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Best Poems Written by Brian Duffield

Below are the all-time best Brian Duffield poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Siding With the Sea

The swell and surge of surf 
whispers tinnitus conched
on titanium sunken tankers 
that rock restlessly on far reef,

as children play unheeded
building imagined bastions,
nursery rhymes drown
turning back cnut tides.

Inevitably, 
sand shifts in an hourglass
that plumb the memory's depth
with rosy pictures in ruby flourescence

like monochrome holiday snaps
stored in old bashed biscuit tins
that mother would open on grey
overcast November soaked Sundays.

All oceans are drowned
by the sea's past dregs,as cerulean and cobalt waves 
steer towards safe harbors,

tantalized by tinto tinted sunrises
like a rocking pendulum 
that plays a metronome symphony,

playing lullabies, rhythms sound 
when der holle rache sings
and the nocturnal queen echoes as the dawn breaks.

Translucently, ephemeral light 
glistens on children's limbs,water singing as they play,
momentarily soaked in perfection
as delicate beams dance over their fragile bones.

Now amber-crafted moments, Capri's crimson breasts
waves, nestles close to succour infant swells.
Yet magenta lips pout in rock pools,

the breaking and wombing
of waters now birth new journeys
that drive towards a vortex rush.
 
Defiant boats chase, turning tides in lucent rays,
navigate between lava laced volcanic outcrops

into distant remembered horizons.

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Nature Trail

If eager goldfinch, looping and stitching
Through Hawthorn by urgent instinct driven,
Are a crimson surge; a secretive dash;
When summer scorches, it could be me.

If a dark lake’s troubled surface reflects
The dying sun’s final stony silence...
When time seems frozen in eternity.
As late November breaks, it could be me.

If gathering swallows in late autumn,
Scissor the night’s reddened skies seeking home
And darkening eves beckon them to rest.
When shadows slowly dance, it might be me.

But if spring’s cold earth breaks the winter’s fast;
Exploding in lush green...you’ll find me at last.

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Weeping Ash Tree

Mourn for me tonight, Weeping Ash.
Break my heart and all my hopes crash.
Let your gnarled knuckles crack and creak;
Let your contorted mouth still shriek

Silently. Twisted in agonised peace
And calm, you could my soul release.
May the inveigling light shudder
In the gloom and silent thunder.

Cradle my weight in your warm heart.
Seduction or eternal hurt?

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Blessed Water

Let the lake’s frozen surface melt.
Gazing at its mirrored imagery,
Narcissus his own beauty felt.

Let your icy heart dissolve and transfigure
Into insubstantial cloud, ghosting thought
From wisp to angelic figure.

Let your dreams avoid all that’s wrong:
Steer into the sea’s calmest heart,
Shun the siren’s seductive song.

Come to my Piscean heart, drench it with tears;
Weep from far oceans, lakes, rivers and streams;
Let your cool touch absolve our darkest fears.

Bless with your own purest holy creed,
Quench your soul’s deep eternal thirst,
Satisfy your spiritual need.

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Norfolk

I love to march along the Icknield way:
Bretton Heath, Brickklin Covert and Caistor;
Fring Cross, Sedgeford and Swaffham still hold sway.
The sea sings with Terns and Oystercatcher

As we descend to the cold distant shore.
The air is perfumed with sea lavender
And Norfolk’s rich and abundant secret store:
Shrubby sea-blite, sea aster and rock rose.

Rome, come and unleash my manly desire! 
Now take away my Icini motherhood
And bring destruction through blood and fire.
Look upon the Torc, a twisted beauty,

Tortured out of gold, silver and art;
And with unbridled terror, our land depart.

Details | Brian Duffield Poem

Rainforest

I’ve lived an age in Oaxaca climes
encased in peppered mist
desolate with seasoned sun
a place of darkness
holding muted beams
as a seedling's life struggles 
to finger slots of light
but air laces trees 
with emerald moss like chiffon 

recall
when I was young
my roots riddled clay
clung to cleaving earth
terminating in time's vast abyss. 

my tendrils awoke 
drilled through tender soil
breaking the cold loam of deep memories,
arms contorted
fertile acorns grew,
crowns cruised in cloud 
that swayed and seethed

Their shoots were our future's legacy.

