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Best Poems Written by Tristan Strudwick

Below are the all-time best Tristan Strudwick poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Tristan Strudwick Poem

Stand Closer To the Mirror

I take in myself each day, 
Marks I wish to go or stay, 
For a meter away, 
Is a distance half made. 
I cannot see the beauty,
The map, of my own face. 
I hide behind distance, 
Angles, perspective, light:
As if I have something 
I wish to hide - nothing
Makes people something -
Marks gain remarks;
And bitter, empty, stark
Glances through filters
That only filter the reality, 
Of our egos fragility. 
So I stand closer to my
Mirror. And I will see by
The cracks and crevices 
Of my dead skin. Scars 
that are never to be
Deemed beautiful to
Anybody but me. 
I stand close to the mirror
And I am free.

Details | Tristan Strudwick Poem

Horseman

He had a body like a stone 
Rough hewn, taught to the bone 
With veins obscenely sewn. 
Into Leather muscles, grimly honed
And sat on an empty throne 

A tower of harrowing tales
Of heroes who come to prevail
Those who he gleefully flailed
Who's ships now fly skin sails

For under this armour, a shadow 
Who starved those who dain show
The depth of their loved ones sorrow

A man of obsidian, a Monolith 
Death’s very own blacksmith

The curse upon every sinners lips

The chair sits in the center, alone
It's limbs twisted like a devils grail
Held by dirty bones which harrow 
Each soldier to gaze forthwith 
At the coming of Apocalypse.

Details | Tristan Strudwick Poem

The Old Park Bench

Old park bench

There's an old park bench at the Grove, 
Paint peeling since it's first lick back since… 
I forget, but it's been there a while:
Graced many tired parents
with its Omnipresence
A well worn weapon 
Against tired legs presence. 
It gives a good view of the park you see
Over to that old oak tree 
it in the middle of that field - you know the one
Towering like a mountain 
To those young adventurers 
Who like to free climb it like I used to. 
(Without rope, sorry kid) 
I suppose the many scraped knees 
Against its rough bark
Speak to a danger of strong breezes 
That ruffle fresh grown leaves 
Sprouting just like this generation. 
Up and up to the top. 
To shout an exhilarated yelp 
That we all hoped everyone could hear 
But now I suppose I sit on my rear 
And watch those brave young soldiers 
Come near:
“Hey Grandad did you see that? “
“Sorry son, do it again-
I'll really watch this time”

- Dedicated to my grandfathers who have shown me unconditional love through every moment of my life -

Details | Tristan Strudwick Poem

A Poem For the Grounded Stars

So many people look up to the sky, 
For an answer they do not need, 
Instead of looking to the earth, 
Where true explanations can be found. 

For me the white hues of progress, 
Are the driving force of my dreams. 
The stars are distant lonely things,
Whereas city lights I can reach. 

The stars are unfathomable, 
But neon signs are tangible. 
You can't fix a light in heaven, 
But here - they are manageable.

Details | Tristan Strudwick Poem

The Illogical Feud

Fire's fickle flare falls down
Rosy cheeks 
with violent wet streaks
of fury shattered against the
shores of tragedy.
Hair torn, grace forlorn
feigning futile fights from last morn
now rendered pointless
by endless scorn.
Free flows follow fine lines
between sorrowful and happy times
bittersweet empty crimes
unsustained lies,
times terrible truths held to roost
smashing boundaries juiced
like sour limes.
Green, with envy 
no longer gently held 
behind dry mascara recently welled
and screams, so gleefully yelled
at who?
The vast verbal vindictive void, 
the nothing, the emptiness
You held so deep, that only
passion could melt that frozen keep. 
teeth gnashing like a spiked portcullis
holding back your mortal lips
from words so venomous they bring abyss. 

- A journey started by a single kiss.

Details | Tristan Strudwick Poem

The Sun Sets the Horizon On Fire

To sit while the sun sets the horizon on fire
With each rolling hill making light sail
Along the tides of earth. 
There is a certain beauty to it all. 

How each scene like a painting 
Upon this great canvas 
Is never quite the same
Nor detracted from the day

How radiantly each moment shines. 
And though each work seems like the last - 
Entirely distinct - vivid in memory.
Before being burned by an orange sky. 

The night tuned to ashes,
Distant white hot embers
Shine as a memory of each day
Though - too far to remember