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Best Poems Written by Alex Larue

Below are the all-time best Alex Larue poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Cupcakes

Colors, sprinkles, icing galore.
Warm moist cakes with filling inside.
The cupcakes bake in the oven.
While their sweet smell fills the kitchen.
There's nothing else like this sweet snack.

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Stone Cold Heart

There were never two more in love.
Their devotion was God-given from above.
Their relationship was the envy of all,
But their true love would be their down fall.

Long golden locks flowed lusciously down her back.
Her piercing green eyes left him under attack.
He could never surrender himself from her comforting arms.
Her brilliant teeth only accentuated her charm.
 
Summer turned to winter, and sunshine to rain.
Now, all she ever caused him was pain.
He was filled with regret when he went astray.
It was worse when she found out. Now, she'd make him pay. 

She was a tornado disguised as a rainbow.
He saw right through her and decided to go.
Screaming, yelling, crying.
If they said it was easy, they'd be lying.

He saw her everywhere, although they were apart. 
He tried, but couldn't recover his broken heart.
He always saw visions pf her in his dreams,
All his plans and future schemes.

Thunder bellowed as he knocked on her door.
Even after he apologized, she would love him no more.
She said goodbye and went inside.
He tried to but couldn't make himself cry.

He stood on her doorstep, unable to move.
It was his life; that day, he did lose.
She was Medusa; he was her stone.
She was a snake; she'd end up alone.

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Orange

No word will rhyme with it.
It's the warm glow when the candle's lit.
It's the sweet scent of the English Marigold.
Never before have you seen a color so bold. 

It's the touch of heat in the month of May.
It's the taste of crisp carrots on an October day.
It's the crackle of fire when roasting s'mores.
It's the radiance of a sunset casting light on the ocean's shore.

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Goodbye, My Love

There are voices in my head;
They tell me who lives and who dies.
At my hand, everyone I meet could be dead.
I wish you could see this life through my eyes.
The voices are so loud, I follow through with what they say.
I am seen as a trustworthy man.
Wen I am done with my victims, I find a place where they should lay.
They never suspected my plan.
I only have one thing that is constant in my life.
And the voices want to take her away.
Every time I see her, I hold back the urge to grab my knife.
Away from me is where she should stay.
So, I've turned myself in.
Now, she won't suffer my sin.

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Rapunzel Let Down Your Hair

A fearless knight in shining armor
On his way back from battle
Outside a maiden's tower
Climbing her long golden hair
Because she is a prisoner in her own castle

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Five More Minutes

It's dark, cold, and rainy outside
My bed is soft and cozy
My comforter envelops me in a warm cocoon
I roll onto my side and see my clock
I turn back over and close my eyes
Five more minutes

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No Country Mas

There's something so unsettling about nails on a chalkboard.
I cringe whenever I hear the tapping of pencils.
As obnoxious as loud breathing.
As disturbing as a bad Disney movie;
Nothing could be worse than off-key singing and untuned banjos.
Popcorn kernels in my teeth, legos underneath my feet-
Would be more pleasurable than hearing the grinding of country twang. 
I'd rather be friends with quitters and cheats than sit with country on repeat.
As miserable as being bed-ridden after having my teeth ripped out,
These southern tunes are grilled cheese from the school cafeteria. 
The whining and complaining are endless, but nothing can compare
To the burning of my chapped lips, dehydrated and cracked.
The awkward middle school "ugly" phase is the wardrobe of the band.
The tearing sound of satin and silk are the cringe worthy falsettos.
Depressing and lonely is my ended childhood.
It is sand at the beach that scratches my skin and won't wash off.

Details | Alex Larue Poem

Cute

The pitter patter of petite paws
Puppies take off across the linoleum
After a ball dancing and bouncing along the floor
They hear their owner whistle 
They yip in response
Scampering back to the kitchen for dinner