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Best Poems Written by Charles Bernabi

Below are the all-time best Charles Bernabi poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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I Wrote a Song Last Night

I wrote a song last night,
Oh yes I did,
The bittersweet words came to me 
As fast as a locomotive train...

About a girl from the wrong side of town,
Shooting up smack to calm her down,
She was unbelievable how she stared the devil in the eye,
I couldn't leave her side it was clear as day.

Now I know you must be thinking
I fell into a clichéd jam,
But the story you've not heard before
Quite like this.

She was a whore hooked 
On that funny stuff,
And the slag couldn't get enough of,
Even was up the duff.

So I wrote a song last night,
Oh yes I did,
Played it on the grand piano it sounded like a hit,
I couldn't talk too much about it before...

About a girl who'd fallen hard,
Her daddy had abused her,
Hell yeah! He raped her every night I heard,
She'd better keep her cursed mouth shut.

She'd best know the rules of the game,
Or else her daddy would beat her,
Black and blue he'd bruise his little shame,
If only I'd known how things were.

So I met a beautiful girl one late night
There on a lonely street she stood,
Her cloths were tattered, I asked if she was alright,
But I could see she wasn't feeling good.
 
This song is about her as true as can be,
It's clear as that night I found her,
Everything she told me broke me up inside I couldn't foresee,
She was running from her past as it were.
 
Maybe I could've rescued her I don't know,
But I met her after she ran away,
So here's my song about a girl hooked on slow,
That white powder, which had her betrayed!

This is the song I wrote
Let me sing it to you all day long,
It's a sad one every note,
'Cause she's dead it's so wrong.

But all is not lost for her eerie ghost it rides,
Uptown she haunts the men of sleaze,
If you wanna escape her destructive wrath you better 
Not be one of them who propagate disease.

At this point I think I've said enough,
There's just no use in going on,
You know she was rebuffed, and up the duff,
That whore knew she'd be frowned upon.

Details | Charles Bernabi Poem

The Deliverance

O'er fields strewn with harvested evergreens,
There ventured a marine from Queens,
His flesh were a slight inky, his clothing was ragged,
No more alive, flowing in dread and haggard.
 
All around him darkness loomed quite blue,
Once a fair surround, radiant and imbue,
In the light he walked there, shadowed by fear,
But tragic winds did jinx his heart severe.
 
Then wondering thro' rain and stormy clouds,
Opaque in brittle hues, ghostly in shrouds,
With white shades of bubbling horror his evermore,
A mere ripple in earth's waters he'd deplore.
 
Onwards thro' the crushing storm he trekked,
The landscape ahead was defiantly suspect,
Its dour horizon presented a challenge to survey,
Where the sounds of thunder it rapt his day.
 
In raucous rumbles the marine heard the sky,
As frightening, with spawns of black fly,
Memorialized in his sleep, to haunt him evermore,
Then have brews of mystique he'd explore.
 
And a bejewelled goose would decorate his path,
There draped in quaint linen it felt his wrath,
Murmuring quietly the water bird flew into the light,
As bright as the sun, in some alluring plight.
 
To dream of despair, tenebrous in its imagery, 
Hypnotic, muttering of death and infinity,
There with the wink of an eye he let the sunshine in,
His mother then smiled at her miracle kin.
 
She'd been there all along thro' his tribulation, 
That struggle of low bumps and amputation,
Rosemary oil bid him comfort there as he woke,
From a coma it were, but horrors did evoke.
 
Down the pallid rush of melancholy misfortune,
A marine was reunited with life all impromptu,
His will to live it were strong after what he'd seen,
So two bungalows he obtained from a queen.

Details | Charles Bernabi Poem

The Gray Man

Through the jungles of sick suburbia 
He lustfully stalked his prey.
She was only young, a child of just ten
That he took and brutally feasted on.
Savage desires within compelled him
To befriend the pretty Grace;
She so died by his hand, cannibalistic
Urges he boasted were his thrill.

Details | Charles Bernabi Poem

Emily's Elegy

Some master he was grand,
That made flirtations be.
If were she thereof in demand
And adapt into his arms free.

But it was a bother to bore,
Staying private 'twas best.
Wherefore she locked herself indoors
To block out her aggress.

Indoors she would remain,
Forgotten by society.
If aught there one arraign
She'd undergo anxiety.

That woman none did ever see,
In the small town indeed!
She was in Amherst a recluse   
The dwellers did concede.

Yet still she had visits,
With one Judge Lord 'twas physical —
If were he implicit
Before his time most critical!

