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Best Poems Written by Pariah Love

Below are the all-time best Pariah Love poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Transient

Sonnet: Transient

Of all my almost-loves and far-too-soons,
Hers brought a heat most akin to summer’s sun.
I ill-assumed, one night in joyful June,
A pair so young may ever-laugh in unison.
That season we peeled the rind of unripe love,
No heed paid the holocaust by autumn,
Till it was warmth we lay in bed bereft of,
When roses dead had warned our winter’d come.
Such loves birth as flood then burn to vapor,
From eyes a pain downpours, torrential rain;
Hence I plan to leave next summer’s savior,
Before lips aflame douse to kiss in vain.
     She’ll think me true and bare me her nude heart,
     As I don armor then from her depart.

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Maquillage

Your precious youthful portrait you polish,
Till thy cheeks dye rose and yellow seems gold.
Seeking praise her truth she shall embellish,
Concealing blemish under manifold
Brushes in prayer for brief perfection:
“Make lush my lashes, allow my eyes allure,
 Veil in vanity this unloved complexion,
Feature me anew to comely contour.”
Who fed her the lie that her flaws were foes?
Who whispered she’d die unless she attain
A visage pure as those in heaven’s host,
Wherefore she sees her face and can’t complain.
     Pretty pictures indeed a frame deserves;
     Artless love, she ought learn, no mask can earn.

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Vignette of Amy Jade

What wild glee behind your tame grin lurks?
What shy sun fears to breach your heart’s horizon?
And to against your hidden teeth of 
Alabaster gleam. Bestowing upon the earth the breadth of 
Your delight. With rays of a beam that girds 
Time at the waist.
The meekest mare is bridled mirth;
She walks to joy in a slow trot, afraid
 To gallop forth with force,
Chary to express any clue of cheer or hope.
Who was it to chasten you so?
And rein you unto undue modesty.
From whose stable need you deliverance?
Are you by a loveless groom oppressed?
Breathe easy, Demure, smile assured that all 
Your bliss is licit.
Laugh aloud while crowned with life to 
Happiness permitted.

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John-Crow: Vulture

By the barrage of flies, bald John can tell how
Safe his meal is for feasting. The spotted
fawn yet battered breathes. 
Clean blood is poison, he knows,
So before he drinks, he waits for the devil
To pee in the stream. 
Then he shovels tissue down to the marrow,
As the odor barbers him balder.
Bare-bodied ravens beguiled him
To become a fiend thus famished. He
Perches patiently over the repast,
Pin-talons dull from scraping bone, 
Wings worn from hauling carrion upwind.
He bates them at the first sign,
And targets the fawn’s fattest artery.
But he himself is sick on the verge:
Of a wavering branch, of a mortal dusk, 
Of that decay which wove twig to build his nest,
That which buoyed flight when he was weak.
With twilight nigh, he trembles in withdrawal; 
Grey feathers fall as he
Walks in falter to the tawny fawn;
Toward Life, or Death, 
Or their bastard unclaimed.
Each inch is priced a silver plume. He sheds, 
Till over swoons his avian frame, lonesome
Lying nude and three-fourths-dead, 
Broken beak ajar, tongue longing
For the opiate thrill of red
Flowed from the hollows of that mirroring fawn;
He drools for the non-anointed oil dripping thence.

It renews his plumage, 
Though makes matte the luster of his eye.
Resurrects him that he may wean on death,
As prey to his vice—prey to his own heart,
While nature begs his piety, but sin sustains his being.

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Catching Pisces

Catching Pisces

He peddles alchemized wood 
Along the outdoor corridor,
Milk-crate mounting as students skim by, 
Heeding not his lifelong stock.

Sweat leaks from his palette.
He searches their fingers for the shavings 
That lie flat like loose beard hairs
Around the jaw of his blade, 

And finds none of his genus 
In the campus bowl. The school is dry. 
Gills are clogged. The flounders flounder, 
Breathless, uninspired. 
	
“Support the artist!” 

He ravels his short rod,
Never reeling any fish—koi or koi.
For his hook’s too dull to 
Pierce mouths in pouted apathy.

They request the modish: 
An erect piece of marble, please.
Give us David or broker 
Than you came return to no home.

But he doesn’t solicit stone—
And no statues stand among his bait.
They squirm supine, worms of sylvan make,
Carved in relief with aquatic inlays.

He visions them all a constellation.
As a child, damper in eye, 
Ampler in bosom, he
Dreamt of casting his cord aloft;

To pull twin Pisces 
From their sable lake, then
Strew their scales to torch
The oak in fancy’s forest,

So as the wren’s aubades rouse
Dead and deaf men far,
His line would stretch 
To capture seabed hearts.

Ah, but woe, it was and is not so.
The fish he seeks to net are not alive.
 Merely they mime the living:
Drifting idly, soulless with the undertow.

Alas, 

Still swim the stubborn stars above, and love 
Thus fails the fisher of the dream he chose.
Now nothing but the sweet worms writhe, he knows,
Belly empty, though his bucket brims thereof.

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Sylvia

Sylvia, you are the heiress to my heart;

Your garden to saunter at your leisure.

Lieu of one seed, I vest whole orchards of my love in you.

Vacant is this Eden, and though the apples be by Eves eaten,

It still be my love, Sylvia, it still be my love,

And now it be yours, evermore.

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Tempest

Tempest

Today it comes: her first hurricane.
She’s eager to get wet, ripping the ply-boards
 I had nailed over the blurring panes; 
But I, I’ve endured such storms before.
Felt as they fell, the bullet shells of rain, 
And nearly drowned in a pool of ammo.
So of disasters I more than well know 
Our new roof will be grated by the gales,
Shingles shook longwise the fringing coast,
And our red rafts, rocking, moored with tied tails,
Capsized by waves most bellicose.

Yet she titters like the lights of Christmas,
As I with loud-gulping heart far foresee 
A marring of our sea-side vista;
Still she’ll be grinning, gazing up at me,
Dancing agog to the din of collapse.
While the wild winds woo palm trees to, perhaps, 
Litter our paradise with leafy debris,
Then howl to cue the clouded troops
Who will level our home with love’s deluge.

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Limn of Ballerina Feet

Limn of Ballerina Feet


Slaving, aching in separate rooms of satin palace,
    Two haggard maids make faces wry while weeping sweat,
Their ten sore daughters with bloodshot i’s, callused
     Wince upon each light of high strides leapt.
Never more shall their soles be new sculpture pure, 
     As once when marble babes of stiffer stance,
Before piano keys unlocked their gaits with gore—
     Wrought them damage as prize for performance.
The bank thorns had pierced their heels to tearing,
    Limping river-long to learn the liquid bearing:
Mimic nature’s motion, her seamless stream, 
    Through tempest & temperance
That then they may perfect the sacrificial dance.

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Deciduous

Deciduous 

At a private party one rusting noon,
Green elm trees reveled with summer on its bier,
Gaily rousing a drowsy lagoon.
Some bathed their beak-scarred barks, those on the pier
Appeared to beckon birds come for songful fun;
For this they from the grave forest did run.

But soon their blades shall be bled, as
Amber leaves wring from brittle, weary boughs,
A purging of passions their hearts did house.