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Best Poems Written by Robert Fox

Below are the all-time best Robert Fox poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Robert Fox Poem

Bruises, Heart Murmurs and Wine

Let me pretend. There is no evidence in my room.
Let me rewind, and erase all sacred momentums.
Let me sprawl, my hatred and explode.
Thou doesn't want to see, the deep of the vitriol I dare not let out of me.
 
I'll close my face like a template for psychology.
Puzzle that'll take a lifetime and more to console.
 
I do not have the means to escape and provide.
To facilitate the means to grow the seed.
All that was said is left owning its own.
In the dust-bells and dire moors of all that could have been said.
 
Nobody warrants this love.
Nobody calls on just one.
It just echoes its tyrant as a virtue.
And confuses my wicked soul as something that if I were an alien, I'd love.
 
But I am full for the seed.
For the vitriol to make it this way.
And I am a scape of goat.
For the things I'll choose to let go.
But they still sing.
Like a banshee in my hay-day.
And I'll stare at you.
Like a swollen bruise.
 
I could patronize with that everyone already knew.
I could set a fire and turn this bruise into a scare.
I could rectify the coming changes with a steeping stone, and that I choose.
I could set a light to the gasoline that runs through these veins.
 
With you.
Change can scare the holiest of crowns.
On the megatons of the first Atom bomb.
In the threads of my murmurs, in the ark of my aftermath.
 
There will be no stories I.
This what I choose.
Somebody come and kill.
This empty shell of use.
Somebody come a choose.
To let me not dream of bruise.
 
No there will never be another you.

Details | Robert Fox Poem

The Ritual

Oh my darling, a white picket fence,
Oh my darling, a polite cricket wench,
In my face, you can't see, my soul.

Oh, my darling, oh, my darling, my pride has gone.
It's been replaced, it's been replaced by something else and it's not quite the same.

I've seen it all.

And we come to find ourselves in two kinds of denial.
One's in front of the tv and one's a handshake without a smile.
There's no chores to do and every manic is in its right place.
And so I turn to the pitchforks, and I'm not feeling unstable,
And I'm at least smiling even though, I feel sick.

And I turn to her, and I turn to the tv, and there's nothing on,
I feel as though I'm going to split in two.

And if you ask me, how am I today? I will tell you I need to scream stab something away.
There's too many pigs, too many suck ups, too many truffles, too much of it cooking in my brain.

And I let that out, and i know they heard, so I turn to her and I try to fit in and I say, will you be my amphetamine in this horrible land.

My brain's dreams are built on childhood amphetamines, slowly they crumble like teeth 9 to 5 until I'm a grey ash cigarette.

Slowly, they burn like teeth in the sun.
Surely, we can rumble up some new journey, or run?

Feels like my skull is wide open on the town, everywhere I go, I'm wearing a minor key while wearing a smile. And you can turn this frown upside down.

If you're feeling rebellious, it's too late. We have eaten their food, drank the water. Everything is at stake.

Sing me a sigh bullet, sightless and vile for it, sing me a song oncoming blow,
show me where I went wrong... Oh yes, I know, so I behold you.

Can we run away, before we watch the tv and melt.
My amphetamine, I don't want to wait, I'm so scared we will rot in place.

And they turn the Colosseum broadcast on in all their television homes.
And the know where to shop, what to say, who's in trend, safely up on their cigarette thrones.

And they know how long they have left to pitchfork our home.
And you expect me, and I expect me, to ask them , "Hello you, how was your day?" 
Without any psychopathic thought in anyway. 
No one reads, here, no one thinks much more than, 
I think I can go now, no more thoughts.
Everybody, everybody's losing their dreams,
Everybody, everybody's gluing their eyes.

I think I can fit in now,
No more, thoughts.
I think I can take part in the vow.
No more, pain.
The Ritual is beginning to take place.
I can smile, and no need to kill, is growing steadily in my brain.

Details | Robert Fox Poem

This Child

Feral is this child. Feral is the birth, of such an offspring. Fear in-cased in this crushed offspring. Ceremony of the fear. That I bear my vocals here. Read between the lines. And discover this boy in man suit such as I. 

  And I could plead. That I would always remain in peace. And I could read. That perfect poem for peace. To lay a closure to to our lips. 

  But there's no... just in this. No justice in this. Feral goes the child. In a man suit of of ill. Feral but charmed. By his own dream. That the world would grant thee. A stoker to put the fire in I to ease. 

  And I could plead. That I would always remain in peace. And I could read. That perfect poem for peace. To lay a closure to to our lips. 

  I'm not listening I'm drinking wine. And I'm not doing fine. Feral mind.   Fear of trust in ruin. Well the experience will repeat. Sad to say in the least. That my heart is on my sleeve. And I want to deny this. 

