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Best Poems Written by Jaycee Cervenka

Below are the all-time best Jaycee Cervenka poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Owl's Requiem

The rising sun has set.
Night has fallen.
The plow rests,
tillage and toil finished.
The corn ear withers,
but seeds are saved.
The scrolls are opened
event recorded;
the news spread:
"The sun has set,
the old Owl has flown
into the Heavens."

Yet, the sun will rise
and peek over the horizon,
the tractor will roar,
a new crop will sprout,
Green hands will turn brown
the flag will wave,
financial accounts recorded,
hospitality offered,
and the light of brotherhood shared.

Your torch has lit fires
that flicker and flame;
The fledgling will grow
and, hopefully, become wise;
New eras and life-chapters
will begin, 
continuing the credo
as a Legacy to you:
"Learning to Do, 
Doing to Learn,
Earning to Live, 
Living to Serve."*

*National FFA Organization Motto

Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015

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The Kid Named Not Me

There's a new kid at home, 
One nobody sees 
But we all know he's there. 
His name is Not Me. 

He took out all my colors 
And doodled on the wall. 
You can tell from how high he reached 
He isn't very tall. 

When my mom asked, 
"Whose art work can this be?"
The answer was unanimous. 
We all said, "Not Me!" 

Not Me is very naughty. 
He always makes a mess, 
And what he did with Sister's doll 
Is anybody's guess! 

He ruined Mommy's makeup. 
He messed up Daddy's hat. 
He even cut my bed sheets. 
Now, how bad was that? 

And when he takes a bath 
He gets water on the floor. 
And just last night 
He got toothpaste on the door. 

He spilled Kool-Aid on the carpet 
And broke some dishes in the sink. 
He left the milk out on the counter 
So now there's none to drink. 

When something's going wrong 
And Mom's angry as can be, 
You can always be sure he did it- 
That kid named Not Me.


This was written when my children were small and yes I read it to them often. Not me lived in my house for many Years and still makes an occasional visit.

Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015

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I am the Gaillardia Pulchella 
Dressed in gold and deepest red 
I'm the flash of color that you see 
When everything else looks dead 

I thrive in the southern heat 
Setting roots in dirt or sand 
I'm the legend of the indian blanket 
Grown by God's own hands 

The firewheel of great passion 
That collects to her faithful souls 
Butterflies who dance around 
Like the stories of ancients told 

The color of blood deep passion 
Mixed with brilliant rays of sun 
Dancing on breezy summer zephyrs 
The sultry cantata has begun 

My stems are prickly, strong and stout 
As I hold high my pretty, proud head 
I am the Gaillardia Pulchella 
Passionate firewheel blanket spread 

(This was written after the contest but I liked them so much I decided to write one of my own...but the florist in me could not choose a flower..but I like this one)

Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015

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Verdant Green Sap

Green is more than a color it’s true;
In viridescence there’s the promise 
Of life springing anew,
Or maybe that’s found 
In hues vibrant chartreuse.

Pea is the eyes of a jaundice and spite
It’s a virulent shade
Which foreshadows a fight
That’s driven by envy—
An emotional blight.

And once March is near
Let’s not forget Shamrock--
To the Irish it’s dear
For old countries remembrance,
They even color rivers and beer.

And the list could go with endless zeal
Shades of green with names
Like Moss, Mint and Teal.
Pear, Avocado, and Apple 
Each have their own a-peel.

 JSC 3/23/2015
 "It's Spring--Show Me the Green" Contest by Francine Roberts

Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015

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In An Instant

Eyes meet. 
Nerve endings tingle. 
That spark of something fills the air. 
A connections between two people- instantaneous 
And within moments, the certainty settles 
Like a soft new blanket 
Warm and reassuring 
With no fuzz balls to mar its perfection. 
This is what has been missing. 
The silken throw pillow on the bed of life. 
The one that enhances every other texture and hue. 
It at once soothes the touch and sharpens the vision. 
Perfection and completion in a moment 
When love is found 
And excitement abounds.  

Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015

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The Answer

My God does not sit just upon a thrown;
He lingers in the slums and the trenches of groans,
But He does not require arduous tasks to atone.
He gave us Grace through death on the cross--
The hope that through Christ none have to be lost,
And we are sin-free for the asking.

