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Best Poems Written by Christopher Magill

Below are the all-time best Christopher Magill poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Christopher Magill Poem

Jailbirds

here
are those
whose bones inhabit clothes
and muscles feed on flesh
except for mine —

here in concrete and florescent light
between closing walls and slamming locks
where the doors bear names
and all things soft and sensuous
are excluded
and nourishment so circumscribed
it’s turned to medicine
and even sleep is rationed
and even the sun shines just
one hour per day

men here
some with hearts of porphyry
but more with hearts all made of bruises
and men whose hearts beat scherzo time
to mock the waltzing world
men more varied
than all the work-day men
who stumbled into power’s ken
and there must bide
sharing time to kill their numbers
where solo time is hard —

here
in jail
serving to remind the rest
that freedom’s theirs who use it less

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Heart

I had a heart, 
that now has gone from me
Into a world,
and across a sea.

A newborn heart,
who slept upon my breast
As unpracticed breath
pulsed his tiny chest

I had a heart which,
too briefly I called mine
And now am left heart-begging:
Please, Mnemosyne!

I had a father’s heart,
that filled to see him so
And stopped, and burst, and died
to see him go.

Details | Christopher Magill Poem

On Kissing

I remember the first time.
Not knowing how it was done,
The heart-racing, dry-mouthed
Anticipation.

And I remember before that.
When young people gave advice
And demonstrated with a pillow
or a doorknob.

But it isn’t done in those
doorknob ways, young friend.

Listen to wisdom:

Kissing is just people
bumping mouths.

There are numberless ways
to do it, and they’re all
(except, perhaps, the occasional
tooth-bashing-oh-so-sorry ones)
a pure delight.

Slurpuly bumpulies,
open-mouthed snogs,
butterfly brushes,
lip-hickeys,
peckorinos.

You can suck her tongue.
Or she can suck yours.
Or you can work together,
to invent the Simultaneous
Tongue-Sucking Method.

If you want, you can place
your mouth over her nose,
and blow air out through
her mouth.

Chances are, after kissing
long enough, you’ll try it.
She will not like it.
At all.

So for now, stick to the
basics, and don’t worry about
doing it wrong.

It’s like sex.
Even grown-ups forget that sex
is just people bumping bodies.

There aren’t any rules.

Details | Christopher Magill Poem

What She Said

first the sun rose,
bustin up the cuddle coma.
she rose.  I rose.
heads a-stuffed with snuggle soma.
on a quiet tuesday morning treetops rose,
golden into the sun.
and she told a story
about a rose.
that rose you felt
she said: yesterday,
when you felt that rose,
fingers parting petals gently
probing through luscious
layers of enviable softness
down to the secret center
of the flower.
yea, even unto that stiff
little stamen.
and out again,
dusty with pollen,
messy with the scent of a rose.
I was that flower.
That’s what she said.

Details | Christopher Magill Poem

Cinderblock Wall

To speak to me is madness
I teach silence: hush your tongue
Quieten down now joys and sadness
Temper stifle, thought make dumb

Spring breezes with the sounds of love on
Pause not here; they do not dare
The summer air that begs for birdsong
I change to stagnant, stifled air

Autumn winds call out fall thoughts
Each tree ten thousand golden ears
Snow-ears listen ere those ears rot
It’s listening things that shift the year

But seasons cease at this partition
I hold a separate world unheard
Inside each day’s a repetition
Each word you say, a wasted word

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Head

I’ve grass stains on my shirt
We squirmed like worms in dirt
I love the way you curl
You’re like a flag unfurled
Snapping in the wind
To call the troops back in
Yet before I march back North
I’ll have my dollar’s worth
You take me in like breath
Your little gasping death
I like it in the South
I love you with my mouth

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When I Die

Plant me down in a plain pine box
In good green ground where I can rot
And don’t let any preacher talk
And leave no stone to mark the spot.

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I Am Delicious

An orange loves the taste of my tongue.

I am delicious,

But I am also nourishing.

The air needs a muscle

To breath me.

My diaphragm is wishful of helping.

Hey, we should all do our part for the air.

The mountain smiles,

To feel my feet.

But I’m not for him today.

My girl alone may take my boots,

In her own choosing time.

When our perfect place has found us,

With it’s nestled stream to toe,

And the water has drunk us completely,

Then,

An orange parts our lips,

And loves the taste of my tongue.

I am delicious.

Details | Christopher Magill Poem

It's So Hard

it's so hard to forgive 
myself
for the way that things 
have all gone wrong