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Best Poems Written by Les Cornelius

Below are the all-time best Les Cornelius poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Les Cornelius Poem

In Vain

you’re hanging in my head
and I’m wearing you like glasses.
shades of purple make me laugh;
you’re all I see today.
 
I’m listening to your music;
to the voice I’ve never heard.
the world’s voices are distinguished
by your muted singing.
 
the rushing in my chest,
the biting of my lip
dissipates embarrassingly in vain,
when I wonder if you can hear me smiling,
or if you’re smiling loud too.
because you’re  only the
               hope
                                               hanging in my head.

Details | Les Cornelius Poem

I Hate This Poem

he once thought
the pieces fit
in a beautiful and pleasing
array.

(seamless.)

but they
gawked
and pointed out 
how his piece 
was a different 
color.

(hilarious.)

let’s laugh.
let’s clap.
let’s marvel.
encore!
clap those cymbals,
and dance some more!

he only saw
pieces,
no missmatching colors
and thought it was the wrong
design.

(matchless.)

let’s laugh.
let’s clap.
let’s marvel.
encore!
clap those cymbals,
and dance some more!

he knows now
not to say a word
and to search
for a larger
puzzle.

(discomposure.)

let’s laugh.
let’s clap.
let’s marvel.
encore!
clap those cymbals,
and dance some more!

Details | Les Cornelius Poem

Stuck Between Beeps of the Heart Machine

there’s a lump in my throat.
a lump of all the problems
i tried to swallow.
to hide.

There’s a pain in my stomache.
the pain of all
the problems
i tried to swallow.

There’s a shortness of breath-
inside my lungs
from the hidden lump,
and the people surrounding
closing in.

there’s a murmur in my heart
from all the things
i do regret
to have said,
and not.

there’s a hope in my head
that sometime
i’ll awake from this 
coma,
to a warm white coat,
who’ll tell me i’m better.
the one who’ll shut off
the heart machine,
and give me their beat
to help me
                along.

but right now 
visiting time’s over,
and all i have to talk to
is the respirator.

Details | Les Cornelius Poem

The Smoke Will Clear In September

the smoke will clear in september.
by les cornelius
 
there’s a little white crack
in the orange glowing glass
hanging above our heads.
it’s the plane piloted by him
 
he’s driving it off
the edge of the earth
to sometime  meet me
around on the other side
 
our planes will slam together
and our fuel will ignite
showering the ground
with a yellow blaze
that greens the grass
and casts giants on pavement
 
the smoke will clear in september
and giants will shrink
the grass will brown
the rubble will be cleared
into separate buildings
 
but I haven’t even taken off yet

Details | Les Cornelius Poem

White.

I want to fall-
spin through the floor.
Leaving my mind off
at the door.

I want to go to a place
that’s new.
So, drop your books
and fall through.

Linger with me
in the white today.
We’ll hold hands
‘till we fade away.

Let’s leave our lives
we’re blindly living,
because I’m so tired
of working and giving.

One day we’ll come
back from our brake.
Refreshed, renewed
when we awake.

Details | Les Cornelius Poem

Envelope

the day i was born,
my mom kissed me 
on  my head:
sealing the envelope
i'd carry around in my pocket.

when i was four,
my envelope
was colored with crayon
"i love mommy"s 
and i took it to school
for people to peak at
in the share-bag.

in first grade,
i loved 
to show off my envelope,
which was now neatly
decorated with whales 
and such.
once i kept it close to my ear,
to listen inside,
but all i heard 
was my teacher yelling.

when i was 9,
we were encouraged
to fill a notebook
with things called poems
reflecting our envelopes.
i always kept it in my hand
and sometimes used it as an excuse
if i ever had a papercut.

when i was 13,
i opened my envelope
and looked inside
to see what it was like.
and suddenly, 
i cried
and feared that the paper inside
might rip.

today,
i hold 
the folded paper 
in my hand,
and watch it unfold.
i know i have to hide it
-keep it close,
and i know
i can?t re-mail it.
but i?ll always look
at all the creases,
the drawings,
the folds,
the scribbled words,
and the 
neatly printed ones.
and hope that soon
i'll feel it's worth 
the read.

Details | Les Cornelius Poem

This Thousand Car Pile Up

i’m dizzy 
with the flashing
of red break lights
through my eyelids.
i sit
      in a car crash.

screaming tires
with shattered-glass glitter
exploding through air,
provide the holiday f i r e w o r k s
for audience amusement.

car after car
                   slam into
the aluminum foil sides
          (easily bending)

my breathing room’s gone.
through my car-exhaust sleep 
                  (“just go to bed”)
i dream of the jaws of life
     prying me from 
this thousand car pile up.
under the burning rubble
                                     i’m waiting
for something.

Details | Les Cornelius Poem

Me a Flock

I sit,
I smell,
I gaze,
I feel.
Each feeling-a bird
you can not steal.

Me- a flock,
of thought,
and sight.
Each time I move,
the birds take flight.

Each bird-
a place,
a time
of day.
No bird can ever
fly away.

We move
as one
through
the cold.
So many birds-
I feel so old.

Sometimes-
a bird
tags far 
behind.
Thus, the flock
is never blind-
to where each
bird is in its
place.
Because no one
can be
replaced.