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Best Poems Written by Damien Biggs

Below are the all-time best Damien Biggs poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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My Beloved Wife

My beloved wife

It was the crows calling that gave the final warning on this mid October morning.
Just as the mist began falling upon the hills in a strange manner that was almost unnerving.
This morn shall be my final calling as my soul begins souring high above the clouds on this mid October morning.
Signalled by the single rose placed upon my coffin.
Not a healthy rose but one that's wilting, It's red petals fading and it's leaves browning.
It was placed upon my coffin by a loan woman who stands morning on this bitter October morning.

She turns towards home and begins walking, towards my old manor house that now stands rotting.
She passes the spot in the garden where she hid the knife the other morning, just before the police came calling.
Alerted by the chamber maid screaming upon discovering by body laying bleeding.
Murder was the diagnosis, probably by a burglar was the prognosis.
The window was broken and my jewellery was stolen.
They didn't bother to ask about the missing kitchen knife, it was all falling into place for my dearly beloved wife.

As she approached she questions what she saw, large boards placed upon the entrance door.
Upon the door a sign held by a single rusty nail, it read this property is now for sale.
Due to deceased occupants an auction will now take place, in gods grace she calls out from behind her veil of lace.
This can't be true, I felt the morning dew seep through into my newly bought shoe, she pauses for breath as she begins to think things through.
Now the truth begins dawning that it was her soul and not her body that left the hill this morning.
We are now two souls exploring, one up and one down on this bitter October morning.

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A Doctors Ballad

I never really understood people until I took apart my old school chum Rick.
Now I know exactly what makes the human heart tick.
The intricacy of the human circuitry is Gods most artful work without uncertainty.
Like a great operatic performance accompanied by a grand orchestra, all our organs sing as one and all together.
To give such life as this in a manor of theatrical grandeur, but life comes at a cost however, this is something that we can not sever, for one soul to live it must take from another.
You see hunting a human is just like hunting any animal, you always track those that are weak and incapable.
I study those that indulge greatly in life's pleasurable sins, I always proceed to take them apart starting with their limbs.
To squander such a gift is a crime against those souls no longer living.
It is a crime that should be dealt with swiftly and unforgiving.
You may find my words harsh and cruel but punishment is dealt where punishment is due.
The scholars and gossips call me a Devil worshiper or a Satanist.
But I am an admirer of God and I dream to be like him, a great creationist. 
To some I'm known as the mad doctor who haunts the river Rhine, but to my acquaintances I'm known simply as Victor Frankenstein.

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Autumn

They call me the dying month, the bringer of cold harsh winds from the north.
I sneak up upon unsuspecting late summer well wishers, wrap my cold hands around their cheeks and come forth.

Moving silently across the country side, I graciously give the kiss of death to the once green leaves.
In my path I leave nothing but skeleton shapes twisted and old, they are nothing but shadows of once mighty summer trees.

In death however comes beauty of colour, the brown crispy leaves illuminated by the red autumn sky.
The stage is set and the players cast, the final curtain call is all but nigh.

With a crunch under foot, hat and scarves protecting such delicate pale frozen skin.
The first frost falls upon my deathly hands, I greet winter as my old friend with an honest grin.

Like the leaves from the trees my time is short, but the cycle continues without me and I die knowing my part has been played.
I close my eyes as you do in bed, into winters night will an autumn evening fade.

My time has ended and I bow out gracefully, for the work I've done I feel no shame.
As all things that share a purpose and live with meaning, it's time for us all to return whence we came.

03/01/2015

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Born Out of the Moonlight

Every winters night I'm kept awake it seems, by the fainting ecos of my lovers screams forever filling the emptiness of my dreams.
Awakening within me the beast, with its eternal lust to drink and feast oh how I envy the deceased.
Given life's final pleasure of deaths final slumber, whilst I'm left here alone to wander.
Oh how I cursed and swore, when once more i bit and tore the delicate flesh of that human I adore.
It's burned forever into my memory, that night my lover was taken from me.
As the clouds cleared and moved from sight I bathed in the heavenly glow of the pale moon light, whilst an angel cried hast thou gazed upon such a calming night.
Calming indeed was it whilst in my human form, but as one well knows the calm comes right before the storm.
As the moons rays wrapped around my skin I felt the beast stir from within.
With one sharp pain in my chest so did begin this night of misery, as the transformation from man to beast happened almost instantly.
Detached now was my mind and soul from my body as I lost control like Alice tumbling down the black endless rabbit hole.
I was forced to bare witness to my claw as it tour open the entrance door like the rib cage of dear Eleanor.
Up the stairs I went in a frantic bound, moving swiftly without making a sound.
Opening the bedroom door my lover began to stir, upon the bed I lurched over her.
A small drip of drawl escaped over my teeth, it's touch woke my lover laying underneath, her eyes opened but her fright was brief.
Screaming at the beast who's control of my body was overpowering, as I could do nothing but watch it devouring the woman who's love for me had just began flowering.
And so since that night I lay cowering in my house who's rooms forever continue narrowing.
Empty though the house now lays, alone I am not, as within me the beast still stays.

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Frozen Starlight

Take pity upon me, for my heart knows love unyet my hands feel not her skin.
My eyes gaze upon the starlit night sky, natural cosmic diamonds whose beauty is nothing compared to hers within.

