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Best Poems Written by Richard Jordan

Below are the all-time best Richard Jordan poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Painting With Words

Painting with Words

If I were an artist instead of a poet
I’d paint what I knew as others would know it.

I’d be a Renoir and never a Klee
I’d paint what I saw as others would see.

If I were a painting instead of a poem
I’d use vivid colors on flowers or crone.

It’s the texture that matters , the curl of the line
Not the meter or syntax or even the rhyme.

I’d paint up a heaven, bright stars in the sky.
My colors would dazzle and make people cry.

I’d paint with abandon but nothing too styled.
I’d paint a dog barking, the cry of a child.

The blush of the morning, awash with the dew,
The eyes of a lover I’d capture for you.

But I’m just a poem, a small little rhyme
So I’ll paint with my words while you paint with your mind.

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Wolf Pine

A magic place, lone tree at forest’s side
A huge wolf pine that stands alone like me
It marked a boundary once where sheep would hide
Beneath green needled branches of that tree

It’s where I always go when things go wrong
I pull the forest’s shadows over me
And watch those shadows dance with silent song
My back pressed up against that old pine tree

The cruel remarks, the shunning that was there
Without a why or reason I could see
While others simply watched without a care
And smiled to see the blush of pain in me

I tell myself I still have all my pride
My journey starts, its only just begun
The woods are mine, the forest deeps abide
I’m on my way, I walk into the sun

An old man now with memories at night
But comfort from the thoughts of that lone pine
The fragments of those times have lost their might
Just shadows now with passing of the time.

Details | Richard Jordan Poem

Seven Birds In Spring

Seven Birds in Spring


Sparrow in late snow
Gathers straw to make her nest
Afraid to be last.

A dash of swallow
Almost faster than the songs
Of Spring returning.

Baby birds chirping
The nest full with mother’s warmth
Life renewed- the same.

Swallows hit the pond
A quick drink or bugs to eat
Do I need to know

Plovers in the sand
Four tiny chicks in the waves
Almost gone from Earth

Fifty calls at least
A mockingbird on a pole
Why so many songs

Every Spring the hawk
Finds the robin’s hidden nest
As I sit and watch.

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Flying

FLYING

Before I ever thought of age
I dreamed of running through the woods
And lifting my feet from the ground and flying.
Only a few inches up, not over trees.
But yard after yard, gliding into Spring
And never falling.

College came, soon in the Fall.
It was the time. I was of age.
Still I would look to the Spring
For trips back to my youth filled woods
And climbing mountains full of trees
I would again dream of flying.

A wife and children, how time flies
Year after year from Springs to Falls.
I taught the kids about the trees
Still young enough and at the age
When mystery still lived in woods
And life was always almost Spring.

We bought a cabin near a spring
I taught the kids to fish with flies
The sun sneaked through soft pine woods 
And lit up everything where it fell.
Oh, those were the days, that was the age
When all we needed for friends were trees.

I gaze out through the glass .High over trees.
Ten stories up  above an outdoor’s Spring.
Jobs are hard in this new age.
But still I dream of flying.
I will retire in the Fall
To mountains and familiar woods.

They are all gone. I’m in the woods
Surrounded by familiar trees.
The cabin sulks in shades of Fall
Afraid there may not be a Spring.
Or dreams of flying
At my age.

The woods will still be there in Spring.
The trees will bloom. The new birds fly.
And someone else will look to Fall and flying through the ages.

Details | Richard Jordan Poem

Entropy

ENTROPHY

Entropy says that matter can't last
As energy holds it together.
But as we go down, fighting the last
I hope that just one little feather
Sticks to the side of whatever's left over
A bale of cotton, a field of clover.
It's not that it matters it's me that it flatters
So long as some semblance weathers.

Details | Richard Jordan Poem

Winter's Storm

Winter’s storm




A muffled silence awakens me

The bright blueness of the room is the first clue

I gaze through frost -etched windows

To learn that the fury of the night storm

Has left delicately balanced ridges of light snow

In forked trees and across wires.

There’s a moment of uplifting

Even with the knowledge 

That day’s sun will undo

What night’s storm created.

Details | Richard Jordan Poem

Widow's Walk

Widow’s Walk


I saw a widow’s walk the other day
Atop a white and green designer home.
Why here amid the trees I couldn’t say
Some miles away from where the seagulls roam.

I thought they were for spying out the sails
Of ships returning from a living sea.
With riches rendered from too many whales,
And those who always see themselves as free.

A highway shouldn’t have the same allure.
For those that choose to leave and travel there.
But standing on the widow’s walk unsure
If those long past had thoughts I now must share.

Did asphalt waves call out the same to her
Who left me standing here to just endure?

Details | Richard Jordan Poem

An Empty Box

An Empty Box


My oldest daughter got her diamond ring.
Brother Bob’s daughters choose next
Each reaching into the box
 choosing some memento.

Grandchildren next. 
I looked away
Telling myself it’s part of the process.

I don’t remember most of those things.
She never wore much jewelry.
Ohio born. Mid Country common sense.

But the costume jewelry
So long in the dresser drawer
Perhaps will be a treasure
For her grandchildren.

The box is nearly empty.
Two things remain that nobody wanted.
A pair of pinking shears
And a tin filled with a thousand buttons.

I’ve had them ever since.

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Sun Speckled Pond

Sun speckled pond, 
Reflecting my old face.
I’ve come again to catch your frogs
The ones that you misplace.

You can’t keep me out
Your ring of mud and reeds.
I’ve worn my faded sneakers
 And rolled pants to my knees.

But first I’ll take a break
And sit here for a while.
It’s been some time since I’ve been back.
I’m tired. No denial.

We were together for so long
You must remember then,
The quiet nights, the fireflies
The summers without end.

Perhaps I’ll leave your frogs alone
And sit here for the night.
And watch the mists arise at dawn
And give the frogs a fright!

Hang in there Pond, for I’ll come back
And help you to remember
And catch your frogs amidst the reeds
And sparkling deep green splendor.

Details | Richard Jordan Poem

The Dead Word Pile

The Dead Word Pile

My fault, sorry, the writing’s on the wall.
Awesome, pretty, don’t matter none at all.
The words just have to join the pile
Where all dead words will go.
Their time is up, it’s over, done
No longer in the flow.

Jiffy, knickers, no silver linings here.
Awesome, very, I’ll cry them in my beer.
Selfie, twerk, will move to take their place.
And words like cool, too long in use,
 Will not keep up the pace.

Perhaps if I could hum them and set them to a beat.
I’d roll down all my windows and blast them to the street.
I’d use them one more time and mix them in a rant
I’d use them all together to give them a new slant.
I’d bounce them off the Dairy Queen, the Laundromat, the Mall
I’d shout them out just one more time 
And try to save them all.

But really now, their time is up
It’s too late for the save.
I give them up, forevermore
And cast them to their grave.

Whoops!
OMG
Another one bites the dust.
Down the drain!
MY BAD.