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Best Poems Written by Edlynn Nau

Below are the all-time best Edlynn Nau poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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MAY SHE COMES

MAY SHE COMES


May she comes, quite boisterous, and so loud.
She melts the frost to orbs of liquid dew. 
From dark of moon returned to full and proud,
and waxes bees and moon in breath she drew.
Centaurus follows May with eyes of night, 
while pressing Crux and Virgo into play.
She'll gather breeze and scent within her flight, 
and tuck their luscious song in her bouquet. 
May comes wooing with her amorous hook, 
and kisses deep and laughs at each and all.
In lustful flirt she holds us with one look,
and we're in love with May until the Fall.
May she comes, dressed emerald in French lace, 
Sultry, yet always innocent and chaste.

By Edlynn Nau 
© May 1, 2016

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2016



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DEAD AT HOME

DEAD AT HOME -For Veteran's Day 

It's a gray day, in the café, 
by the side of the road.
There's an old man, took a firm stand, 
trying to loosen the load.

It is struck luck, with his last buck, 
but he pays for his soup.
He has no wife, all of his life, 
he is out of the loop.

He will bum thumb, in a ride from, 
here to his cardboard box.
There's a sleeping roll, a piece of coal, 
and a pillow made of rocks.

Allegory. 
No glory. 
A mad sad told cold story. 
Alliteration, of an allegation, on how he kills for glory.  
Then the lie dies, in GI's, when our soldier kills a man. 
All told, he is not bold, but this tale is secondhand.

He preaches whale's tales, of army mad males, 
as he calls for his god. 
Then he dreams schemes, of the war machines, 
and ghosts that run him odd.

Then he weeps sleeps, and a secret keeps, 
and he hates the morning light.  
He has lost his place, in the human race, 
and he always will take flight.

He will dine fine, on the red wine, 
which he drinks from a paper cup. 
He will watch stars, and count his scars, 
but his heart has given up!

Allegory. 
No glory. 
A mad sad told cold story. 
Alliteration, of an allegation, on how he kills for glory.  
Then the lie dies, in GI's, when our soldier kills a man. 
All told, he is not bold, but this tale is secondhand.

-Edlynn Nau

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2015

Details | Edlynn Nau Poem

TIME MACHINE

TIME MACHINE

We always try to build a TARDIS,
in thinking we would look the smartest.
But then, who's time would we travel in, 
with a choice for dimensional spin.

A fragrance can take us back in time, 
or a perfect shade, or taste of lime. 
Our famed music is a time machine, 
in compositions from Bach to Queen.

We recognize how to bring time to a halt,  
by following our bliss in things we exalt. 
New experiences will let us foresee, 
advancing in time with our visions to be.

The Hubble is a magical eye on time, 
to take the photographs of our one verse rhyme.
A brief look backwards beginning now to then,
or from nothing to something and back again. 

Our future is such addictive dope,
we read in tea leaves or horoscope. 
We expect we are aware with ESP, 
and predict in life what's meant to be. 

We're back in time with old photographs,
that mark pasts, in graphic epitaphs.
A sound will transport us to a place, 
with one vibration we've moved in space. 

We future trek with our imaginations,  
because we see forward with our creations. 
In our minds eye, we consider and admire,
with envisioned futures of our hearts desire. 

By TARDIS, DeLorean, or a Quantum Leap, 
Tesseract, CERN, and our Visions in sleep.
Through a Wormhole or the traces of a déjà vu,
the past and the future, are present with you.

By Edlynn Nau 
©June 23, 2016

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2016

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FALL INTO WINTER

FALL INTO WINTER

The ducks lace the water's edge,
like ruffles on a skirt. 
Back-lit leaves in sunset, red and purple, 
fall cold upon the dirt.

The air so soft, that kisses gently, 
against our summer skin.
Tawny heads and knowing eyes, 
that autumn's settled in.

The jack-o'-lanterns' abandoned lights, 
with contorted, spoiled faces.
They set our closing spirits up, 
to tuck us in our places.

The smoke now swirls from chimney tops, 
as early is the eve.
The orange and yellow candles dance, 
as summer takes her leave.

Upon the hilly golden knoll, 
an old barn creaks and sways.
Though paint and nails have fixed it's wounds, 
it's seen some better days.

At night the feathered frost appears, 
and lies upon our stoop.
The stars conspire, in comet ice,  
in tails that loop-de-loop.

As we sleep like kings and queens, 
inside our downy beds, 
The autumn's crisp night, nudging brings, 
a single silver thread.


By Edlynn Nau

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2015

Details | Edlynn Nau Poem

ARCTURUS TREASURE

ARCTURUS TREASURE 

Just standing in the handle of the dipper.
Drinking stars from inside her silver slipper.
The cup is buoyed up in ancient liquid light.
And Ursula tags a string upon her kindly kite.

Arcturus has flung the dipper far and high.
It rides the flow and surfs the starry sky. 
The giant orange that spies the buxom bear. 
Our secrets safe and kept as treasure there. 

Upright to Milky Way it rips the canopy to scars.
And quickly moves against a slice of slippery stars.
Red glint that is polar to the stoic starry stream.
A visitor that flies within a deft diminutive dream.

