in hand and possess my voice?
Will you find the noble courage to speak for me?
This forgotten dead soul
Buried here in the dark dust of Clark Cemetery?
If you kindly consent,
Please begin it with these words:
“I saw the universe a thousand times.”

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Word Quintet In C Major

Word Quintet in C Major

By Stark Hunter

Open the door my friend,
Climb on in,
Join me here in this relentless caravan,
This unstoppable, this incontrovertible, 
this inexorable movement,
To the depths of the dry gulf.
Join me here my friend,
In this annihilating armada,
This incontrovertible migration,
This inexorable swarm
To the watery crossroads of the dry places,
To the liquid asphalt of insipid time!

I stare at you from across the room here.
I stare and gawk and hawk at you,
And I feel the pelting rain of desire.
You look good over there, sitting 
With beautiful gleaming crossed legs.
“Sorry, beg your pardon,
I say, but have we not met before?
Did we not share beers on the Terrace of Tyre
At sunset?
Did we not tell each other stories,
Old stories of love and betrayal and heartbreak? 
At sunset?
Did we not look away from each other,
When stories of new love suddenly emerged,
As with a new sunrise?”

My friend, there is no
Escape from this throbbing hole, no
Escape from this cold numbing wind,
This whirlingly insane wind 
Of cold blasts of killing ice.
And I ride here
Ride like a sweating Sultan,
Astride the mighty beast of Tyre!
Perched high in rich raiment,
I wave to the multitudes
I send a salute to the throng!


I ride shotgun here
Ride nice and easy
Like a tanning garçon on his off day,
Like a sitting trog waiting wistfully,
Waiting waiting for gams not intended for him.
My friend, the world turns and turns,
It turns today and tomorrow,
It will turn as the river turns in spring,
It will turn as a woman’s heart turns,
When eyes that once stared ahead, now look away.
It will turn my friends because it has to!

Riding, Riding, Riding….
Downhill now! The insane wind
Assaults me. Harasses me. Accosts me.
It presses its loose lips upon my face,
It seeks the mad blood of passion!
“Let us calm ourselves
Reassure ourselves
That all is right and as planned. 
Let us all look at one another!
Let us all nod in agreement!
The days ahead will manifest themselves,
Transfigure themselves, 
As blooms upon the water lilies.

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There Is Nothing To Say About It

There is Nothing to Say About It


There is nothing to say about it
No words to describe it at all  
There are no words at all to describe 
the mass slaughter of innocents,
the relentless malignant progressions of
the evil black-moving cloud of terminations,
the toxic metastasizing ooze of outright annihilations,
the blood-gurgling regurgitations, and
the blood-spurting decapitations.
There is nothing to say about it.
Nothing to say at all.
No words to describe 
the hopeless piercing cries of the infidels 
the whimpering terrified pleadings of the condemned
the silent gasping inhalations of the dying
There is nothing to say about it.
No words to describe it at all!
My heart at 62 years has not seen anything like this at all!
Never anything like this at all!
I have not seen this outrageous slaughter before at all!
There is nothing to say, except…
These are the days!
The days of this unkind hour; 
the days before the great onslaught!
Before this massive earthly descent to the lowest places,
the smelly dank places, 
the rotting miasma of the dead places.
There are no words to describe it!
There is nothing to say at all!

