Home » Poems » Best » Jennifer Christie Temple » Best Jennifer Christie Temple Poems

Best Poems Written by Jennifer Christie Temple

Below are the all-time best Jennifer Christie Temple poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Jennifer Christie Temple Poem

Incompetent's Guide To Gift-Giving

I was in a bookshop the other week 
(I’m a bit of a second-hand bookshop freak.)
In the crafts and hobbies section I spied
an interesting Home-Made Presents Guide.
Now, I’m not tight-fisted but where’s the sense
in spending pounds if you can make for pence.

So I made the purchase and hurried home,
clutching my money-saving tome.
I searched through the pages, with fevered haste,
for presents to make from old scraps and paste.
The stuff looked archaic and it was then
I saw it was published in nineteen ten.

Undaunted, because I had spent a quid,
I searched it for gifts for both spouse and kid.
Felt hats and a satin smoking jacket
just didn’t seem cool enough to hack it,
nor the money box made from an old tin can
or the brightly-painted paper fan.

I gazed with despair at the crochet shawl,
was there nothing here worth having at all?
I searched on with rising agitation
 and rapidly waning expectation.
It was then I saw it, so smart and flash;
an elegant wallet for holding cash.

This, I decided, would do just fine
for that handsome, well-dressed man of mine.
It was fashioned from fabric-covered card,
I doubted the making would be that hard.
I could use my old bits and pieces tin
that I hoarded the scraps and oddments in.

I worked hard on the thing throughout the day,
used fine silk remnants of silver grey.
I embroidered it with his monogram;
a worthy gift for any man!
I tucked a ten pound note inside,
then sat and gazed at it with pride.

The minute my hubby got home that day,
I gave him his present without delay.
‘What’s this then?’ he asked with a puzzled grin
that widened at sight of the cash within.
‘Just a gift,’ I said, ‘because you are you.’
‘Why, thanks,’ he replied, ‘and I love you too.’

He pulled out the tenner, then, with a smile,
he looked at the wallet for quite a while.
‘This envelope’s pretty,’ I heard him say,
‘it seems such a shame to throw it away.’
He handed it back to me with a grin,
‘Why not put it in your bits and bobs tin?’

Details | Jennifer Christie Temple Poem

The Rainbow of Truth

The Rainbow of Truth, of which we are part,
burst  from invisible Unity’s heart.
We whirl into Life as visible light,
then drop back through Death into blended night.

Dazzled by life and existence, we’re blind
to all that we are and what lies behind.
We dance to the tune of the background hum,
not knowing the tune’s by Eternity spun.

We, as the dancers, are flashes of light
in the rainbow come from Unity’s night.
Like crescents of foam on an ocean face,
We rise up and then return to our place.

Details | Jennifer Christie Temple Poem

Young Love

Young love, so delicate, so fine, entwines and binds
with twists of mist that curl like twine
around a girl and boy.
Ensnare and tear at thought and mind,
until the only thought is feel,
the only moment, now.

Middle years try to forget, deny,
but yet it’s there, pushed back in mind,
and not for newer loves to find.
While life is full and partners pull
the mind and heart to present day,
the first love hides away.

Young love devours the dreaming hours
of old men as they wait to die 
in ivory towers of lonely rooms.
Dependent on their inner eye, 
they sip and slip, with sweet regret,
To thoughts of lips that linger yet.

Soft memories dance, entrance and pull
to thoughts of sweet young bosoms full
of life and love and clinging need
for chance to shed the urgent greed
of bodies sighing to contain
hot feelings playing life’s refrain.

The old man, with his outward calm
and even breath and dust-dry palms,
belies the storm of lusty thought
that holds him caught, like headlights bright
can trap a rabbit in the night.

And who would grudge this sad delight?

Details | Jennifer Christie Temple Poem

How Does the Moon Revolve

he reminded me of a tree
feet rooted in the soil
his gaze surveying distant hills
that strained towards the sky

she lived inside the house
inside her head
travelled instead in a chariot
made from dreams

sometimes he brought her gifts 
a bundle of beans
a strawberry on a plate
she would wait alone in her head 
as she gazed at the dead summer fire

at times like this she could pull herself
back to the front
confront his world
eat his offerings knowing that
his mind was on lower things

trapped in the vortex of their worlds
a mutual gravitational pull
each proving gravity wins every time
over give and take

after the funeral 
she dragged her chair 
into the garden with the weeds
sitting alone and sipping her tea 
crosswords abandoned on her knee
 
she hasn’t much to say these days
her eyes gaze outwards now and yet
i notice that her chair is set 
back towards the house

the question is
how does the moon revolve
after the world is gone

Details | Jennifer Christie Temple Poem

Looking For Answers

Do you worry about direction
or purpose? 
Always stressing over selection
or choice?
And then electing, upon reflection,
to dodge the issue
and hope it will be shown?
It won’t!

Or do you go in for dissection
of problems?
Using logic for connections
and sense?
Just trusting the imperfections,
crowded in your head,
will all come clear?
Well, don’t!

Intuition and logic’s perceptions
work fine, 
for probing unknowable questions
unknown.
But solving insoluble connections?
The clue is in the name.
The search
is the aim.

Details | Jennifer Christie Temple Poem

Five Lines

Five Lines…

Here lies
Your name
Two lines of dates
to tell your birth and death,
and then a simple ‘rest in peace’
Is there no more to be said?

I've heard you laugh
and seen you cry.
In sunlit glade
I've touched your lips
with mine and heard you sigh.
I've shared your whispers
through the night
until the light of day.
I've felt you trembling heart
by mine, beneath the open sky.

Five lines!
Is that the sum of all your life?
As though you never felt the sun
or strived and struggled to be free!
As though you never thought or dreamed,
or loved a girl like me.

Details | Jennifer Christie Temple Poem

Siblings

the house was built without cement
the garden without soil to grow in
throw in the towel  the family creed
and greed a concept out of reach.

survive or thrive
death counts no difference
claims them one by one

time marks the path of graft and hope
with no account of gain or loss
tossed into life a relative thing
and left to fight as they will.