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Best Poems Written by Phillip Garcia

Below are the all-time best Phillip Garcia poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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In Another Time

the waning moonlight thinly enveloped 	
the dusky canvas obscurely sprawling
across the way from the window I looked,
I knew a park was there with slides and swing	
but for the moment dark revealed nothing,
for the moment I didn’t care, either
because in darkness I felt even darker;
I was lying in bed embraced by regret
of decisions of love and time wasted,
spooning the layered sheets of doubt and fret
all thawed out from my heart into my head;
The memories of hurtful comments said
by and to me were chastising voices
of ghostly choices purposed to depress;

As dusk became the night I became lost
in whimsically strewn wishes and pleas
to gods and stars and genies alike, crossed
as eyes crying for mother drowned in seas,
I spoke to nobody but begged for keys
to unlock another time, another place
to start all over again with new space,
To unseen gods I had long since quit on
I prayed, bargained even, another chance
and I’d do everything right this season 
  - A jobless man needing a pay advance,
But for thirty three years nary a glance
had alpha or omega set on me
and this night I expected no divine decree;

several hours elapsed as I collapsed
in smoldering thoughts of suicide fanned,
-  I had outlasted night’s concealing grasp, 
and as the morning sun began its planned
ascent, I gave into Hades’ command 
through my tenth floor window whispered to me
of hellish suggestions to jump and flee;
on ledge I stood and looked across the way
for one last glimpse of earth and pastel sky,
- a small souvenir of my final day,
My eyes settled on last night’s park from high
above, and that’s when I saw God’s reply,
 - an unspoken answer for eyes turned blind,
His deafening promise to all mankind;


by his heavenly brushes came colors
where none had been, transforming lonely space
into one of vibrance and life renewed,
-  and it was a different space,
I watched as birds celebrated morning
with songs of praise and thankfulness,
-  and I felt a quick waning emptiness,
I heard the children below lining up
for the school bus all on time and ready
to live and learn in this new day granted,
-  and I felt like I knew nothing at all;

but then I knew everything all at once,
and I stepped off the ledge ready to live,

ready to embrace 
ready to seize life found…

in another time.

Details | Phillip Garcia Poem

Who Can Argue Miracles Exist

Who Can Argue Miracles Exist?

No man, be he grandiloquent or coarse;
             be he a learned novel or tattered page;
             be he devout in faith or drenched in doubt;
             be he a man replete with shame of sin:
No man (unless an empty man who flaps like cynic’s skin)
             who has watched the early sun come out
	     or heard the song of sparrows spared the cage:
No man in love with his daughters:  No man in love with his universe.


4/30/2019

Submitted for:  Let's Have an Argument
Sponsored by Kevin Shaw

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April Fawn

Longing in lowly light of longer days
by which a summer wilts paternal dreams
and browns the loitered heaves of yellow spring:

the budding void that stamps an empty swing
seen swaying golden locks ungated beams
my own Begotten streamed in greener dawn
where fussy forums for an April fawn

allay no muttered march on mother’s May.

Persistent blades unsheathe the sprawling grass
beneath the blue release of silver dew -
an inch overgrown, as inch shrouded cool
billows: arisen reeds from dizzied drool
showing flashes of reincarnation
cured by the rose (or purple carnation)

4/4/17

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I Dream of Dreams

I dream of a place where dancers embrace,
Waltzing together incipient lights,
Music transposed echoed heavenly grace,
Accompanies first harmonious nights;

I dream of lilacs and lavender mist,
Adrift susurrus shoreline’s infinite breeze,
Flowing compassion through time reminisced,
That journeys taken be traveled with ease:

I dream of a whisper remembered well,
Spoken in honeydew’s gentle caress,
Promising lovers when broken-hearts swell,
Friendship would mean there’s always forgiveness.

I dream of a dream where happiness numbs,
That dreams of a place where yesterday comes.

Details | Phillip Garcia Poem

An Unpoetic Hustle

Because my brilliant hooks read indirect,
But bait directly one illiterate,
They likely slip stripped fish-net intellect,
Thus, now, I’ll lure completely different:
Just like the redwood trees that grow sooooooo tall,
Gapetto’s puppet’s nose Pinocchios,
And since I’m not a strung-out ancient doll,
I guess it’s you who picks the snotty rose. 
You might believe you harness magic string;
The pixie dust of Pan in Neverland;
But don’t forget what came of Gollum’s ring
Once Frodo lost a finger from his hand -
   It was rewound, re-reeled, forged gleefully,
     Forever lost in false reality.