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Ella Hyde 1857-1898

Ella Hyde

1857- 1898


That cad with the freckle on his forehead,
That rascal man beast,
Handsome as a Greek
But devastatingly insecure,
And so deliciously young!
He was the one who stole my pride,
There, behind the Hadley tombstone in the moonlight,
And who, 
Breathlessly and with trembling hands,
Unlatched the ruby red necklace
From around my naked neck that night.   
It was he.
That cad who swooped down upon my innocence,
Like a maniacal Zeus
In one of his crazy costumes of concupiscence,
And carried me off to nights of brazen episodes,
Splendid spectacles in light and magic,
Of him and me embracing wildly, madly,
In dreamy dances with caresses and kisses. 
Only the truly passionate 
Could understand these mad scenes in the dark!
I met RS on many a night 
In the long concealing shadows of Central Park.
He was my man, but he didn’t know it. 
I lived my life here in this dusty town the best I could.
I believe I left my mark in some small but universal way.
At least I knew when to say no to Roscoe Settle.
Now I’d like to go back to my grave and sleep.
I am tired of this rant about The Man Beast.
At 41 I entered here after my bout with diphtheria.
The trees here are my shadowy friends now.
But I sometimes secretly wish I could meet RS.
Just as it was in 1897,
He and I kissing in the garden Gazebo at Central Park,
His hand on the small of my back.
Me trembling with monstrous want,
My ultimate Prince.
Who lied to me like a rat!

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Belva Berry 1889-1905

Belva Berry

1889 - 1905         


I truly never asked to be born.
I truly never wanted any of this.
But what choice did I have?
What choice does any one of us have?
With our first breath
We begin our long slow descent into the darkness.
With our last breath
We end this long steady slide 
From nothing to nothing
From dust to dust.
I was the girl who lived in the corner house
Over on Newlin and Broadway streets.
I was the shy freckled daughter
Of Lunetta and James Berry.
And I was the unknown silent witness
To the crushing tragic tumble
Of my secret esoteric friend, Elvin.
Elvin Allen.
Elvin and me walked hand in hand
To the eastern hills that day.
Elvin and me stared into each other’s eyes and smiled that day.
And Elvin and me dared to dance on the sweet oily dirt that day.
There in the midst of the black fields,
The land of the black oil machines
That rise high like chess pieces
The Bishops of industry and money!
We kissed that day
And it was our first kiss.
And then, he climbed up the ladder there.
I saw him fall,
Fall like a falcon from the heavens.
And I knew he was gone.
Please forgive me God for running away.
Please forgive me God for never telling anyone
Of the first kiss, our kiss,
That long ago day in the black fields
In the eastern hills
Of this Quaker town.

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No Toilet Paper

No Toilet Paper

My mind is boggled. 
What is with the Coronavirus mania? 
Why is everyone going freaking nuts over this? 
From what this writer understands, 
It is much like the regular flu, 
Which is killing thousands as we speak, and 
Hospitalizing even more. And this has been going on, 
As long as I have been alive since 1952. 
But this particular microbe is novel, and 
Since little is known about it apparently, 
People are afraid they will “get it.” 
So off to Costco they all go, and 
Buy as much toilet paper they are all permitted to buy, 
Take it home, store or hide it with the other family treasures, 
And then realize, inexplicably, that now 
They are all magically immune to “getting it.” 
Is that what these crazed souls are thinking? 

I can think of a fate worse than “getting it.” 
Worse than sports games being cancelled; 
Worse than concerts and plays going on indefinite hiatus; 
Worse than school classes and Sunday services finding the exit door, for now; 
Worse than millions of vacations being cancelled, and 
Entire industries being brought to their knees; 
Worse than the world economy taking a complete nosedive 
Into depression and financial paralysis; 
Worse than millions of human beings dying 
Horrible, agonizing deaths due to this little microbe. 
No, I can think of something even worse. 

Imagine going to Steak Corral - All You Can Eat, 
One night soon, and you wanted your money’s worth. 
So you load up your plate with: 
Whiskey-laced, barbecued baked beans and garlic bread; 
Two breadcrumb-laced quarter pound char-burgers,
Each smothered in a half dozen beer-breaded onion rings, 
With ranch dressing dripping over them like lava.
Then you go get some more beans on french fries with
Big raw garlic chunks nestled in them, and then, 
You wash it all down with three beers. 
Imagine the next morning.
Imagine the horror, the horror, 
Of voiding all that Steak Corral stuff, and then 
Having the absolute worst possible thing 
Happen to you in today’s crisis times.
No toilet paper.

