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Best Poems Written by Samantha Mcdougal

Below are the all-time best Samantha Mcdougal poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Samantha Mcdougal Poem

The Best Player of the Game

And it ends with me.
And I am The Lost Seafarer
With a thousand names
To take the place of one.
And I have a million reasons
To discontinue
And disregard.
And I have the taste 
Of Virginia Woolf.
And maybe she
Was the culprit
And not I. 
But...
It never stops until
I am the culprit,
Drowning in the friscalating dusklight.

Details | Samantha Mcdougal Poem

Being There

2, 000 people in this God forsaken crest of a town
Am I the only one to keep the balance
To count the half second before midnight
To bring philosophy to a women's monthly
And call it quits
You don't know
And you could never be there

Cause when you're there
You're down 
Betrayed by wet seals in vast grocery markets
Betrayed by the heavy weight of a manicure
And beaten down by the harsh scent 
Of the after sex
Too cruel to shake it's fuming  head in our direction
But too serene to keep you shaking
And why why would anyone want that

6 people in this God forsaken house
God doesn't even give it the right to call it a home
God sends it with two teeth and an ugly birthmark
God doesn't grant the wishes of a ten year old
On her two knees praying for her savior
And wringing her lungs of tears 'till morning
And you could never be there

Cause when you're there
You're shivering from the cold
And a swollen belly that's been empty for days
Empty of food water sleep and comfort
Empty of God's infinite grace and empathy
And why shouldn't you be for the things you've done
The naughty things a ten year old does
The sticky curious findings we shoved in our mouths
And why why would anyone want that

4 people on this God forsaken island I call my mind
Sylvia the silver tongued snake
Vintent the red breasted songbird
And the man whose name is not to be mentioned
Myself the whole idiotic lot of me that dances with thought
We're counting the days off 'till new year to give up our one last dream
And you could never be there

Cause when you're there 
You're different
And the silent squabble of thoughts isn't enough to get you off
And people pride themselves on a trait they can never achieve
And you're the whisper of this town this house this mind
Marooned by an entity of passion
Separated from the depth of nothing big but neutral
But given freedom in a red dress
And you could never be there

And God why would you want to 
And God from a ten year old a sixteen year old
Why why would anyone want that

Details | Samantha Mcdougal Poem

Dark Hour

What are you doing with me God?
What are you doing with me Earth?
What is your plan?
I've always thought this suffering
To be a blessing that in time
Will reveal itself to me 
And I will be the better for it.

Have I not wanted?
Have I not spent each night 
Dreaming the same dream.
Is it a dream?
Or am I sleep walking through life,
A zombie of the penitentiary... this life.
Have I not offered sorrow for this dark hour?
Not offered myself up as bait to this,
Impenetrable mouth?
Have I not been the callus one for you?
Speaking one phrase and letting it
Govern me,
Each syllable
Deepening it and breathing it
Into my bosom.

For what cause?
For what purpose?
What unearthly shores beckoning me?
I have not the answers.

Though I know not,
How is it this seemingly homesickness
Dwells within me
As though I have once known it
Called it out by name,
Reached for it with generous fingers,
And it has left me now?
Left me,
Leaving me to wait for it
To come and take me
And make me it's own.

Do not the trees whisper their secrets to me?
Do they not seek me out in the night,
Placating me in reverie
And leaving me unto morning
With utter unrememberment blue.
"Je ne sais pas.
Je ne sais plus.
Je suis perdu."

Details | Samantha Mcdougal Poem

As Lightning Strikes the Joshua Tree

When lightning strikes the Joshua tree
The air is frightfully clear.
The children quiet their 
Jacks and Jump ropes
As the suburbia settles it's ears.
An ivy beneath a sycamore tree 
Watching a fire with envy.

It wonders,
How on nature's rich, ripe earth
Is there a power
So quick to devour
The beauty and grace of a Joshua tree.
Why is it the branches crumble so
When Ivy's destruction is subtle and slow.
Why do fires spawn sputtered cries
When an English Ivy lays easy on the eyes.

