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Best Poems Written by Mark Morris

Below are the all-time best Mark Morris poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Sit

Barbershop sports brag
Our basic boast is boxing
Mothers just sit there

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Be

A million men marched;
I merely asked for one, though.
God said of it, "Be."

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Locust

An eating machine
Salted nuts and salted fries
No beverage needed

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Truths

As another wench fails to tie tiger’s tail, the bear is let loose again.

Honey was shared, but hearts weren’t paired, so the shark resumes his top fin.

It’s hard to regret Ethiopian whets, and the taste of turmeric sticks too.
Yet all was shut down, when he polished the crown. That fool tried to place it on you. 

Fondness grew.

as the absence increased, and emoticons ceased, what was left were tendencies raw. The tendencies come in various hums, while truths stay locked behind  jaws, and maybe the draws, which were scantily protected from powerhouse paws.

Hey! Let’s give this sharp dame a strong round of applause!

Let’s sing out her praises, as legions once did! Let’s spring for them braids, and let’s get them nails did!

Let’s 

remain sonic, ‘cause her sway is bionic, and nature will always prevail. But prepare thee to cry, because numbers don’t lie, and the scale shows we once again failed.

The tiger’s tail, tied not by the wench, means the bear has been turned loose again.

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Resolve

Yelling from inside someone else’s frame,
my central nervous system sedated,
these brackets of measured feet are inflamed.
My mirrored reflection is berated.
I watch my species swim across for fish.
We all know that the shark teeth lay in wait.
Yet, colors on those fish scales make us wish.
We call it food, but they use it as bait.
I go and tell it on the tall mountain,
thinking of innovative words to say.
It rubs the pork gel lotion on its skin,
then kneels down to the shark,  so it can pray.
I resolve to attempt to save myself,
and feign to behave like everyone else.

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Down

Dressed down, the organic earth-child still narrowly escapes the ravenous lapping of El Oso. Once the brute is felled by the fair, surely the tickled dragon’s snout fumes. The never-satiated beast fumes, and swipes with an eager pink swath, each time the raw gets pranced past his nose.

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Panera

In the bread house, I see, and hear a family of four break bread together. The knee-high son, sits under the mother's armpit, and dad sits across from her. The baby sits in a high chair, seemingly the only one aware that he's the head of the table. He pounds his fist, when the morsels don't come fast enough from his mom's fingers, to his mouth. The knee-high son is so happy, that he sings completely indiscernible lyrics of a song he either learned in daycare, or from some bizarre, unidentifiable species on television. The dad occasionally helps calm the baby down: occasionally. The mom is content. She eats. She consoles. She feeds. She eats. She is their moon; she keeps them on a fixed orbit.

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Like the Gingerbread Man

Had to recover from three days of Kentucky windage
Jerked the protein from an omelette full of old spinach
Rippled titans in my wake, ‘cause they ain’t losin’ 
I’m still losin’, ‘cause my storm’s passed, but I’m still oozin’
My Brother’s thirsty, but I wouldn’t share my water with him
Connect said “no coupons”, so I had to leave my daughter with him
Then I sobered, raised the Taurus, let the slaughter him
Caught him slippin’ at the steak house, gettin’ a porter in him
How many blasts, ‘til infamy
How many boasts, ‘fore real goons run down—get with me
How much belief ‘bout bein’ bulletproof 
Before hollow toads bend the left corner—croak out the truth
Incognito now, cause a n—— shaved his beard off
Po’-Po’ still starin’, so I guess I ain’t shake the weird off
You see, depression is a tomb stone, and you walk with it
Eastern NC, to DC, back to New York with it
I found a new mouthpiece, and it’s wet, so I’ma talk with it
Heater stays racked, so I won’t ever balk with it
Chewy breads, with the cheese creamed in it
Three white crosses peer from across the street

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Dawn

You were suffering.
I was nowhere in sight, then.
At dawn, see the truth.

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Shame

I know his momma.
She aches to know where he is.
I cannot face her.