Her life must've been quite doleful,
Upon a daily chore —
Writing poems tho' kept her hopeful
That the folk would adore.

An eccentric, to linger so,
Teasing darkness inside.
Such a woman wore white we know
And from the world she'd hide.

Her behaviour 'twas worst,
When overly she'd agitate.
'twere a notable lady versed,
In an infamous sate —

And despite, if health grant,
Society had a spot dry.
There one would so enchant
If a call to Boston applied.

But her will 'twas elsewhere,
That made O master come to her.
Ah, perhaps he'll go there
And have his day like he prefer.

Tho' her manner it drained,
Bearing despair through a keyhole!
Deathly themes had her pained
For odd reasons thought to control!

In versed writings she mused,
Creating gospel wit and hue.      
Until a nervous illness bruised
Her life all the way through —

Now left in deaths fain care,
'Tis nay a tragic melody.
Who misery sought, and was there
Cast into the wild sea.

Details | Charles Bernabi Poem

The Slime Rises

Here in the brook a frightful sight I saw,
A frightful sight for sure!
Lo and behold! What an eerie beast of awe,
And knew I then 'tis most obscure.
 
How this tale would unfold I tell it true,
Of villains, of echo's in the night!
It is this and more, as distinct I'd most construe,
Whereof vultures were quite forthright.
 
And below, at my feet I saw terror,
A crawling freak of nature was it.
Yes, it is this and more, just no unjustly error,
But some slime 'twas there I submit.
 
O I couldn't ignore, I was extremely mad,
Up my leg it went slowly that vile beast.
'Tis a creature unlike any I'd thought most bad,
Likely I was dead, or plain dreaming at least.
 
The merest, I was in pain, and in fear,
Now upon my torso it creeped!
Scream out I wanted to ever so clear,
But there only despair had seeped.
 
That and the blood of woe bled tragically,
While once upon my chest it dug in.
Tearing into my flesh it did quite drastically,
Wherefore I felt my heart bleed within.
 
The horror of the slime was a nightmare,
Such creature above all I deplored.
Clasped I its slimy matter, and I grasped it fair,
For I'm old, yet the risk I most explored.
 
I acceded I must engage this fright nigh,
That others may rest in some peace.
And I'll lift the grave weight to most decry,
Hear me now, the slime I will release.
 
The story so is told, as fated to weep,
Of a creature bewailed and hated.
It is this and more, as till it remains a horrid creep,
In my hour of dire quiver, it was ne'er awaited.
 
Whence they wrought much havoc upon me,
Still this agrise I diced with fairly bent.
And 'twas fraught there something to try flee,
The villains within the slime were intent.
 
They'd come a rapping at my torn heart,
From within the slime they poured out.
Rapping and muttering nonsense I could't impart,
But it soon dawned on me beyond doubt.
 
I was dead, that I surely was and nothing more,
Tho' how, I knew not, yet 'tis quite true!
All the echoes were of ghastly demons that tore,
Bleeding merely a grim death to push thro'.

Details | Charles Bernabi Poem

A Lesson In Writing

So you want to be a stellar writer,
With excellent lexicon skills to boot,
And Latinate action words in meter,
Or nonsense jargon towardly acute.
 
Well, don't be an unkempt fool shy of zest,
Inspire that beast within you certainly,
That giant of creative thoughts in your quest,
Which deep inside you hanker for surely.
 
The charade of vocabularies thus...
That may morph into something beautiful,
Or have vulgar verses to induce fuss,
And you'd implode if you can't be truthful.
 
In the swelter of your dangling rage,
Don't oscillate around the edge of fear,
Instead have patience to truly engage,
Viewing a realm of darkness to cohere.
 
And jolly is the fellow, who writes well,
With poetic license to be amazing,
Feeding a warped sense to a hillside swell,
On towards the thistle bush that will sting!
 
Where imagination is presented,  
And you yearn for a symbolic bestow,
With practiced delivery intended,
Painting the picture of a scenic flow.
 
But to get the poetic juices flowing,
To have flattery given where bonded,
And be united in a surged telling,
Of stories; borrowing from its jaded.
 
Then untying the knot of hindrance,
Bringing creative writing from its bound,
Whereof you'd shine in poetic brilliance,
And glitter bright, and admirers astound.

Details | Charles Bernabi Poem

Colour of Life

We give to life what it deserves,
Or less if we're nerved;
The despair of living, and with sunburnt toils,
Enticing weary hearts to bleed so.

