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Best Poems Written by Race Benoit

Below are the all-time best Race Benoit poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Race Benoit Poem

Are There Any of Us Left

The cruel streets I walked made me sad
I looked not at him, nor at her
Those who passed me by, gutter grads
I felt at home among the curs
We were outcasts from hearth and home
Over the land our kind did roam.

Looking here and then searching there
As many as stars in the sky
By foot, by car, sometimes by air
We wanted to understand why
We couldn't go back where we'd been
Burned our bridges and that's a sin.

Some were poets within their hearts
A killer or two in the crowd
And some were like me; a la carte
Doing what it took to be proud
Some chased women, some ran from them
And in the melee some lost a gem.

I sit here writing words of mine
Wondering how many are left
Who write words and sell for a dime
I have escaped death's cold, cold theft 
I have fought the fight and I've won
I'm old yes, but I've just begun

Details | Race Benoit Poem

Write What You Know

Writers! Writers!  Write what you know.
That's what they say, all the pro's.
Phooey on that gobbledygook.
I mean, get real, take a good look.

Let's say you have a great notion
To put words of a book in motion.
Want to write about real cowboys?
Means you can't come from Illinois?

Poets are sensitive, even men
A saga poem they'd like to pen.
Of women in love and their pain
They can't now if their name's not Jane?

Well, maybe.  Maybe they are right
I'm not trying to pick a fight.
Seems to me that writing is fun
You can shoot sans owning a gun.

Think of the love sonnets and such
You needn't have lived all that much.
What about all those dreams of love
Too ugly to be deserving of.

Halloween makes us conjure up ghosts
Don sheets, we're monsters we can boast?
Ghouls and witches in poems do clash
Oh! Where is that real monster mash?

Sweet thing wants to celebrate her cat
On her knees should she eat a rat?
I'd think that sweet thing would say no,
She'll imagine it; let her words flow.

Poets, novelists, are writers is not this true?
Does this have to mean they haven't a clue?
They can't expand their horizons from mundane
And the dullness to something wild and insane?

They write about murder if that's their bent
Without encasing someone's feet in cement.
Some write from deep held passionate zeal
About sunrises, sunsets, tho blind in the real.

The agonies of war can be expressed in truth
By a middle-aged wife full of gin and vermouth.
And while we cannot all write most profound
I still say we have more intellect than a hound.

Which gives us the ways and means to think
About life in other places we can be in sync.
I don't think that crime queen Agatha Christie
Left to kill and maim after her tea and biMaurice Yvonnescuits.

Details | Race Benoit Poem

Across the Void

a man and a woman
lucky in love and precious
fate walked in and kissed them both
kisses wet, sloppy, thirsty
from an unplanned tenderness
romance fluttered
love came next there was no doubt
their chemistry delicious
played one off the others substantial
in the beginning of her purring
on purpose as fate
walked them down the primrose blushing
passion concentrated and gifted
translovely dream cooing
across the abyss
separating them from their naughty
they talked of love needful
secrets were confessed fragile
vowed to leave the past behind
shredded and troubled
their bond will be sewn husky
he closes his eye tender
she holds out her attractive
together they are damaged

Details | Race Benoit Poem

A Glimpse Within - I

The salt water
baubles washes
gently
upon the jetty sent
from lands distant.
Pushed by a hovering
yellow moon,
sometimes built into
thunderous waves
		of hurricanes.
Change comes rapidly
and dangerously
as the sea meets
yesterday coming
back.
It speaks to me and
it does say,
I give no quarter
and furthermore
              I ask
for none.
As I stare outward
at the placid waters
I feel heaviness
deep inside my
chest.
The sea has become
humanity to me,
With its powerful
and hushed rage,
		not seen before.
Heretofore I have
been persuaded
by wanderlust to
skim the surface,
to walk on by time
without end,
miss nothing that
may be something.
		I linger here.
The moon is playing
peek-a-boo,
reflection on the
water seems sad.
Stories are to be
told, perchance
to a much lesser
degree of now.
               But
not yet.
Ink-black dark, I
cannot see;
even Luna appears
quite uneasy.
The peaceful lapping
of water
distresses me; I
don't know why.
		Devouring soul?
So tranquil you
could hear a
tear drop, or a
salamander fart.
My nose detects an
exotic odor
Arabian sand carried
by wind.
               Wind
words. 
I squat on the rock
jetty,
look for ghosts;
probe my own.
My intimate séance
annoys
what I have kept
concealed..
		I see what I see.
The serene sea is a
patient anomaly,
so serene I fear
there are things
unsaid.
The night bitter
black when moon
hides,
I sense an
oppressing evil
attributed
		to dreams.