   
3/18/2017

Note:  In keeping with John’s “Something Completely Different - Monty Pythonesque” theme I wrote this after randomly pointing to 14 different words in a Hustler magazine article that I then forced myself to integrate into a sonnet, one per line, in the order they were selected and implemented a rule of “no-edits” after a line was complete.  The list went like this:

hooks, *****baits, fish-net, I’ll, grow, nose, strung-out, guess, harness, never, what, finger, glee, lost

Details | Phillip Garcia Poem

Thankful

for my daughter, Lily Belle

Having crawled through a crack in my third-story window,
I drift, this night, to a familiar place
in search of age in a more youthful face,
far from cathemeral carnage below;

Though adrift, I drift unlike a drifter drifts, but drift as snow:
weightless in winter, like holiday lace.
I travel ‘til sunrise; day’s first rays erase
the darkness behind me I made myself know;

And then, in a meadow where Lilies grow,
I land and wrap myself in love’s embrace.
I am thankful then, now, for all my daughter’s grace,
for loving the father who once let her go.


11/14/2018

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Christmas Mourning

I question Adam’s hymn, O’ Holy Night,
while I retreat upstairs on Christmas Eve
comparing his to mine to fill the night:

His was a quill that spilled of quelling leaves,
of grace contrived to save the petty thieves
once hung from twigs composed of disbelief
condemned to hell for causing others grief.
His notes were angels on a snowy plain.
His words were lowing, pure, and eloquent.
His song, when sung, reminds of cleansing rain;
a prayer of praise for God’s embodiment:
For unto us, a Son, the Father sent,
whose death would cleanse the hearts of guilty men
whose path through life was one composed of sin.

And now I question:  What’s defined as sin?
Is it to squeeze a heart that’s mostly innocent
and quell the rhythmic joy that beats within?
To steal my child, so pure and eloquent
and lock away my love’s embodiment?
A midnight hurr’cane sent to swell my pain
that leads to mourning Christmas once again?
Mine’s not a song it’s a SCREAM drenched in grief! 
Where is MY daughter, god?  Why did she leave?
My knees won’t budge for no more than a thief
who threatens damnation unless we believe!

But, there’s a     calmness      felt on Christmas Eve.
And when I’m back downstairs, it’s by His light
I pen this poem that I need to write.

Date:  11/24/2018
Contest:  CHRISTMAS MOURNING
Sponsor:  PS Awtry

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Morning Has Broken - Sonnet For My Mom

Early this morning, the song of blackbirds
quell the swell of silence enfolded by night.
Dim light on a distant ridge: the sun returns,
freed from Atlantis, drenched in the cloak of life.
Soft dew-drop showers dapple the dusty 
garden with pops of pastels like lavender,
lilac, tea rose and pink, from clouds that carry
cleansing tears of a newborn’s young mother, 
the potter protective her infant clay.
She picks up her child, a fragile bowl, chipped,
frail from thirty years spent running away,
now run aground as a twice sunken ship.
Her hands keep a promise, one quietly spoken,
made long ago when morning had broken. 


- For my mother who sang me Cat Stevens'
   Morning has Broken the day 
   I was born.

Details | Phillip Garcia Poem

Lovely Suppositions

i have kissed beneath summer’s sweltering
fragrance your array of spackled decay

in lovely gardens; sweet roses weltering
plundered and plucked; an incidental lay

beneath your satin I have run my fingers, 
trembled as famished breasts groped my 
own; your mellow poetry still lingers
imperviously enriching - and when i try
to kiss another i feel your haunting roots 

encroaching my tingled thighs and i shake
beleaguered by your lavender; heat shoots

through laboring reeds sprouted mistakes
pale panhandlers passionately proposed

then by your tender 

i’m awaiting... (so you suppose)

4/8/17

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Daniel Turner - Cherished Friend

Of famous sonnets I’ve unwrapped so far,
Including Shakespeare’s brilliance, I’ll contend,
None close compare as near one superstar,
Entitled “Daniel Turner - Cherished Friend”;
Aligned in gentle reassuring tone,
That shares with passion wisdom learned in time;
A wellness check on friends who feel alone,
Reminding patience renders life sublime;
When needed Daniel came to me one day,
And helped lift sullen skies that threatened peace,
For that I’d like the world to hear me say –
Thanks DT, for calming through troubled seas.
  Although these lines lack any imagery,
   I hope they show I’m here if you need me.