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Best Poems Written by Faye Gibson

Below are the all-time best Faye Gibson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Sea Bride

Across the white sand waters
meld of teal and turquoise hue,
in sunlight, emerald facets, 
in shadow, grays of blue,
first breaking light of heaven,
tinted sky in tones of shell,
dancing lights, pearl pink and saffron,
fleck the bosom of the swell.
On waves of crisper coral
the majestic sun ship sails,
bright bride aflame in glory
blushed beneath her misty veils.
Such beauty blinds my vision;
my gaze is downward drawn
to vanilla foam soft swirling
in the footprints of the dawn.


Copyright, April 16, 2014

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The Last Gold Leaf

The last gold leaf hangs on the bough;
summer is just a memory now.
You, too, have gone, my golden friend;
our summer days came to an end.

We said goodbye; our chapter closed.
How I will miss you no one knows.
On eagle wings you split the skies;
your spirit soared. You had to fly.

My earthbound soul will bear its grief
severed from you on mortal reef;
but returning from yonder shore,
your love in waves will wash me o'er.

You've gone before, my trusted love;
I wait behind, your mourning dove;
yet, from across the great divide
your voice to me in dreams confides.

No, I think not that dreams they are;
but communion of the near with far.
On such sweet songs I stake my claim
to know and love you once again.

Copyright, 1987, Faye Gibson

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My Gift of Tears

Leave you my tears?
I think you already own them . . .

They sparkle in dew on the grasses,
on your windows they cling to look in;
They see you with someone else laughing
And wonder if the joke is on them?
Days past they would have been with you,
Laughter's jewels alive in my eyes,
But tonight they beat on your windows;
Instead of bright smiles, they weep sighs.

Leave you my tears? 

In the rain they pour down from heaven,
They run down your walls to the ground.
They gather in rivers about you;
Don't you sense me when you are storm bound?
How you step on my heart when you walk out
With somebody else on your arm,
Playful like kids in spring showers,
Unaware of the heart you have harmed.

Leave you my tears? 

If I could wrap them up in a present,
give them all to you at one time,
My tears would make you an ocean,
Sink your ship on the sea of your crimes
My tears . . . to me they are holy,
They tell of the heartbreak I've known;
You never knew how to treasure 
The love that bowed at your throne.

I leave you my tears . . .


Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, September 5, 2014

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Give Me Dessert

creamy cheesecake inches deep  
red strawberry crowned,
mounds of whipped chocolate fluff  
cresting almond cake,  
maple pecan pie
sticky crunch-
yum!

Copyright, October 27, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson

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Wind Lover

You kiss my face and I turn to trace
the tracks you left on the ground;
where have you walked and with whom have you talked
in all of your traveling round?

You utter a sigh and I am wondering why
you just cannot slow down and stay;
capricious you are like a burnt, falling star,
fickle, and quick to betray.

One day you are kind, your fury confined,
the next, you are hostile and wild;
today a soft breeze, lightly brushing the trees,
tomorrow, an unbroken child.

I open my arms to welcome your charms,
but like a ghost you vanish and go;
my emotions are torn by the strength of your storm,
your inexhaustible, volatile show.

I release you! Go scream and follow mad dreams,
go blow to the east and the west;
you try to impress then insanely digress
your plan to pursue an irrational quest.

The day you are through, tame the tempestuous shrew,
come back to my warm, loving heart;
ruffle my hair with the breath of a prayer,
until them, my dear, just depart.

Copyright, August 27, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson

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Innocence

On days of childhood past
and long faded into memory,
sisters played beneath a smiling sun
in shadowed rooms of bending willows.
Dainty handkerchiefs swaddled
our Rose of Sharon infants
to keep the newborns warm;
honeysuckle spread sweet fragrance
scenting the summer playhouse
while birds trilled lullabies of joy.
Clover chains hung as garlands
to decorate our home
and snowball bushes' spread
perfumed blossoms carpeting the floors.
Simple pleasures of a simple life
we seem to have discarded
in favor of a busier, artificial plastic world
where flowers bud stale fabric blooms
on bending wires.
The evensong of the whip-poor-will is no more.