A Mexican woman pours tears to the land.
She cries for the homeless
And weeps for the sand.
She mutters one word that no one will hear
She pleads that you feel it 
Without dwindling fear.

When finally sleep comes
The children then stir
As they dream of a fire too bold to endure.
The woman will weep
As the fires grow.
She cries for the Joshua trees,
It's roots and it's leaves,
With a few tears for you,
And a couple for me.

Details | Samantha Mcdougal Poem

The Innkeeper

The death penalty.
What a laugh
And their pulling on strings
To keep this going
As their money bags swing
Lifelessly
From left to right.
How dare they take an old mans
Walking stick.
How dare they beat their wives,
Breaking the rule of thumb.
What catastrophe could place 
This sodden child in their 
Arms tonight.
She withers with fright
And is ever watchful of
The innkeeper
Who is paying his debt
To society with offhand eyes.
It is not the pangs of living
That silences her pleading.
Nor is it the throttler
With his sweaty palms so bleak.
It's not the putrid taste of 
Tomorrows casualties
Or the attempts to stop the bleeding.
It is the innkeeper
Who is regarded as the man who
Sells perjury by the mouthfuls.
The innkeeper
With his iron stomach and
Scruples drunk 
On sloth and negligence.
This wear and tear child
Can spot his hands through
The arched back of her manipulator.
His knuckles are white.
His knuckles are screaming
And singing the song of lechery
While he's avoiding whimpers
Of an exploited adolescent.
Avoiding interrogation.

Details | Samantha Mcdougal Poem

The Farmer's Accord

The farmers sleep with
Third eyes open.
Ever watchful over their teenage daughters.
How the boys must beseech them desperately.
Uncomfortable, muggy fondlings
In the bed of a red rusted pickup
Parked by the creek dubbed Lovers Point.
At the breakfast table in the morning,
They glow with proximity
And their tired eyes hover dreamily
From the orange cranberry muffins
To the freshly squeezed orange juice
Filled at the half way mark of a mason jar.
When you ask why they don't eat
They simply smile
And say nothing.
Your curiosity will linger on your teeth
But still you will say nothing.
Bitter memories of your past regrets
To teach lessons of discretion
Are better left unsaid.
You will not douse them in the overwhelming
Blanket of your security
And the palms of your hands that
Once smiled in the womb like presence
Of handling your new born daughter
And naming her Jane or Virginia
Is suddenly missing the hold of her hand.
But you share a few natural harmonies
Like the silent agreement of pecking his cheek
Twice before bedtime
Or the precarious way you both sit at
The wobbling three legged milking stool
When your pulling on Betsy on Thursday
And she's tugging at Betty on Wednesday
As you shave the gray stubble of your throat.
But for now in the strangely comfortable
Peace of staring at the spots of jam
On the white and yellow checkered table cloth
You'll abruptly slide your chair back
And lean closely to her ear as you slightly whisper
Slightly inaudible notations.

Details | Samantha Mcdougal Poem

Your Querencia and Why Your Not Quitting

Could you imagine,
A face like that?
Created by the face of an angel
And modeled like fashion
For the damned and deceased.
A respected locksmith,
Drunk on insomnia and aging,
Kissing the pavement
With bare and busied feet.
The Brazilian beauty
Who prides herself as
The representative of blushing.
The one who catches the bouquet
By chance and
Throws it away before anyone notices.
But on a theory in a slip of time,
Before the extinct proposition
And an oddly proportioned new born,
Curls a quivering life form
In the belly of this woman so sweet.
Born from innocence and named Mary,
For the sake of Jesus.
She is not 36 nor is she 16
Yet she is at the fruitful age of 57.
And at 57,
This symbol of love and innocence
Is fumbling with the curiosity
Of breast feeding her unborn child
That wiggles and withers with frailty
Inside of her.

