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Best Poems Written by Baylee Kram

Below are the all-time best Baylee Kram poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Baylee Kram Poem

The Champagne Cork Anomaly

I remember the day, marked with
the bland of each grayer junction’s number,
It was the ascendancy of the sunder,  befallen my eyes .
A grand exchange, by the mouth of Phantom Deranged,
the sun and  the firefly, a grain of fire sand.
The rearranging of tree trunks for the place of eyelashes.
The beginning was the Switzerland of celestial damnation, 
but the crumpling brought afterthought, an apogee, 
entirely was the bullet riddled diamond insanity.
All of the yellow roses would scream incoherent apologies
as they dripped, petals and leaves coated in wine.
All that can be done is lie. And I will despise.
Whole hearted vanity is at home in the river bank 
lined with dismembered limbs. 
Each one is the prize of eye closing three hundred sixty-five.
Truly inspired! Stand at attention 
for the darkest of  dirt-cakes, they deserve your good time.
Forget the atrocity, believe me, so sorry,
tell me of importance, I find no conviction. 
Feel the rattlesnake vibrations of the walls
that encase the backwards of my bipolar infidelity,
the june bugs will exhume all that's left, 
the grand resuscitation will paint me evangelicals,
crisp in murmur fog of chapped lips, painted dark blue.
Forgetful, I forgive you.
You could never see what the mirrors all mean.
Just remember the afternoons are nothing to you
and the night breathes your applause only for the moon.

Details | Baylee Kram Poem

Absence Serenade

Catastrophe, songbird!
How could you sing?
Why hasn’t your voice joined firefly screams?
Or the mutter of villains, who killed heartbeats’ spring?
You ignore the eviction of incubus red,
and as his knife cuts your skin you hum 
the melodic ballad that haunts souls at night.
Remember, remember, I told you forget.
The rusted blood gashes 
that cover your chest and your face,
drip in violet gemstone sap.
Has the white of old calendars always looked so black?
How you cantillate a sweet succubus serenade
at your evisceration, canary girl,
you’ve peeled off your face,
still your hymn stays the same.
Malfunction! Malfunction!
Scream, phantom brain!
Tell me, the ghost, 
who has stolen your name?
The freedom that follows 
in free falls, the jump.
Remember, remember, I know you forgot.
What now, lullaby girl?
The robotic, the wolves,
they’ve ripped out your throat.

Details | Baylee Kram Poem

Incarnations

I find myself drowning
in the seafoam absence that slots itself 
between the falling angel blood,
caught in the afternoon cotton breath of God
All at the edge of solidity. Rosemary eyelashes,
 I can’t see you. I don’t believe you.

The twinkle of the sky, an individual.
Where are the diamonds?
They arrive, slowly in the sinking,  and burn me blind.
A rose stem patterned heresy 
finds a home in my eyes. 
Condemn me. I can’t breathe you.
The song runs through me,
my face pallor and soft as talcum powder,
at the irregular beat that defines 
the abstract of my divine repetition.
Where have you gone?
I can’t feel you, Superior, 
Please let me come home.

Watching the ember embedded blossom of your throne,
I am reminded of  previous entities.
The grass stained cheeks of the dirt-bellied dreamers,
the mud mush of their hearts, in carnations,
brings the true digression of my disintegrating odyssey.
Chopping sharply,
I take it off piece by piece
My chameleon  hair, changing hues.
Please forgive me. I don't remember you.
Disgraceful, I find no issue.

