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Best Poems Written by Zed Zed

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

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A Crooked House

We lived in a crooked house.
Built on a muddy mound of hope with the corpse of yesterday half buried beneath
Sad eyes and smiley faces. A gilded countenance to pair the four walled fiction – Painted thin; only just enough to cover our cracks.
Widening like morning eyes; a mirrored reflection.
Dancing in a zigzag to the tune of the tremors. An ugly soundtrack coaxing ugly art.

Those damp walls. The cracks swallowing torrents from eyes in the sky
Wide eyed boys watching sliding droplets crashing into droplets. Swallowed like pride.
Doors jammed in water seeped jambes. Knotted and gnarled. A need for a greave
Trees weeping at what they witness from the outside looking in. Shedding leaves for tears.

Oft trampled floor boards creaking and crying in solidarity with those that walk its back
Whisper and scurry light-footed like mice in a hurry so easily scared by the wall breaching wind
Trying hard not to wake the monster sleeping downstairs - Breath held like tongues, voices low
Like the swing in the garden tied to the tired branch of the hunched tree. Seat sunk in mud. Ashamed.

A tip toe down the slippery stairs; in fear of drowning in the basement swimming pool. A watery hell
Festering in the bowels of this building ever since the burgeoning moat breached the ramparts of this faux castle.

Lopsided family photo frames hanging by a thread. Nailed to crumbling walls. A slipping semblance of home.
The rising cigarette smoke staining the walls like those words from the same pursed lips from the mind so hard to rid
A cloudy plume with no silver lining; an excuse for eyes to water; blurring those family portraits.

That poisoned smog escaping through the chimney. Blown out over spluttering trees aghast at what this house concealed.
The wind once blew from the west. The house had many faces then but when the east wind struck its walls, the face it pulled it stuck. Doubled over, bent and crooked.

The trees perished like dreams and time brought change
But this crooked house remained the same.

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She Said, I Said

You said its realistic: that portrayal of love captured in a tiny window frame of romance – shrinking small in juxtaposition to the expanding love. Stood on the precipice of acceptance I look in while I can. Firm on your door mat where I bow my head and know im welcome. Circumstance. It wont let me enter. Here im left to stand, wipe my feet and cool my heels. On the edge of something queuing quiet for a quart of promised nothing, waiting for that ritual washing of hands.

I said its real but sad. Paying for a moments happiness with a currency i feel I cant afford – a sorrow stretching over all of yesterdays tomorrows. The kind to leave me broke beyond belief but I still acquiesce thinking that in times ahead to keep me going I can think how much such an actual mess made me rich beyond my wildest dreams; albeit for a moment only – a muddy footprint at one of many turnpikes on lifes lonely journey.

She said at least you have me for a little while for the alternative was not at all. That if its any consolation you would cry when it was time to say goodbye. But truth be told it felt like time was standing still and I had silly boy like machinations of keeping it like this. Holding hands and arms and never letting go. Drowning out the well known sound of time passing through my finger tips unlike that everlasting lingering taste of her upon my sullen lips.

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Dinner Time

At the kitchen table
Sat still like stone statues – petrified.
A sick game of musical chairs
Sat waiting for the muted music to play again.
Saplings uprooted early; replanted in rows
seated in toxic soil – a stunted growth.
Wooden faces: no smiles or frowns.
Emotions set in stone from eyes set on Medusa’s head.

The slim cracks in plates a widening schism
Where we sit stranded on one side.
An earthquake leaving never ending ripples in the water.
A word or deed, seen or heard. On repeat.
Chairs with no more legs to stand on. Everything and everyone on edge;
Braced to face a world turned upside down.
Sliding plates and tilted tables; fallen trees and twisted broccoli.
A seismic shift from foreboding calm to unnatural disaster. 

 With shattered glass come shattered dreams
Shards bursting imaginary balloons of hope – slivers of normalcy.
Promises smashed against the hard cold walls;
Fragmented, strewn and lost forever.
Reflections in the broken glass show broken faces –
A blackened eye, a frown mistaken for a smile.
Sliced lips hiding wobbly teeth; a stern and stoic jigsawed face.
Hiding years and months and days and lifetimes.

Ketchup splattered walls dripping fast past congealed blood
From last week, last year. Running parallel to tears on faces.
Races with no prizes for the winner once the finish line is crossed.
Blunt knives, sharp tongues. In a colour red
To go with black and blue and green and carrots, beets and peas.
Sealed lips, bitten tongues. Tension cut like a rusty knife
Through sweetest bread. Through gullet, throat or neck.
Heart and stomach; guts and innards without the glory.

 Sweet tooth lying bloodied at the head of the table.
Unseated from its usual place. Yet no crown in sight. No coronation.
A King without kith or kin. No heart; just jacks and jokers
Pummelled hard with clubs and spades. With withered spoon for humble pie.
A cry for just desserts fit for a King: The final serving is a bag of frozen peas
Applied to faces with a frozen look - chiselled art with eyes still warm.
Tears like ice – shaped like shiny diamonds. Sat on tired cheeks –
Semi-permanent. Sure to thaw well before the King is overthrown.

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A Bridge For All Seasons

Here I stand. Early so that its dark enough to see the pretty yellow/white shining bright from car headlights – unblinking eyes; watching, waiting, worried. Drawing ever nearer. Complemented by the burning red from the rear of the cars at the opposite end. A warning signal. A timely reminder in the hope that I might be a little kinder.