I would go back if I could harvest
the pureness of those happy hours,
distilling a rare elixir,
a medicine for our ailing times.

Copyright, November 25, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson

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Memory Rides the Rails

Forest fairies changing colors,
autumn's patchwork pattern weaving
in the foggy morning stillness
before winter's barren grieving,
up the river on the damp air,
up hollows through the shadowed vales
sounds the mournful, sobbing whistle:
once more memory rides the rails.

Childhood song for railroad watchers -
a tinge of hobo in my veins,
longing for the lonesome whistle
like a lost child for his name.
Life began beside the railway,
an open door to fantasy;
my dreamer's soul soaked in the flavor
hearing that whistle witchery.

Hungry tramps in search of breakfast
found our doorstep every time;
hobo network communication
marked mama's eggs and bacon "fine."
Bleary eyes and beards all stubble
made child imaginations fly
and the tales with which we clothed them
were wilder still than hobo lies.

Oh, for the days when trains were magic:
iron dragons breathing smoke and fire,
lashing long tails through the valleys
with monstrous strength that never tired.
Oh, the secrets that were hidden 
behind the doors of plain boxcars;
feel the untamed urge to mount them
and plunder treasure from afar.

Delight was ours beyond measure
to waken on those special days,
finding, in the night, the dragon 
had brought the circus train our way.
See the bearded lady waving
and catch the fat man's twinkling eye,
smell the coal smoke's pungent flavor
beneath our magic big top sky.

Grown up am I; steam train magic
comes swirling by once in a while
to view autumn's fleeting pageant
and make train lovers like me smile.
Nostalgic, rhythmic beating,
staccato yelps and sobbing wails
make my soul a mental hobo;
once more memory rides the rails.

Copyright, 2000
Faye Lanham Gibson

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Lifting the Fog

Like milk from blue mountains' swollen breasts, the fog
Intertwines with pungent campfire smoke, a blue mist
Frescoing my quiet river valley's primeval lap.
Twilight tiptoes, surreptitiously, spying on secluded tryst;
Interlaced, grape and honeysuckle canopy overhead,
Noddng blossoms dripping sweet fragrance,
Granting nectared kisses my lips cannot resist.

The blue moon peers through hazy clouds, then turns
Hiding his eyes from lovers unashamed upon the ground;
Emotion rising in his core, he looks again and sadly yearns.

Furtively, he draws foggy blankets o'er us two,
Orchestrating sequestered solitude until
Golden sunlight warms the earth uncov'ring me and you.

Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, July 5, 2014

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Mellifluous Autumn

Apples ripen pink, hotly blushing,
though the ardent yellow sun grows faint;
blackbirds sucking soft honeyed sweetness.
like babies at breast, show no restraint.

Mellow ripeness splays rich-toned color;
the trees raise scarlet armed applause.
Red-brown and gray, small creatures hurry
stowing provisions for winter's pause.

Copyright, September 1, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson

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A Butterfly Inside

I feel a butterfly inside;
its wings are cramped within my breast.
The weight of flesh, o dull cocoon,
prohibits my free flight. At best
I only soar inside; my wings--
gossamer, light, remain untried.
I wait...I wait...until the day
the barred' cage is flung aside
and airy wings lift toward the skies.

I have felt this graceful creature 
flutter faintly deep inside;
then, at times, so ardently,
I think no way will it abide!
It will be loosed! Its wish to fly
will push the bars of flesh aside.
Determined is this butterfly 
to show its colors multiplied
and wing its way through azure skies.

The time is drawing near, I'm sure;
the throbbing swells within my heart.
The cumbrous cocoon, filled with life,
is bursting now, falling apart.
The butterfly is breaking free;
no more its wings will tightly furl,
but lightly spread upon the breeze 
their filmy webs, gilded and pearled...
and, then, my soul will leave this world.

Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987