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Best Poems Written by Mark Heil

Below are the all-time best Mark Heil poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Ocean Beach Babies

The eve of darkness they come out to play
creepy crawly with our senses. The street
wise, the waifs, the tiny cherubs all blend
together to form a society of sorts that is
out of step with time; they become invisible.

They come with their drums, their guitars to
serenade the unseeing humans in tourist
tee shirts. You can see the beauty of
this youth who dances and plays from a
heart that just needs freedom.

You look into their eyes and you fall in
love with the innocence of a child who
sees his place in time as cosmic.
You smell their odors, their very essence.
A not so spent youth and you wish you were they.

You find yourself being pulled in by
their ethereal nectar and song...you see
for the first time what you could of had.
You are pulled in and the fight leaves you
the unseeing being the unseen...welcome!



*My impressions of the homeless youths of Ocean Beach, San Diego

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Walker

She floats up and down the heartbreak sidewalks
Hungry, looking for the golden ticket from the
Next john that might not hurt her but instead
Rescue her from the depravity of the life she lives.

Everyone is happy, everyone is free, she thinks
Coasting and mingling with her fellow walkers
Of the night....a typical situation....she vibrates
And is alive with her erotic beauty and she

Is frightening to look at in all her glory....Only
If she had glory, to leave this tunnel of love
That never ends....her Ned to produce, to
Buy the little vial of prudence, is foremost.

She bends over cars smiling, glowing, so 
Sincere in her effort to offer the family man theFantasy of rebirth and explosion of a frenzied, Sweaty moment to be sent home sated and guilty.

She is so lonely for what it used to be like....
Was she ever a child playing with strings and
Golden things or did she just one day manifest
Herself into this life of solitude and ugliness?

Daylight comes blaring the start of another
Dingy day and crystal pipes to ease her
Guilt and shame with the knowledge that
Darkness will come and she will walk her mile.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

Holiday Tears

Plastic baby Jesus, little drummer boy
Decorate the tree along with Rudolph
And all the ho ho his of part time Santas
Doing time with Salvation Army bell ringers.

City parades, sparkly lights and garland.
Street candy canes all cry out, "See, were happy,
Joyous and free!" Such is the hypocritical
Holidays endured by us sidewalk thoroughbreds.

For a couple weeks you throw us trinkets,
Chocolate s and turkey dinners believing
You've done miraculous things that help
You sleep at night in your mansion on the hill.

Celebrities use the time for photo ops of
Comedy serving the rabble pumpkin 
Pie along with oily smiles of insincere
Wishes. Shut up and give me another Piece of pie!

Why do we need to be reminded about life
That no longer exists. Do you want us to cry
On our grubby clothes with gratitude? Why
Is us thanking you so important?

So, yes, I'll take your change when you
See my sign saying "I'm trying to get home.""
I'll take my change and buy the only holiday
I'll get this year. The comfort and joy of bygones.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

Inviite Tranquility

The Sea,----
Something to look at
When we are angry.

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Bus Ride

The winter's torture rumbles down
The street, through my meager abode
And pierces my skin and inflames my bones.
Need to get out of maelstrom for a day,
Perhaps a day long bus ride.

I count my money and I'm a few
Beggings short of the five I need
To ride the system of citizens
Who don't realize they sit in a 
Castle meant for a king.

So I dust myself off, look the
Best I can for one of my means.
Put on my gentleman's face, check
My breath for last nights taste and
Position myself so you can't avoid me.

"Hey buddy, got a quarter?" "My
Car is out of gas..." " 'scuse me, dear
Lady, just a quarter so I can eat."
Twenty-five, thirty-five, one dollar!"
With glee on my face and a sprite in my step, I move on.

I take my fiver and purchase a pass.
I feel like a gentleman of sorts with my
Golden ticket to tour this megapolitan
Cage in comfort and warmth from the
Ingredients of a dreary day.

I take a seat in the back, of course
Not wanting to be the object of
Stares and distain, whose
Territory I invaded on this blustery day.
Sorry but I'm riding in style today.

As I doze a little bit from the warmth,
My dreams become congealed with
Reality creating a world of surreal
Rapture of peace. "Hey, driver, there's
A drunken bum on the bus!"

My world becomes shattered with
Those few little words as if I
Actually ought I could be one
Of them for a brief moment
In time, but I suppose not.

So, in despair I climb down
The steps to face the grit of
The storm that rages through the city
And in my heart. Man, I will
Sure miss that bus.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

The Dance

Got a belly full of booze and I
Feel like tripping the light fantastic,
Dancing with the devil in the pale
Moonlight, whatever you want to
Call it, I feel like dancing!

Doing the two step shuffle
And wiggle my get along, twirling
And twirling, fall down a bit but
The blood will dry, as I don't skip
A beat. I'm a dancing magician tonight!

People laughing or turning away real quick.
They are all afraid of me in my drunken
Ecstacy, not wanting to admit they wish
They had the free will to throw down the
Briefcases and do a little jitterbug.

I'm Fred without Ginger, game without an
Umbrella, Baryshnikov with out shoes,
I'm Dorothy prancing down the yellow brick road
I'm a fool doing the fools dance for the
Kingdom of You. Km prancing fool!