  And I could plead. That I would always remain in peace. And I could read. That perfect poem for peace. To lay a closure to to our lips. Burn these lips, with a nicotine kiss, Burn these lips, with a nuptial kiss. 

I am the Saint of Hades. And I’ve spent too much time hating

Details | Robert Fox Poem

Darling Part 1 and 2

Terminate the wrist. The vile will fill in due time. As a cell to a lip, a cup to the mouth. As the water falls, does the spirit in me. Terrorism is imagination. Terrorism is the memory of a facile elation. As the razor to the chin, groom yourself a chap. As the scent of her lingers, bury it in your snuff. 

  Turn the camera on. And turn the tiles red. By the time morning comes. A spirit is free, and this body is at rest. A fist to my temple, is not enough, to teach me about loss. A wrench to my strongest instinct, is not enough, to teach me trust. Turn the gears of this ship of a body, to full, it is full of rust. 

  Keep your mouth shut, in the ears of lovers. If you thought there was ever a chance, that this boy would ode. Ode to it Owe to it. Owned by it. Totalitarian cry for help, on a digital mainframe. Fall on the ear of the deaf. Every tile is exactly the same. But the red in my brain. 

  Bleed. And watch it breed. A new devil in the darkest of yet to come, of me. 

Darling (Part 2)

 The eyes part, the sun has given me another day. My lips are dirty of the wine I drank over years toward this haze. Darling Dark, cry for help. Doesn't this feel like the loss of a reptile brain? Darling dark, cry for help. In vain. 

  Nonetheless. The day is controlled by me I don't have a car, I have scars, and a piano with a pair of teethe. I bear them at the great  empty on the ceiling fan. It's sharp clatter, won't send me back to a permanent slumber. 

  Darling Dark, of this plead. Schizophrenia is my wildest heed, Sure sure, and then some. . 

  I'll never take heed. I don't have the balls. I've got too much respect. To end thee. 

  So send a hitman, who kills strangers. I'll give him my piano, and the nails off of my fingers climbing up the walls. Toward that empty, I swore I saw once had a substance like cocaine. It numbs only one thing. Nothing, in me. 

  Honey to the sticky, of the slumber slobber release. That to beat it at a scarecrow memory. I will end something, call the police.

Details | Robert Fox Poem

Stream of Subconscious

Life can pull you down. Pull you into a thousand slow burning pieces.

Then the very things that fell apart slowly flow toward anarchy.

To lament in the sea of chaos is to be down and out swallowed by a bruise.

But one can always choose.

New inspirations can make one see each puzzle piece of the things that fell apart are seeds of forward momentum.

Every hurt, leaves a cut, a scar.

There is always a flip side to this negative which rests in virtuous blessed marks.

Marks in the road that lead you to where you are, in-between the thick of a coveted heart.

Moving forward into the abyss, with a little candle is better, than all the volcano scars of all our troubled pasts.

Details | Robert Fox Poem

Smile and Keep Nodding

My friends rattle the noises in my head. Keep my brain on when I should be asleep or dead.   My friends are the panic in the air, always there when there's no despair. My friends dig up the regrets, bring and unload the worst feelings in my once stable bed. 

I simply smile and nod my head. 

Fear is my constant friend. Dwelling on the vessels that I won't put to rest. I fill them with ideas on reality. Send them out like fertile seeds. Paranoia is my friend. It comes around often to play with my head. 

Seeding the bad thoughts, tumbling down. The years of insomnia tore this boy down. Shivering in the sheets of lucid reality. Cracked vessel of a once ambitious being. Clawing to the surface in a painful sea. Living in my body with the enemy. I''m living in a body on knifes as far as I can see. Getting better is cutting at me.
 
  Gotta keep the stop signs coming up. For every time my mind isn't distracted. Gotta keep throwing away old friends. Every thought I chase in a maze. Never sure if I’ve gone completely insane. 

  Fear is my friend. I shook its hand and it wont leave. It sits and stares from the corners of my lips. About to cry or scream. Overwhelmed by my own enemy. 
I simply smile and nod my head. 
Living on an icy sea.
Getting better is cutting at me.

Details | Robert Fox Poem

Contort Bruise of Cloud

A fear contorts the boot in my mouth. Of the lucid reality that might come true.   Lucid in dreams of medicated trespassing into the realms of the dire fever. I do it every day. Shivers of ice heat, I loop around in my own deep. Head in the clouds, where I thought I had a crown. I know I must come down. The hole I've dug with all I've undone is crumbling above. I still have my spade, but is it a blade or a way out? Cancel my mind, it's wrapped in jealous vile, cry for the words to say. I need to communicate what I fear. I am what I fear. When closest to my memories, to my ethos. I need to be true. Not hold onto each past bruise.