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Best Poems Written by Craig Cornish

Below are the all-time best Craig Cornish poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Night Shoes

(iambic tetrameter)

The curtains fell and wrapped the stage
as lights and accolades became
another yesterday once more.
Another night and one more show,
another play that doesn't last
beyond the venue alley ways.
Applause became a murmur and
the shuffle of impatient shoes
now slowly faded out the door.
The Company is dressed and gone,
a spectral quiet stalked the din
and chased it through the backstage halls.
Conspicuous, the silence fell
when last the alley door was locked,
no one to care if I was late,
no one to listen for the gate
that creaked at midnight's lonely bells
as eighteen times Westminster tolled
down where the Phantom truly walks
in night shoes where the echoes talk.

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The Digger's Children

I paced between the old and new
along the rows where gray stones grow,
so careful not to tread upon
the freshly filled and seeded few.
Soft shadows slid across the lawn
where long ago a scythe would mow;
its ringing echoed down the row
like angels voices singing now,
a prayer of faith, a sacred vow.
While young men die in foreign fields,
when once they played with cardboard shields -
now dig, like I, an endless trench,
a hole where mud and blood would drench;
the devil's own unholy stench.
Today my labors dig like they,
yet here, a grave where mourners pray
as chapel bells ring hymns of peace;
a futile wish for hate to cease.
The soil is scarred across the world,
with trench and grave, more holes to fill,
while there, on high, a tempest swirled.
It all will heal...it is his will.

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Do Angels Cry Too

The curtains on a somber evening fell
as weeping angels hush and pull me near;
assurances of love they softly tell,
to calm a soul who lost a love so dear.
Like ribbons on a memory I reach
to tie them all together in a bow,
now wrapped in every prayer that I beseech
and warmed within the heaven's lovely glow.
But, why are Cherished stolen from our midst
before we have a chance to say goodbye -
regrets for one last time we could have kissed
or even one last time we could have cried.
Yet, still through angel tears that damp the dawn,
I can't accept the thought that you are gone...

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Culinary Sonnet

Figs stuffed with proscuitto and mascarpone cheese,
a plate of bacon wrapped scallops and pineapple.
French onion soup is bound to please
or garlic steamed mussels with which to grapple.
Artichoke hearts smothered in sherried cream;
pears with sugar and cinnamon in butter sauteed;
pork tenderloin medallions make a demi-glaced dream
while crisped lyonnaised potatoes are made.
Now with a sip of Pouilly-Fuisse'
tastes flush the palate like a gourmet concert.
A toast to good friends on this wonderful day
as ice wine chills to serve with dessert.
A plate of old fashioned Bananas Foster-
perhaps in the morning, eggs benedict with lobster!

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Garden Party

All dressed in green, the rose bush beams
like a child's blushing cheeks and pursed lips;
these debutants jilted by bees
forever wanting to be kissed.
A carpet of phlox giggles like a young lady
and drips over the wall like a Dali clock,
tickled by fingers of lilies and daisies
still waiting to dance, demurely frocked.
Impatiens wink at the pansy's goodbyes,
while hostas and petunias wave.
In the light of the late springtime sky
all in the garden would rave.
No need for people, they've nothing to prove
because flowers can party too!

~Through a wisteria laden arbor~

Ah, the robins are here rummaging in the grass
and they just left the blueberries over the hedge,
a glutinous embarrassment for sure, but as
deer prance so properly, I'd rather robins instead;
at least they don't consume the guests,
or should I say, permanent party participants.
Like a "who done it" dinner it's a safe bet
they'll win, if the catnip and snapdragons can't.
What's the purpose of being pretty;
ogled and cut by people and eaten by deer -
it's the talk of the party and nasty.
Gossip is (don't tell) that our favorite guests aren't here,
the honey and the bumbles do tickle and tease
and though perhaps used, we're left pleased.

Modern/Contemporary Sonnet (mixed meter-slant rhyme-uneven line length)

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The Topic of Cancer

God, so cruel a plague upon me,
dreams crushed, forsaken,
even as I hopefully step
where the sun leaves me to smile
for those brief but celebrated 
        moments.

Through tear blurred windows
dear hearts that suffer more than I
can despise their suffering -
much more than my own sad fate.
I'm called brave but it is they
who smile through pain,
struggle for the right words.

They need not speak.
How lucky I have been
no matter my end
to have known such love.

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Perfect

my palette is encrusted
with all the dried remnants
of yesterdays hopes
where strokes of genius and folly
were first born in
a fresh imagination

my canvas
overlaid with realities
correcting unfinished pieces of dreams
that were once so perfect
so beautiful that nothing else
would ever do

expectations sketched with
a once steady hand
until one day
i stood back
embraced reality 
and
the priceless gifts of

imperfection

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Forever

Forever is a word for fools,
a word that describes a time
that will never come.
Always is a word for dreamers,
a word that describes wishes
and forgets reality.
Never is a word that forgets
what we don't know about tomorrow.

As for me, I'm a fool forever,
who dreams of always
having you to love,
and never forgets that tomorrow
is nothing without you.

Written Feb. 14, 1982

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Excalibur

Some fun with Shakespearean Sonnet

The sword locked tight and firm within the stone
awaits a heart with strong undaunted faith,
oft tempered hard by fire the dragon's blown;
not cowered down before a ghastly wraith.
Too often those without intrepid souls,
though with the strength of lions at their hest,
believe it only takes one mighty pull
to loose the brand now locked within this breast.
But power isn't born from strength without,
it is the light of truth within the pure
that need not raise a fist nor feign a shout
to earn a faith and love that shall endure.
With gentle silent solemn hand he grasps
and slowly frees Excalibur at last.

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Beyond the Veil

A clever sphere through midnight's shadow rolls,
its course through clouds, like ships through hidden shoals
and drifting hearts out searching for their souls.
A game of hide-and-seek - through forest members peek.
A wishful lost mystique - to kiss a lover's cheek.
Like promises, you glow then disappear, 
then gone, until you glisten in a tear -
too late to dry a page where ink-stains smear. 
So, even through the day - in sunlit visage stay,
the brightness can't allay - a scentless heart's bouquet.
Your crescent grin is burned upon my soul,
yet, I cannot pretend to be unique;
to find clandestine countenance appear,
and capture daydream's wishes where they play.