Look to His favor with good cheer!
You don’t have to confess for the length of a year;
He knows every agony and joy you hold so dear,
For He lingers in the hearts of every man,
Waiting for each to take His hand,
And all sins will be forgiven.

You don’t need evangelist on phone or TV;
Just talk to Him like you talk with me, 
And let Him give you comfort from your misery.
For He’s more than a star in fairy tales;
He helps believers through life’s travails
To see the beauty in this world.

Look around at the world in its broken glory--
You’ll find there are some amazing stories
If you take the time to carefully inventory
Those who have put their struggles in His hands,
For each of them knows and understands
His love and mercy are always with us.

written for Tell Me Contest by Richard Lamoureux

Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015

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I died when first you kissed me;
My soul shook loose on a breath.
My spirit failed as I exhaled
Against the warmth of your lips.

Two arms were there to hold me
As the light began to gleam.
Your body aligned, firm, with mine,
Heaven was within my reach.

I died when first you kissed me;
Passion scorched my soul in flight
You, ever bold, entwined our souls,
Exhaled, and brought me to life.

7/21/2015 jsc

Experimenting with form. Lines 1,2,&,4 each have seven syllables. Line 3 has eight syllablesin six words with the third and sixth word rhymind

Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015

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Watching the Child Parade

Shrub leaves lie curled in the dormant yard;
Trees shiver in their nakedness
As a crisp autumn wind exhales
Into the barren night sky.

On the corner of Walnut and Maple,
The Old Crowder House fights for breath--
Creaking and moaning with age and neglect;
Too decrepit to shelter life beyond a few strays.

There in the cupola she sits
In the long forgotten platform rocker,
Watching the child parade with eager longing
As they wander from house to house.

Will one look up to give her a smile?
Will they even notice her there in her chair
Rocking, as she has done for a lifetime or two
Mourning the loss of her own?

She hears a child's cry echo through the night
And notices a boy clinging to his mother.
Does he see me? Will I finally be released?
Alas, it's just the cats and startled birds.

And so she sits. Waiting and Rocking;
Rocking and Waiting for that magic night,
When the hallow spirits sing and dance
Under a barren sky as the cool winds exhale,

And the marchers of the child parade
Finally, look up and notice the wraith
Longing for a child's smile,
As they pass on their way to the next treat.

October 17, 2004

Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015

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Eve Captured

The following was based on an iconic picture of Mandy Rice-Davies by David Steen. Rice was infamous for being part of the 1963 Profumo  political scandal.

The sun sets and so do inhibitions.
 Rising even as darkness falls, 
Vices murmur in cajoling tone;
Whispering of delights to behold; 
Slinking and sliding like satin 
Off a debutante's back, 
Seemingly innocent, 
As she gazes with baby blue wonder 
Amidst fine white linen. 

Wholly carnal expectations of the night 
Play across lips that won't melt butter, 
but can steam a man's thoughts, 
and wring him dry with a breath. 
Softest pink, slightly curved 
They draw laser sharp focus 
Of fantasies not fully formed. 

The pose of an ingenue 
Awaiting the brush strokes of Goya 
to capture her pearlescence, 
Or, perhaps, the lenses of Nemoy and Steen
(Or is it the lips of a lover?) 
For a touch of immortality-- 
An angel from heaven 
With a touch of the devil. 

She is Temptation 
Teasing with her bountiful fruits; 
Coveting your visions. 
She's every male fancy; 
My passion's dark reality-- 
There's a reason the fall of 
Darkness is called Eve

Here is a link to the picture:

Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015

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Such a lonely, sad word
Sometime there is no recovery
No recourse
Just the inevitable 

We say it so casually
Then turn away
Expecting the other to be
But eventually,  they are simply gone

Final as the death of beginnings
Aspirations killed before realization
Unfriendly glares to smiling hellos
Damned before they start

I find little good in its sentiment
It is the termination of
What was; of what is;
What could be..if only

For there are better ways to part
Expressing good wishes--Love
Expectations of joys to come
Lingering with a heart smile

Hasta la vista--Until I see you
Auf wiedersehen-Until we meet
Arrivederci-See you soon

There are so many other options
So many ways to leave.
Finality arrives on its own.
Such a lonely, sad word--

(So many other languages have beautiful sentiments behind their parting phrases, why do we use one that is so final?)

Copyright © Jaycee Cervenka | Year Posted 2015