Someone throws a nickel, another a rock.
Slowing down a bit so I go into a waltz with
A stick for a partner, oh what a sight I am.
Seems like the po-po are interests too.
Bad critics they are, those artless souls.

My dancing is my color in the black and
White world, in my head a Jim box playing 
The songs that make me cry and celebrate
My life as it is now, not what it was because
"what it was" is but a faint folly. Dance on.

I am done now, panting, breeding, and drunk.
I cry some tears of a  moron confused In his
Shell of nonexistence. I am so tired, the crowd 
Is gone. I huddle against a wall and him
A little ditty that echoes off the walls and 
Dances in the air.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

The Beating

I got beat up the night before
by some Mercedes kids with an
anger i don't understand.
Maybe i scare them.

i gave a good accounting of myself,
Hit one with a satisfying crunch,
Not much older than my son
Where ever he is.

i finally accepted my plight
And curled up in a ball
While the avenger's kicks
Rain down on me in a torrent.

Why are they so angry?
Did they wake up this morning 
On fine linen sheets and
Decide to hurt someting?

They must have parents
Who coddle them some.
Parents who each day hope
Little Johnny comes to and live life.

But little Johnny`s tired
Of the bullshit and drama that
Trap him in an existence of rules.
Well, little Johnny has no rules.

I feel them tiring some,
The blows are subsiding
As they snicker and spit
At me now, all bloodied and bruised.

What will they feel tomorrow?
Will they think back and shudder
Or will they go on their merry
Way and find another lost soul.

What will they feel years
from now when they have
Sons of their own to rule over?
Will they cry?

It`s over now as they run down
The street yelling their victory over
Their victim and feel accomplished.
In this life, everyone takes a beating.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

Little Fellow Traveler

I saw the puppy, when I awoke behind the dumpster,
Playing with a piece of trash, snorting and woofing at
The imaginary beast and I wondered what brings the
Little gift to me to enjoy in this world of the unenviable.

I studied him awhile and he studied me, each of us
Not moving yet but wanting too....two lonely scruffs
Wanting the companionship of trust and maybe love
In this loveless life of alleys and trash cans.

He let me move toward him ever ready to run
To nowhere.... I touched him gently and smiled at
The softness and smell of him and he licked my
Hands in return....we found each other and the day was right.

We were inseparable this little wingless angel of
The grey streets sharing our turmoiled lives and
Food for a time, with his little piece of rope around
His neck with a decorative red bandana.

Together we were the gypsies of the block of
Cement squares having conversations with words
And uplifted eyes perhaps sharing a tear or two when
The moment came....I live you because you love me.

Stringy little brother who had no name left one day
For no particular reason as we do in this underworld
Of spent offerings....I looked but could not find him.
Once Kore emptiness fills my heart.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

Yesterday's Boys

I saw my boys the other day while
Digging for hidden dumpster treasures.
I had wondered back to my yesterday
By sheer fortuity, a destiny created by
Hooch and instinct. They have grown
Into youthful perfectionism and I'm 
Afraid to be seen.

I hide behind the dumpster nor ready or
Not wanting to be seen by these perfect
Little gentlemen lest they suffer the trauma
Of a bad dream. I hear muffled conversation
Perhaps talking about a new computer game
Or maybe, God forbid, about me.

Are the scarred from my lack of being
Or have they washed themselves clean
Of me? On my birthday do they remember
And weep for my nonexistence or do they
Simply live a child's life with all its
Wonder and unknowing joy?

I want to hold them in my scarred hands.
Pet them and coo to them my love but I
Would scare them and thus put an end
To their innocence. Why has fate played
A hand of inevitability on me? They are
Smiling now and laughing. God, let them leave!

I panic....they are leaving now and my feet
Are frozen solid and heavy. I want to reach
Out and touch them but I am a statue of ice.
They pull away on their bikes and peddle
Out of my life once more not knowing how
Close I was to yesterday's boys.

Details | Mark Heil Poem

Grey Streets

It shakes off the bad dreams of the night before
Underneath the sickly blue neon sign that
Buzzes it's contempt for him.
It's eyes stay closed not wanting to see
The misery that lay before him 
Down the grey street.

It lumbers along in boots of pain, hair on fire
And bones that want to escape the shriveled skin
That once beheld a man of
Dreams and satiny wishfulness.
It plods along past windows whose treasures
Escape him while floating
Down the grey streets.

It thirsts for a taste, just a taste to escape
The reality and the birthing of fear.
A quarter here, a quarter there from
Sneering people whose disgust is broad
And unforgiving to those whose trek is unbroken
Down the grey streets.

Night soon falls on the denizen of cardboard
As it approaches the lair of others who
Through bent light discuss the words on
Shredded documents that preview their lives.
They each have a fable to tell if you listen to souless songs
Down the grey streets.

A crumbled statue whose fetal position
Lays between rags and dirt, prays for dreams
Of gossamer wings to carry him away
Far from the scourge of us and the
Misery we freely give him as we trudge
Down the grey streets.