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Best Poems Written by Rhea Daniel Dear

Below are the all-time best Rhea Daniel Dear poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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I Will Not Be Late To Work This Morning

I will not be late to work today

I will get there on time
I will brush my teeth
Without singing songs
Without thinking about birthdays
About gymnasiums
About TAKS 
About sound
About war
Republicans
Democrats
Independents

I will get there on time
I will eat my oatmeal
Without thinking of 
Broken valentines
Strewn against a wooden
Fence 
Like dropped goblets
From a robbers pillowcase

I will be there before the bell rings
My papers will be checked
My hair will be combed
My mind will be alert 
Ready to begin my lesson

I will not wonder why
My oldest son doesn’t have a job
I will not pray too long
For my daughter who is taking the bar today
At 10:30 AM in New Orleans
I will not scar my knees wishing
For some alternate world
Where children are never neglected
Or hurt
Where there is no abandonment

What nonsense to try and order the world
Just get to work on time
Put your things in the car, your projector and 
The white binders that you didn’t look at
All weekend although you were supposed to check the papers and put the 
grades on the computer
I will leave now
Before it is impossible to
Be on time
I will cream my ashy ankles

I will not focus on the white
Cat on the black pillow
With the green eyes
I will not water the plant
I will not watch TV
I will not write poetry
Before work

I will not write poetry
Before work
I will get to work on time
I will be ready
I will not be daydreaming about fog
Wondering if I’ll get Alzheimer’s like my mother
Or colon cancer like my dad
I won’t be thinking about that stuff
I will be locking the front door and 
Closing the gate and clicking the clicker
And starting the car and leaving

I will not be in my living room
Wondering if there is any reason to love
Because I do not love for reason
I love because He first loved me
It is not incantations or intoxication
Or imagination it is my life and 
The structure will come with the
Clearness of Bajan water
So clear you can see the fish
Fly float across the Atlantic

It is time
This poem must end
I will not be late for work
This morning
Not for nothing
Not for nobody
Not for anything
Not for everything

This poem is over 
the work day begins

Details | Rhea Daniel Dear Poem

Challe

Virgen de Guadalupe
scrape her roses from the floor
The lighted path shimmers
in the mountains
as we walk like goats
surefooted and into high
places
Lofty dreams encompass
the transitions
and splendor shakes a tail feather
peacocked into cries for 
water, light and love
Challe in the toilet stall
Hands clenched, mouth moving
She could not shout
Shall the world let her fall?
Offer her soothing
Help through this bout?
Shall we notice at all?
Her sad self loathing
Draped in self doubt
Challe head against the wall
Her mind is roving
Confused, distraught
Challe
Orphaned child
Witnessed mother’s murder
Never able to cry
Numb
La Pieta
hold open her new door
The best is yet to come
We whisper as we
stick our fingers down
her throat
Virgen de Guadalupe
scrape her roses from the floor
holding her slashed wrists
until the ambulance arrives
and extracts
her overdosed pills and
her nightmares
into visions
of the ever present gift
that even murderers
could not take away
Rocking her like
a baby we sing
to her of a new
day and a new 
song where she
will cry no more
and we assure her
with our lips to hers
that we will breathe
for her for a while
until she births her
new self all green
and rare like a 
butterfly thought
extinct suddenly
appeared

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Palisades Park

A rodent in the road

Jammed into my  tires

As I screeched to a halt,

Then bolted past

Remembering a deer

In the headlights

A victim underneath me

Forever frozen in ice

And slow motioned into

Sleepwalking in my mind

An instant replay triggered

By any myriad of buttons

Pushed at random

An overheard conversation

At the dentist’s office

Sending x-ray recollections

Into forward play and 

Changing my breath and

My complexion as I relive

My murders,

Clawed forever into a brain

Those guilty priests cannot forgive

Even God has allowed me to allow the

Remnants to remain for now

Brushed against my heart

Like orange and purple sunsets

At Palisades Park.

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No Regrets

Find yourself
Come face to face
Against a wall or
In a warm embrace.

See yourself
A slivery shadow
Eager to pounce
ready to know.

Touch yourself
A string of words
Snapped by emotion
Fired by verbs.

Smell yourself
A certain stench
Washed in blood
Do not flinch.

Taste yourself
A salty rage
Bitter as bile
Or sweetened by age.