Details | Race Benoit Poem

Keepin' It Alive

fire up that smoke
no matter all of the warnings
it settles you
makes you not eat so much
eh . . .
oh, my honey and I
share with each other
our bodily fluids
our tenderness
we share our affection
I mean . . .
what is this thing called love
if not share
and share alike
for contrary to popular belief
love is not a never-ending honeymoon
no . . .
you and that woman
must figure out
how to make it last 'til death do you part
through the rough times
hold on to part of how it used to be
I mean the thrill
will always be there
although it lurks within us
dormant, waiting
to be recognized from time to time
as the years wear on
our love comes alive again
with the beginnings of our smiles
rebirth, a cool thing

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Are You Listening

with my head held high
let me begin
by introducing myself

I'm the hours you've spent
in complete aloneness
I've always wanted to escape
your solitude

I am your inner voice
the one with all the secrets
that dare not be told

oh, let us not forget
I'm the hunger, the ache
the confusion
within you
I am the man you won't be

I'm the happiness you forbid
the family you shunned
the photograph
that has never been developed
the conversations
you never had
the dreadful experience
you've forgotten about (not)
and the good times which never was

I'm your only confidante
as you sit and stare at nothing
I'm the soft voice within
can you hear

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A Defined Woman

She is a defined woman
short blond hair
gives my thoughts wild abandonment
my feelings juxtaposed
into new understanding of her
she is all woman
her body
cinched at the waist
defining the upper and the lower completely
eyes which seem to foretell
things evermore
a defined woman
psychedelic sixties posters
on her wall
I sit in my room waiting . . . until . . .
reincarnation complete
Jim Morrison picks up the phone
She hears her phone ring

Details | Race Benoit Poem

My Extraordinary Journey

I am going to try again. The last time I tried to post here what I posted wasn't how it appeared on the site. I know you were having some upgrading going on. Hopefully this will work better . . .


lost and alone I wandered
the landscape was familiar to me
in a surreal sense
my steps took me into a strange door
don’t ask me how
but I knew this was an undisturbed place
I reached for the door
to discover its secret within
my hand touched not the door
for it evaporated
leaving me inside
feelings of a charming, but slightly untamed way 
like carnival candied apples
I waited
waited for the purity of the moment
to speak to me
this, I felt
was the same feeling Adam
of that garden of old must have felt
a place where the unfamiliar was found not good enough
oh, my eyes sought out
a pre-adolescent child
a stranger-child
yet something stirred inside me
his soft white hands
beseeched me near with a naïve smile
his piercing blue eyes
showed no trace of anxiety
I saw virtue in this dreamlike child
 UNSUPPORTED CODE you are there and I am here
come play with me
for I’m the innocence you were back then UNSUPPORTED CODE

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And the Poet Smiles

within the whisper
of yesterday and now
of anticipation
of a dream
words are imbedded
deeply carved
in the heart of a
poet
the words become his
children
to lavish praise
and teach them where
to go
and grow
the poet challenges
the words
as if they were
colors of his heart
and soul
bequeathing to them
the spirit of
interlocking freedom

he has done his best
and that makes him
smile

Details | Race Benoit Poem

Know That Whenever He Holds You

Know that whenever he holds you
My arms are wrapped around you too.
When he gives you a passionate kiss
My lips will also give you bliss.

As he thrust and parries in the night,
My loving will give you delight.
And when he forgets how to please,
I will be there, a carnal tease.