And nights in heated bloom,
Or disturbing looms;
That which stains the sheets of slumber,
Dreaming of more tender moments.

Where death torments, set us free,
For it is there we shall be moved,
And indicate the wisdom of being prosperous,
Cracking the whip as burning thoughts sway.

Old swells, young swells,
It's the colour of life,
From everything beautiful to everything sad,
But we're entrusted to keeping faith.

The youth of tomorrow needs the love,
Or despaired minds will falter,
Seeking there a suicide train to the edge of heaven,
Will they see in time, the tragic trace of despair?

We are all surely prone,
As tranquil as rain,
For it can calm the nerves, or raze ones life,
Through floods and cyclones it is known.

So life is fraught with fragility,
Yet we give it all our hope,
To run free, to fly towards a flourishing zeal,
With inconvenience pushed to the rear.

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Radical Guidance

Arrogant are the children of despair,
Battling demons that threaten to betray,
Caustically they bedevil the ensnared,
Damaging thus their reputations frayed.

Either they rise or die in that prison,
For none may escape its hostilities,
Given they'd welcome change to partition,
Hardly a thought regarding them bullies.

Indeed I say, hells incursion is harsh,
Justly they will see the bode of foresight,
Knowing fully they'd fall into a marsh,
Labouring thus to climb out of its spite.

Monstrous you feel in the name of rage,
Nightly wanting to ravage the goofballs,
Occasionally if that could be you'd page,
Proposing so some resolve to their falls.

Quenching too a grisly desire for blood,
Radical it might be but you're the key,
Salvation therefore will come like a flood,
Taking the despaired into a new spree.

Under your guidance they will be brutal,
Validating thus their life and ideals,
Wasted not, or wayside from the truthful,
X-rays will discover their lies concealed.

Your assail on them should be purposive,
Zestful too as they seek reasons to live.

Details | Charles Bernabi Poem

Rising Above Penury

Thy bread thee eat in mine presence,
Yet offer none that I may feed,
O pauper, as I, thine heart benefits none,
Thou hast been bitter towards me.
 
Dost not thence hold penance within,
That I giveth to thee poor rehearse,
And care naught of thy thunderous dread,
For I totter forth thro' mine sway.
 
Hear me! O gracious one; hear me,
I am dying, of hunger true,
From earth I wouldst be gone if thy worth is lost,
Unto heavens glory I beg...
 
I implore thee throw voice to front,
To mien of burning sunken eyes,
With poorest heart and intense despair,
O'er which treacherous strains are felt.
 
Thy light I sought in hearts deplore,
Whence thee dwelt on evil affairs,
But what yields there in this hideous madness?
Hear me! O gracious one; hear me.
 
Whereof the dreaming wilt be gone,
Thy mind thus shalt be indigent,
And abandoned of its guardian spirit,
Mere pauper as I then must rise.
 
Ceasing mine despair where I can,
A promise none should deny me,
For highest pride the road forth is paved,
Whither thy star voice shalt be heard.

Details | Charles Bernabi Poem

The War Demons Exposed

My father marched gung-ho towards anarchy,
Many friends by his side fell before the end,
They died brave in the face of danger and sin,
Their memories erased buried in mud blend.
 
The men went to their deaths leaving hell behind,
For the battle forged on brutally through cold,
And bitter winds, which bore down on them assigned,
From whence my father was delivered quite bold.
 
Thus he survived the futile carnage of war,
All the same the experience left him ill,
Having been subjected to hell's thoughtless whore,
Serving one master, with flashes of free will.
 
She wrought on the unstoppable panzer rage,
And crushed weary battalions in her path,
Where orders from Berlin were to foe engage,
Hence they fell parallel into mire and wrath.
 
While, for terror they gave in to cruel madness,
Raping corpses where they lay in utter waste,
Spurred on by the pledged horror of their obsess,
Arched in tragic throes without bridges of haste.
 
Wisely thence my father sought to flee the doom,
As every sin was committed to stay sound,
Tho' for many it was through and through in gloom,
And there they were, rotting in the mushy ground.
 
Death had arrogated them quite suddenly,
Without warning, and brutally sacrificed,
They therefore left this world to dogs tragically,
Where its thus manifested rage so advanced.
 
My father was there, crying for some true faith,
Did he find it? None knows for sure his resolve,
But for the fact the past haunted him its wraith,
Turning the cursed war he fought into his helve.
 
And his children suffered as he relived hell,
With many cruel whippings unleashed onto them,
I tell this story 'cause war cannot be swell,
It is so maligned, that which all must condemn.