We meet briefly every month, for those hours our hands entwine.
The night is paused and all is frozen, the nights stars forever continue to shine.

Woe is us for our lives can never merge, know that my love is with you and our light shines bright.
Dark are my days until those hours of light, when thy smile eclipses the beauty of a million nights of starlight.

When lives come together our book is written, who can know what story our love will write.
To say love is blind is to have never understood it, such madness and passion encapsulates thy sight.

We see such beauty when in love, our eyes are not blind as all colours can be seen.
My story is written and paths have been taken, my life is filled with tales of what could have been.

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A Tear Is But a Whisper From My Soul

I stood there and gazed at the tidal wave of traffic surging down bellow.
I hovered frozen in time until by chance I glanced upon a troubled fellow.
He was sitting in his car surrounded by the outside noise of the gentle rain and the cars constant hum.
His ears could hear unyet his mind was numb.
As I moved in closer I could feel his sorrow and pain.
Mourning the loss of his partner his soul whispered through the misty rain.
I remember now I whispered back as I drifted into the seat beside him that was vacant.
And so to do I remember that aftershave as being my favourite fragrant.
As my soul whispered to his he glanced over to where I sat.
With sadness I could tell that he did not see his passed wife with the golden platt.
An empty seat was all that greeted his eyes.
A vacant stare for a vacant seat unyet I could hear his replies.
With his minds eye he smiled and his soul whispered such sweet words of love and affection.
Even now I could still feel devoted protection.
Some say that the words we speak in our heads are merely thoughts and nothing more.
But I believe they are whispers from our souls and the replies of those who are not with us anymore.
Before my passing I told him this with great certainty.
In this life and in the next our two souls will whisper to each other for eternity.

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Ode To the Sun That Does Rise From Soil

In angels walks and heavens gardens they do not see thee,
Mystic realms of galactic suns have nothing compared to your simple natural beauty.
From darkened soil your soul is born,
From within mortal lands comes springs flowering dawn.
Petals softer than silk I do admire thee,
Thou dress is always more elegant than she.
To be alive is a wondrous thing,
For gazing upon the birth of a simple spring time seed always makes my heart sing.
For even in heaven they have no soil or earth,
And so only in life can we see such beauty like that of the soils flowing sun upon its birth.


11/04/2017

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The Golden Chandeliers Glow

The room was alive with colour, dancing rainbows swirling under the glowing golden chandelier.
Laughter filled the air, no one noticed the young girl tending to a single tear.

The warmth of the room was not felt upon her pale skin, she felt only the harsh frost of her fathers love.
The white ivory keys from the piano played, with each striking note she once again felt her fathers riding glove.

Whilst lost in her thoughts, soul searching upon an empty river bed that dried up seasons ago.
Her fiancé walks over to her and reaches out his hand, an offer to dance was all he could do to ease this young girls woe.

He was not a bad man as his bank glowed with gold, his heart was warm and kind much like that of her late mother.
Alas for these kind qualities could not change the fact, her heart had fallen for another.

They twirled and danced, clapped and smiled her ears were filled with music and laughter.
But beneath it all was pain and confusion, her mind was filled with the spiteful words of her father.

Earlier that day he had tried to beat sense into her, she was to marry a decent man and that was final.
With a loving blow only a father could give, he believed that her desires of sharing a bed with another woman was alterable.

They both knew that his attempts were in vain, she had been like this for years and nothing would change.
Her father had always despised her, the daughter he believed to be strange.

No one would know that tonight's dance would be her last, that her life would be cut short upon the morrow.
Her death much like her mother, suicide or murder one would never know.

But until that moment comes her father stands silent and alone, holding a crimson glass of his favourite Bordeaux.
In the corner of the ballroom he watches her with a stern look, his face cast in shadow by the golden chandeliers glow.

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Our Love Affair of Despair

What is despair if not for love, what is this air if not her scent.
What crimes we commit for such an affair, what dangers we live to find someone so rare.
I speak a prayer but to god it is not, I look and stare into a mortal of goddess proportions.
If she hears me now or hears me there, if she takes my words I do not care.
I do ask a question and leave it there, do you think this world to have been cruel and unfair?
To have sat upon the chair and dinned at the table, that glorious feast where we taste love.
But alas to have only dined once and in our dreams and not elsewhere, to have touched only in voice and upon our bodies nowhere.
Is this fair or is this love, is love not fair and in being so the only one true love affair we have.
What is her scent filling my lungs if not the air, and what is love if not despair.

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Speak Only Through a Flower

Speak only through a flower,
Let not the petals of verse blow into their gardens,
Let our defiance show their fear and hatred what it truly means to cower,
The magic of hidden text created brings hope to those who prey for pardons,
But in public we must only write what we have been told,
New creations born of dream must remain locked within ones mind,
Unspoken and hidden beneath the floorboards this is where humanity runs cold,
Forever left unseen until these soldiers goose-step away and leave us behind,
For the poets patience is on our side,
For those who create and build know what it is to wait,
The guardians of the empire know nothing of this,
For it is always quicker to destroy than it is to create,
And so we wait with seed in hand,
For the day will come when the petals of verses blow freely once more across this land.

19/04/17