I mastered time 
over ages to grow,
others felled in prime to build furniture 
or raped by ships of war 

But now a distant breath warms 
ruffles my furthest leaves
prints scorched smooth
as lungs wheeze

I plead for birds to fly 
towards our bower
drink deep once more
our cool vintage Veracruz spring
hoping to join spirits haloed above

but in flaxen haze 
my ambered essence flies
across Sierra de Juarez
through skies azure to blaze with helios.

The horizon is now viewed in red
splayed like spider webs, 
my fingers embering ebony 
reach for sun and stars.

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Wild Atlantic Way

Wild Atlantic Way

The sea, slowly surging, crashing, claiming;
Waves endlessly corroding, consuming;
Rocks deeply wrinkling and age defacing;
Seaweed lashing as in a gale swirling.

The sky steaming, magically misting;
Demons forming, twisting, disappearing.
The wind wailing, dementing, high pitching.
Gritty greys powdering, sunlight blotting.

The land shouldering, cringing, succumbing;
The shore crumbling, earth shuddering;
Green browning, fertility unearthing;
Sweet Flowers depetalling, uprooting.

All Mankind hiding, sheltering, fearing;
In homes, tortoising under heavy slate,
Praying for nature’s fury to abate,
Begging the Wild Atlantic way to ease.

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Tripling a Cross

i
I dream a cross is dressed in diamonds rich.
It rears too high with spans that glisten gold
that stretch along the sky's chromatic edge
yet crimson rubies shine magenta tones. 

Its light is beauteous and brightly burns
against the altar, dressed with diadems rare. 
Towards the heavens, twisted bark and branch
as pilgrims richly perfumed air in scent 

With candles chanting loud a choral hymn, 
the cross had studded jewels so finely wrought. 
Yet blood still stains the beams with reddened gouts 
and angels fled as heaven called them home 
The cross then vanished, blessed in vapours light. 

ii
Remember roots that ripped at clay and rock
as I was dragged from woods, dark hewn and cut
Then hauled and halved by criminals with toil
from tortured oaks and beech they hacked and cleaved. 

Then soldiers' weary shoulders carried me 
and ordered me to bear this criminal,
who groaned and gasped in pain on hardened trees
My branches swirled in shadows, lashing flesh. 

The lord now leapt with joy in thorny crowns
and trembling arms did clasp, but steadfast stayed. 
I watched the lord as earth did frounce and leer, 
then soldiers mocked and I was soaked in blood.
My flesh was pierced with nails of malice hard,
his holy spirit passed as I stood still. 

iii
In shade, I hold a simple beaded cross
between my fingers holding firm its frame. 
As prayer then fills my silent painful cry 
could I now live without its burning light?
Throughout the day, I gently touch its wood
and ask for help to heal a broken life. 
The past with endless shame and sins that swell
like turmoil bred from war and needless grief. 

But here amid the flux of daily chores, 
recall the sacrifice that gilds the years,
eternal hopes replenishing our loss. 
This spirit fills the cup at your repast. 
As doors now open wide in silent sway, 
a shadow walks beside me, holding firm.

Details | Brian Duffield Poem

Urban Seasoning Sonnets

If keen a goldfinch knits, loops and entwines
through hawthorn, urgent instinct loosens free. 
It's bright with flash that crimson blaze enshrines;
as summer scorches red, it could be me
when lying prone on beach or under tree,
in pensive mood when I gaze out to sea. 

If darkened lakes with troubled waves reflect
a dying forest's lonely leafless tree;
when time is stretched with endless hours' neglect, 
as late November breaks, it could be me
among the rushes singing sweet my plea
against the final sun and moons' decree.

If gathered swallows ghost in autumn's shade
and scissor night with scarlet skies that flee;
then darkling eves almost the stars invade.
Where shadows slowly dance, it might be me
that heads like ships to seek a sheltered quay
or sheep that search a fold across sharp scree. 

if spring is warm, Earth breaks the winter’s fast,
exploding green reveals my heart at last.

 "Urban sonnet" contest 20 April 2019

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Being Human

Accept your flesh
in life and death
The Lord gives breathe