Then in a blink or in a million years from now. 
The red rust will break from our starry burnished bough. 
A star no longer seen to ride a season by Ursula's urge.
Nor extend its dipper's handle in a splendid splurge. 

A giant red that wore the bootes of heardsman all it's life. 
And followed close to make the North Star a wondrous wife. 
No Icarus to fly and melt in drawing hot while narrowing near
It's but a dying star yet keeps melodic magic sung in echoes ear. 

by Edlynn Nau 

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2015



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THE GLASS EYE

The Glass Eye

My window is an eye on the morning stretch. 
Raspy green grasses tangle up in the vetch.
A mama quail runs down the soft red clay path.
Her fat round babies edged to the drain for a bath. 

I see the hill slope up in poppy and craggy oak.
One lone gray cloud trails on cobalt blue, like smoke.
The sounds of a barn owl are near but it hides,
And only my window can find where it resides.

Then finally, the children dance by on to school.
The window knows innocence here in the rural.  
A giggle, a shout, dropping books as they race,
The bus winks lights, on the knoll, in its place. 

My window blinks back with it's stare of the hill;
Its shimmer reflects our morning time drill.
The eyelash curtains brush back with the breeze,
I turn to my paper, and coffee, and do as I please.

By Edlynn Nau
©  April 20, 2016

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2016

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PARTY VINE

PARTY VINE

The Sweet Pea is a social climber,
behind your back, a wisenheimer.
In the night it wields its powers,
Sweet Peas strangle other flowers.

Sweet Peas think the rainbow's somber,
they use the Fall to upstage umber.
They twirl tulle skits in every tint,
cheat the rose and pungent mint.

The splendid buoyant burgeoning pod,
is full of seeds it dumps with a nod.
Sweet Peas are fervent fertile bunnies,
they tease the bees with shameless honeys. 

This pea legume will make one drunk, 
it throws loud parties from its bunk.
In sweet perfume and showy dress,
it's backwards with oblige noblesse.

Sweet Peas smell like Orange Crush tastes,
It weaves green tendrils like Irish lace. 
When breezes blow so soft and heady,
they throw their blossoms like confetti. 



By Edlynn Nau 
November 8, 2015

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2015

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CENSORSHIP


CENSORSHIP

There is a language I spoke and I knew.  
It fluently told it's stories in dance.  
Graceful chaînes that turned our spirits out 
and razor sissones to cut with candor.  
There is a light song I willingly played.  
My fingers glissade, ran, courir, en croix, 
rapidly crossing the tired yellow keys.  
There is a bleached canvas white with nothing!  
The brush has eyes.  It's clever at seeing, 
tout va bien, and always without me.   
It tells me what is beneath the linen,  
a textured story in shape and color. 
There are no jagged edges in assemblé. 
The poetry, un mot, could keep the time 
on paper. It knew dimensions, of four, 
in every breath.  It saw the frozen rose.  
It sprinkled stories of death or exploded 
in dimples of joy.  It holds my hand and tells on me.  
A firefly in bourrée is silenced from the play.

By Edlynn Nau
October 8, 2016

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2016

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BEAUTY BLIND in ZEUS's EYES

BEAUTY BLIND in ZEUS'S EYES

Born in dark with glints of light
the baby owlet flies.
Clots of stars within the skies
and clots in owlets eyes. 

Darkest night and darker days, 
he soars to search for prey.
Seeing not, the hunger grows 
and no light shows the way.

Need for shelter, thirst for drink, 
and wanting his own nest.
Nothing safe in all the world, 
and not a place to rest.

Flying on but weak from trying, 
not knowing how eyes work.
All the thoughts within his head 
are where the shadows lurk.

Then it rained, no shelter gained, 
nor food, nor water yet. 
He strikes upon a closed in porch 
and thinks he's lost the bet.

Falling hard, he hits his head 
and waits for all that's dead.
Someone comes and lifts him up 
and gives him food and bed.

No light but still, deep inside, 
a hope is whispered there.
A touch so soft, and hunger gone, 
no thirst, nor cold despair.

His life enclosed inside a trunk, 
provided for his care.
His days are spent in lots of play, 
in starry starry stare.

Beauty blinded by a chance 
and only feels and hears. 
If only backwards, time could be, 
to undo all his fears. 

Blind beauty he, to everything,
yet his eyes show us far.
That deep in clots and clusters, 
there awaits the nearest star.

Owl blind by birth and circumstance, 
has seen much more than we. 
Eyes renewed for bird and man, 
now that would be the key.

~Edlynn Nau~

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2015

Details | Edlynn Nau Poem

MISDEMEANOR

MISDEMEANOR 

A soft lisp runs through blonde summer grasses,
shoving at kites or the hems of long skirts.
Umbrellas and hats stir as it passes, 
jumbling at picnics, it teases and flirts.  
It picks up speed while playing with Marty, 
and takes his land legs as he tries to walk.   
The unseen source can raid a yacht party, 
by strewing boats that are moored to the dock.
Laughing in whispers or screaming in storms,
a mythical being, felt but not seen.
Its guests are blind to the brail it performs,
it can be gentle, or just as well, mean.
Wickedly hurling a house in the air,
or docile enough to tousle our hair.

-Edlynn Nau 
© May 21, 2018

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2018

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