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Splashed Smiles Learning

Saving a memory
because laughter splatters
across the room
rolling, clinking,
splashed smiles savored
like wine-mellow
with bursts of flavors
rolled along the tongue

Learning takes place
better when there is 
laughter and smiles
invite learners

Giggles, gurgling
eyes and teeth participating
who what questions
answers accents, soliloquies, duets
trios and groupwork

Sets of co-operative
silly making 
blessing the room
where we learn

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Skin I'M In Part Two

Only little black girl at  school and her white friends admired her ‘tan’ 
–“I'm brown all over” she told them, proudly motioning to all her body.  
But skin color can be an issue
 I remember the back of the bus-
although we rarely rode it because of that.  
I remember for colored only water fountains 
segregated schools and lunch counters for whites only.  
I remember the caste system at my high school- black step back, brown stick 
around, white you all right. 
I think Langston Hughes captured the cadence of it.  
Bright skin girls were queens and princesses, beautiful and fair.  
Black girls were well, BLACK and that was supposed to be a negative.  
And then a funny thing happened on the way through the sixties-
BLACK was beautiful and the skin color dynamics began to change.  
It came out of the closet and was addressed by white, black, brown, red and 
yellow people.  
Now skin color is celebrated in all shades and hues although 
I still hear teenagers at my high school (I'm a teacher now) say things like, 
"I'm not sitting out here in no sun, I don't want to get any blacker than I am."  
And of course prejudice has not disappeared it has mutated and we do have 
stronger defenses against it in some cases.  
Interestingly even skin color defines some of my "brown" students.  
They react to the "darkness" of each other and their parents, relatives and 
friends.  
"My mom is real dark, Miss, she don't look nothing like me."  
"Miss, do you think I look like a Mexican?  I don't look nothing like a Mexican."  
"I'm a Latina." 
"There's no such thing as a Chicano, it's something people made up, either 
you're a Mexican or you're not."  
"What does that mean-Hispanic?"  
"I'm Cuban, Puerto Rican, and El Salvadorian, from Belize; Honduran (We got 
black Hondurans, Miss)” That’s the color of skin thing.

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The Balloon Teacher

It was the last period.
The breezy school day was almost done.
Mrs. Johnson and her English class relished
Getting a restroom break and a bit of sun.
They were gathered on the gazebo.
Antonio and Ned were poking fun.
Sometimes even a laugh
can start a great big one!
"Fight," Angelina screamed.
Who came running? Everyone!!
The fighters were swinging-going wild.
Go for help Mrs. Johnson called - run.
But before security could get there-
Thank God nobody had a gun,
There was a loud noise
Like someone
Was blowing up
a giant cushion.
Mrs. Johnson's face was swelling.
She was moving  upwards in a strange fashion.
She looked like she weighed a ton-
Or perhaps better said she looked like
A humungous silver balloon 
headed toward the sun.
She floated away and of course
as they always say
To this very day
No one has seen her since. Period.

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My, My, What the Sickens

The story of school starting is here
It began with a bell and a cheer
Bob brought a talking chicken
My, my, what the sickens
Harridan Teacher silenced them with fear

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Skin I'M In Part One

Tough skinned -strong, take it and dish it out.  
Thin skinned - overly sensitive.  
Skin of our teeth -
struggle for life, survival. 
Skin defines and designs us, 
the skin we’re in, through pain, color issues, death and life.  

Skin-If skin could talk. 
Fascinating story. 
Not just color of skin but skin which is our body fabric, the material that wraps our 
soul and our innermost parts silky, splashed with water, warmth, cologne, love 
and labor-skin. 

yes john heck this is prose but...the skin I'm in Part One

Touch comes through skin and touch informs us of so much. The way people 
touch us tells us if they are comfortable with us and with themselves.  
It can be hostile, strident touch; rough, accusatory, disciplining, invasive or it can 
be sensual, exciting, invigorating, accepting, encouraging, loving, comforting. 

Skin Talk

too frequent breakouts, rashes, allergies, sores, impetigo, suffered 
embarrassment, pain and shame. Scars!  Coco butter for every nick and scrape.  
But my black knees and those scars embarrassing in
swimsuits or shorts 
legs were scarred with black spots.  
Marvin Taylor called me leopard legs in fifth grade and fifty years later, 
I remember the sting, shame and pain of it.  
Campaigned against my scarred legs with scrubs and other potions until the 
spots began to fade  and a sense of perspective...

skin challenges, burns, rapid tissue growth that should disfigure -yet the 
elephant man walks with dignity and grace in his could be monster face

severe acne in the face, severe psoriasis and yet their character and ways of 
dealing with these problems determine their real image, reflection and persona 
life is a gift that can not be determined by black spots on legs.

Details | Rhea Daniel Dear Poem

The Chair

Noisiness neighs your code,
Loud, braggadocios, belching
Shouting sentiments and prophysying plays 
As your body disintegrates
And dredges your kidneys fail and your legs lilt frail 
Yet you claim life loud and braggadocios.
The football game gimmicks
The baseball booboos all acclaimed and assessed by you
Whose own health waivers with lesions and machines
Mitigate your blood as you shout loudly, “I told you”
To quintessential quarterbacks in your dreams
You chair the channel surfer of your mind as the
Games grab headlines heralding from your hurting heart.