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Im Okay With You

I’m Okay With You

I’m okay with you.
Doesn’t matter what you think—
Politically or religiously.
I like you even though we disagree.
I like talking to you about music and sports—
About cinema, literature and art.
I respect your opinion on all things.
You are my friend, and as such,
You will always receive the benefit of the doubt.
You will always be respected, regardless of circumstances,
Regardless of vehement disagreements spoken in anger.
You are my friend and have earned my good will.
You have grown to become the fierce wind at my back.
I say: Thank you, my friend, for staying loyal.
My hope for you is one of good health and good cheer.
And please know this: 
There are no eggshells in my garden.
Truly, I’m okay with you.

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Symbiosis

Symbiosis 

Sitting on that rock 
Like a suburban mermaid, 
You look like a lost girl 
With a long sad story to tell.
So honey, why don’t we 
Mosey on over to Wide-track Town,
Where the freeways meet in purgatory;
There are singing hipsters there,
Dressed in the regalia of the deranged,
Sniffing salt through straws, 
There are ten thousand latex surfers 
Returning from the dead,
Returning from their brief sojourn 
In the distant backwaters,
The yellowish green sulfur waters,
That seep into your bare flesh, 
And send mad biting impulses
Straight into your seething soul.
Ah, yes! So, how long have you had that…
Pardon me honey, but, 
Is that a bruise on your neck?
Or maybe it is the love-bite I recently 
Gave you, as we rode in the back seat
Of a lavender blue 72’ Land Yacht, 
Spread out fine under a blanket,
As Broten, up front, steered us down the long highway,
Through a lit-up suburbia,
Like a chrome dragon spitting smoke from its butt.
Kissing you, honey, is a meal unto itself.
Like eating electric spit 
With a dash of salt!
Now is the time,
Now is the moment to touch you.
If you don’t want me to, 
I won’t…
Sitting on that rock,
Just like a seducing mermaid.
So, honey, what exactly is your story?
Why don’t we mosey on over to Wide-track Town?
We can talk incessantly until the stars appear,
We can watch the latex surfers find nirvana,
And I can give your daring thigh,
My thirty-minute love bite.

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Where Has All the Beauty Gone

Where Has All The Beauty Gone?

There is no time like the now times,
The ever-present blood-swooshing times.
Time again to surrender as a smitten lover surrenders,
To the never-ending rhapsodies of erotic impulses,
Which exhale as a listless leviathan exhales,
Basking in the swishing waters off the windy capes, 
Naked, but kept hidden, in the unknown anterior rooms,
Of a hundred dark mansions in the draping hollows,
Encased with ethereal atmospheres and essences,
In stony gold, glittering emeralds, and smooth diamonds,
All dazzling the senses with spurting explosions of light, 
Of helpless exaltations and cooing astonishments;
Now they’re seeking the old nights and the old embraces
In the gaping moonlight, amid intense and timid arousals;
Their blinking black eyes squinting from behind the papered walls,
Of dustless airless rooms with drooping statues of dead poets,
Alive still as they rise again in mythic intonations,
Making suave movements with pointing soft fingers,
Upon the moist nape of blond submitting desires.
Watching in spirit now as they once peeped at lovers;
Peeping and prying and peering from behind infinitesimal holes,
Never seen before by the living or the bereaved,
Nor by the delirious or the unjustly defamed; 
Now they just bite us, the souls of the dead boys in blue.
And they watch us from behind those bare walls, 
Those breathing twitching snarling walls.
So, where has all the beauty gone?

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Anti-Poem Iphone Maniacs

iPhone Maniacs

crankshaft tendencies secure a brace of sly meatballs
truth daggers entice the worm girls with petite pastas
creature lilacs uproot themselves for pink dippity-do gels
white nylon ghost legs roam outer space in latex leotards
metacarpal syringes find porous outcries in the gloaming 
crankshaft tendencies welcome the tilted exonerations
iPhone maniacs fondle frothing bananas mindlessly now
demon spiders ooze inside the crawlspaces wanting meat
cross-eyed priestesses suck on wax candles in the vestibule 
black-robed choirs sing hangover music to the dribbling 
rock music annihilations played by stoned dudes in shades
temples and taverns shake as the truth daggers hit earth
now the worm girls are dancing with the iPhone maniacs