Details | Baylee Kram Poem

Migraine of a Razor Blade Grave

I fell into a pit, dirty grave,
lined entirely with razor blades,
that should sting when they slice
my newspaper skin that bleeds only grey,
but pain, there is none, never have I felt so numb
and never have I thought so much 
as when I was lain in a rotted blank sap and rusted sharp metal.
As they filled up my grave with dead leaves and stale bubblegum
all I did was stare, at the stars and the moon, and I wondered why,
everyone always saw them as companions in the night sky,
when all of their songs were sung millions of miles apart
and I pondered why no one else ever questioned
the beat of their own heart and why only my head is the one who rains in red.
And when my tomb was almost closed, my thoughts were disrupted,
out rang screams, that sounded like mine but my mouth was stuck shut.
As the hole sealed and smothered my lungs,
the screams, they crescendoed, they carried on 
even when my conscious was all but gone 
its earsplitting screech went beyond what was left and stayed.
An eternity, it rings, a migraine for my soul that sits in its grave.

Details | Baylee Kram Poem

Kill

A statuette built of a marble stone.
Desire to be anywhere other.
Her sky above set to a single tone.
Along a stream; river void of color.
Reflection of black that surrounds her frame.
Mirror to see beyond an empty heart.
Echo to shadow that once burning flame.
Grey that stretches above begins to part.
Downpour, tears of heaven, blood red, a mask,
And with it ten crows, sent to peck the eyes,
Met with glass, as she sips her empty flask,
No relief is there to find, left to cry.
Legs that beg to buckle, are standing still.
Yet wanders through the mind in hopes to kill.

Details | Baylee Kram Poem

Moonlit Decline

A thunderstorm booms from your lungs 
with every breath, to silence the violins 
meant to accompany the beat from your chest.
Keep your gaze held straight upward
and witness the crash of your eyelids.

It will stir the extravagant constellations 
that roam in your eyes.
Such a beauty the stars are, from a distance,
but inside, they are much closer to colossal balls of fire,
and, it seems, they have managed to incinerate your soul.

It leaves an aurora unlike any other,
many would say it’s like the flames that cascade Southern’s sky,
but to me it is more of what it leaves behind, in ashes.
The darkest of blacks, it mirrors the charcoal depths of the ocean at night.
But, perhaps, the most striking is the fall of all decibels.

The stories, the fables always seem to resonate in Midnight’s quiet.
Always the same moral, can you recall it? Not I.
When trying to remember, all that can be heard  are the laughter screams,
and the opposition will sing, oh sharp tragedy,
saturnity, all they seem to write. 

You have come so far, 
can you see it in the moon?
Stare as long as you will at what it reflects, 
but always avoid it's source,
for its disgrace will singe your mind.

I know you can see the silhouettes.
I know you know they're crying.
Look the other way, remember what you are.
Their tears will fertilize the flowers,
and who are you to care?


Remember all of your scars. They all used to bleed.
Now they drip bitter wine.
It's all to be inscribed, 
in the headstones of the zoo-cage boxes, 
that hold the beating hearts.

Surely, I apologize, I know it's claimed your eyes.
The droop of your spine will drop farther, I tell you,  give it time.
I cannot save you. Your mind is leaving.
Its simply for the flies.
I say to you demand your pardon, Sinister has no goodbye.

Details | Baylee Kram Poem

Rose Reaper's Toll

A mirror on the wall. An image to see.
Quite alarming, quite grim, a reflection of me.
Nothing on my face, no skin and no flesh,
only bone and blood that drips down my chest,
and forms a gown, sticky, red dress,
it's crooked, crude seams tell a story of fate,
and what terrors may lie at reaper's tin gates.
Upon hollow cheekbones, white roses are painted,
with no lips and no tongue, comes no explanation.
An appearance behind me, humanoid creature,
incubus, cherub, its purpose well known,
however intent far more obscure.
A crown of peach roses sits atop its head
and a bouquet of black ones lie against its chest.
A trade. An exchange. It comes with a price.
I was willing to pay,
eleven yellow roses was the toll that day,
forlorn a misery, I fall one short.
No exception. No saving, and like my face,
all the skin peels like paper and wilts to the floor.
The flesh falls like petals, a bare carcass I stand.
A skeleton. A stem. Dead, conscious I stay.
For the rose reaper’s toll, I could not pay.