Dark wood,
Unimaginable line,
Where could you have gone
When the pages were as blank as the faces
And for the life of you,
You couldn't tell the difference.
Just say it.
Rip it from the tip of your tongue.
Show your taste buds no mercy and speak.
Grow.
Expand.
Consider the possibilities when
It appears there are none.
Enjoy the pain
And embrace all oppressions and oppositions.
Slumber in the smutty bluntness
Of a marital masquerade.
Quit it
Then keep it going.
Move the stones
And bend their broken subtractions.
Crack the indescribable aptitude
Of times motive for murder.
Explicate reason,
Smoke your lungs away,
Cry your eyes out,
And suck at the wastelands.

Details | Samantha Mcdougal Poem

Brave New World

It's the nature of the experiment
To be peeling off my autumn skin
In a gasoline waterlogged romance.
You can stay
If you want to.
We're pulling figures out of the way.
A fire in the hills 
Is luring a crowd in
And the admission fee starts
Somewhere in the infinite.
The new years Tokyo Alliance
Has brought a bouquet 
Of pharmaceutical pleasures
And I'm handing out 
Needles and narcotics
In the opium den.
This brave new world
Sells sex for a dollar and
A penniless teenager 
For even less.
And fast from the ground
Stands a Brazilian girl,
Fastening her garter belt
And smoothing her skirt
As she casts a virgin's suicide stone
Into the sounds of the sunrise.

Details | Samantha Mcdougal Poem

Lend An Ear, My Cavalier

I have forfeited every inch
Of your bitter blow
And you have reaped the profit.
You took my discretion for granted
And placed me inside a cage.
You withered,
Disdainfully,
In an open page.
The palate of your face
Eating at the sky
And delivering me to justice.
Haunting me and my forbidden womb.
Drenching the maggots
In silver and golden
As they nibble at a
Greasy toothed moron
From the grave.
And in temptation,
You'll haunt them too.
A wandering pilgrimage
Isn't far from you.
And with this thought,
Your on foot,
Fleeing to the very next castle
Of whore ridden death and degenerates.
And because of his avarice
You will never turn back.
And because the tips of her hair,
Drenched in brandy
And ever tickling at your spine,
You will never turn back.
At agate,
An open wound sits
Mingling with the dark and the lecherous.
Having cocktails with the waitress
Whose initials spell hepatitis
And whose breasts aren't far from
The waist you see so fit.
Gangrene has not swallowed
This slit up just yet
And it is far too simpleminded
Of you to forget how you pleaded
With her to let it heal.
Let it heal.
Let it stop.
Let it seal.
To free the ever so silent songbird
Who has been caged in your debt
For centuries,
Bargaining and wagering with
The undertaker
And licking at injustice with her toes,
Wanting nothing more than to bear
The child of a man who hates the sea
But is born from the salt of it's accomplices.
A man whose bitter death is but a tragedy
To shoe makers
But sleeps under a petticoat
For fear of losing his head.
The man who holds his key so tightly
With all probability and intention
Of letting it go.

Details | Samantha Mcdougal Poem

Pointing Pointless

What would you expect to accomplish here?
In this house these people are incapable of feeling.
Indulging in eternity inside their frozen frameworks.
They began to grow suspicious as our mouths burn like acid with 
Every word we wish we could utter.
If the tape were gone, who would believe this unspoken chaos?
The answer settles on the back of my tongue as
Your pulling at the skirt of serenity.
You'll touch me with your thoughts and never with your hands.

I could breathe a thousand seas for this and this alone.
In a dreaming state, 
Our mouths burn with something other than confinement.
In a dreaming state, 
We sit and watch the waning moon.
In a dreaming state, 
Our thoughts will escalate to any 
Action of our own five senses.
But in this bitter sea,
We'll spend our days plummeting down these aimless rabbit holes
With the freedom of choice in a predetermined world.