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Best Poems Written by Zachariah Rodgers

Below are the all-time best Zachariah Rodgers poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Zachariah Rodgers Poem

Story of a Kid

i. 
what am i, what am i?
tea, tea, for that would i die -- 
cup after cup after cup of vanilla chai.
the romance of caffeine, 
the lull of forced time awake;
the feeling of falling in the night,
when your body starts with a quake.

what am i, what am i?
books, books, for them would i die.
o, to curl in my bed, to have a good cry.
here to mask the frustration of a boring life,
arthur, his knights, and a good, long, strife. 

what am i, what am i?
loneliness, loneliness, for her would id ie.
i've always been told i'm far too shy.
sensitive as a mouse, picky as a bird--
who cares to speak if their words won't be heard?

ii. 
what am i, what am i?
to that, i answer, many a thing.
i am the battered scribe next to the shining king.
i am dreaming of all the fish in monterey bay.
i am thinking tiredly about the end of may.
i am hiding my face in the picture you took.
i am a crude laugh and a shrill, "made you look!"
i am my favorite mug that always burns my hand.
i am the scratched CD of my favorite band.
i am turning the corner in tears & hitting my head.
i am thinking of ways i could wind up dead. 

iii.
what am i, what am i?
why, i'll tell you.
my life is made of blue and gray.
i am no she, he, or they. 
i am made of those moments in the wood,
when your words will undoubtedly be misunderstood.
i am her gifts, her endearing eyelashes,
the roll of his shoulders, his tales of car crashes,
their quick wit, their excited chatter,
the cringe i cringe when asked, "what's the matter?"

iv. 
what am i, what am i?
some could argue i don't know.
too young, too brash, and definitely too slow.
but some could i argue that i do
because i know that i am not a 'who'. 
i try to take moments and grab them ; 
grip them tight & close to my chest. 
i pile the memories up and sit on them
like my own beautiful bird's nest. 
i feel only frustration, gratitude, and nothing at all
i open my mouth to speak with unconscious gall.

v. 
who am i, who am i?
you tell me, please do.
chances are i know less than you.
you have a name, a life, some cares;
you are eager to pay society's fares. 

vi.
so.
what of people who are what?

Details | Zachariah Rodgers Poem

Their Lives Matter

we become so intent
on living a bitter life
it triggers God's lament
and hastens human strife

it's easy to not say a word
and see how things change
but freedom flies away like a bird,
and death bares its unruly fangs

if sinful nature is our fault
and their cries are our deed,
then let's not seal our guilt in the vault.
let's acknowledge our massive greed

Details | Zachariah Rodgers Poem

Mer-

sinking sinking Sinking Sinking SINKING SINKING
disappearing in the blackness, in the coldness, thinking
i can feel my fingertips dissolving, my feet are not quite real 
there at the bottom is a sickly, comforting appeal

Details | Zachariah Rodgers Poem

We

inside my chest
is the pop and sizzle
of a firecracker.
can you see its gleam
in my eyes?
can you see the burns
that it's left in my mind?
does my smile
light up to you
the way the moon
shines on earth?
does my touch
fill you up?
does my light shine upon you?
are you full? are you full?
are you full the way i am empty?
with my head on your lap
your supple fingers entangled in my hair
i reflect your love.

are you empty? 
empty, like the way i am searching?
too dim am i to be seen
from the farthest reach of your galaxy.
once my light was blinding, 
and what was reflecting left 
we two eyeless. 
once i was diminished 
and we sat in the dark,
two mirrors reflecting infinitely
off of each other.
but when i sit 
with your head in my lap
my fingers entangled in your hair
is there a glimmer there?

Details | Zachariah Rodgers Poem

David

i am a clay statue, suspended in elegance.
how sweet, how lovely, for one's job to be to convey emotion endlessly.
how sweet to be carved carefully by a master craftsman,
every vein, every muscle, and every crease on my body
unconditionally beautiful just because of the amount of thought.
to be admired by all the world,
to be critiqued,
to be complimented,
to teach,
to be taught--
such is the life of a statue. 
to transcend generations, allowing my paint to chip,
allowing my features to weather, because it conveys wisdom.
to taste the lips of the early Roman soldier and 21st century fashionista,
to watch empires rise and fall.
to be stared at by the adoring eyes of a child
and scoffed at by the middle aged man.
to love and be loved.
to be human.

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Breakdown Number One-Million

fluttering breath burns
throat like acid
hands shake with an 
indescribable violence 
trembling fingers peel
back the pages of
childish pocket bible  -- 
a pained groan, a
strained sob escapes
dry lips; ears pique
at the crackle of
the record player, 
eyes scan pages for 
wisdom like an 
addict, desperately
hungrily -
do not be anxious.
do not be anxious.
do not be anxious.

Details | Zachariah Rodgers Poem

Intrusive

the sick images of my mind
have twisted my perception of reality.
perhaps i will never wed, never sleep.
become a being of dusty pages 
and tired sighs,
feeble like a withered tree.
perhaps i will forget beauty.
see suicide
in subway stations
and broken childhood
in a pair of safety scissors. 
perhaps, if i let them win.
but i have always been stubborn.