Start early but late enough so that its light enough for someone to see what im doing for im not sure if a fall will result in my ruin.

But If it so happens that I do take that long awaited plunge will it expunge all that I have done. Those ills and evils inflicted on so many people.

Of course im hoping that a fall from this here height will do me in. Or better still before my bones become acquainted with the stone; the fear itself might do me in. Yes its thoughts like this that make me think im not quite ready for deaths cold kiss. A coward jumping scared in search of an unobtainable bliss.

At times ive stood out on the edge and peered down beyond my feet, staring hard at what I see; my mind convincing me that it is more than just concrete. I jump….

Yet im still here. Stood tall, stood small. An old and ghostly owl afraid to fly for fear of the fall, a fledgling starling with a will to win; having dreamt of flying high before I spread my wings. Yet im way too weak to wet my beak. My thoughts fly wild but I can barely speak.

Here I am. The highest heights. Atop this bridge. A troubled, torn and tired kite in need of one almighty fix. A stitch. A magic needle. Sticky tape to mend my tears. To stop my tears. To blind my eyes. A superglue with flowing cape. To help me fly. To make me strong. A man of steel. To make me feel what ive not felt for way too long.

I watch the sun rising over the distant horizon. A patient ascent. Banishing the night’s last black brushstrokes swept across the sky so brazen behind my back. A whispered lament. The blinding red and yellow dimmed and soon a fading flicker trying hard to hold my eye. The sun: painting over nights bleak canvas. No task as thankless. Specks of light flicked far. A blanket over self inflicted scars.

Warm, hopeful, kind. Softly burning all the darkness from my mind.

Until next time…

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Days of Fall

Take me back to them days in the fall
When we spent our days breathing each other in with the air. Entranced. In thrall.
Where I held you beside me stood out in the entrance. Like them towering pines we viewed. Stood tall.
A walk in the woods. In the company of trees. Singular, familial yet unadorned. In that there loneliest place of them all.

Sat by the fire ; fanned by soft whispers, stoking stories of old
Kindling carried in kind by the wind; Words full of warmth in that glorious cold
Our inhibitions setting, our shadows cast as one. No care for the dawn with the night taking hold
In that moment time seemed still. A book cover framed in my mind so we counted stars in the sky writing chapters untold

The night settled in. We swayed beside the flickering fire. Not a word we spoke.
No music played. Like those fading flames we danced slow; in time with natures notes.
The moonlight took a shine to us then. A spotlight on my favourite autumn dress of flowers; filled with summer’s hope.
I’d fall asleep on your bed of flowers. Your scent of promise. Fragrant. Those days of fall when by each other’s sides we woke.

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Morning Run

The glistening morning sun
Dazzled eyes lead my morning run
So my mind does not wander to dark times ive shunned
Wander to days gone by when I could say "morning son"
Sweet Days of joy and evenings of fun
Now the nights are bitter and the tears they run
o how I cling to dreams when your race had begun
Long before this father started mourning his son

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Pine Tree

You planted that pine tree
Evergreen like the love for your sons
It did not last. Uprooted. Ripped apart. 
Cut in half. Told to leave.
Like a loss of limbs you tore out the leaves.
The needles. Needless. Fruitless.
A symbol of your love
You damaged more than wood.
A reminder of what had been lost
The sap ran fast like blood.
The torn bark. Deafening. Silent.
Lifeless firs. Drowned by rain. By tears.
A picture painted violent.
Sap and blood to colour life’s canvas
The firs and feelings used as brushes.
A masterpiece in failure
Left unsigned. Left in pieces. Ruined.
Departed blood. An empty space where your tree once stood.

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The Wall

There is a wall of ice between us. 
I see a frosty glimmer of you,
A semblance of the face of many years ago. 
It has thickened year by year. 
Come sun or rain or a hail of fire it will not thaw. 
On my side ive grown into a man yet inside im still a child. 
On yours you count your days and wrinkles. 
We both refuse to chisel at our stone walled hearts. 
Yet i know beneath our weathered skin my child yearns for a father who in turn longs for his son. 
Before our days are done i hope we bore a man shaped hole in this cold and dark divide. 
As in yours there is a hole in my cold heart which only you and I can fill

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Where I Belong

Was it a dream
Because that’s how it seemed
Is this a place I belong
Or a transient stay, a line in a song.
Like fallen dew in the morn.
I was so wrong
This is where I belong
As sure as light follows dawn
Im staying here til ive shorn
All my years and my tears
Filling rivers and ponds
Drawing lines in the sand.
As the night sinks the sun
I embrace demons I’d shunned
But still I’d nip at my skin
Praying to wake 
O how silly to think all it would take is a pinch
When id taken a punch
Punch after punch, at the back of the head
On the small of my back
Sat at the back of the class I think of a ruse
To hide where ive bruised.
This is where I belong.
My place in the park where I sit in the dark
In the light of the moon
My guide in the thick of the night
The thick of a life where darkness is rife.
Still I cling on to hope
As I swing from this rope -
Tied to a tree.
At times in my sleep
I see a rope around me
But this is where I belong
So I breathe; carry on.
For the sake of my mum
For a future I want
For a love that can run
For a daughter, a son
This is where I belong
In the light of the sun
This is where I belong