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Best Poems Written by Local Order

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

Details | Local Order Poem

We Will Never Understand Love As Death

Love will always
mark itself out in the local of our eye,
but
our local is a lie. 

our love has crossed oceans,
bent the bend of a horizon
thousands of times over
the head we have of it.

our local is our meaning,
our value held to dear;
a self set in begining
short of wanting change be near.

and love is not close.
a love eludes what 'is',
but determined we find
we may still set its pose.

make love a local image;
fencing that writhe  
to gardended time
and pardon sudden changes
to a nature undivine. 

to mistake love's hold
for that which we control,
is to kill the swan and count
it's feathers and proclaim
in agony:

THIS IS THE LAST SWAN,
PURE AND WHITE!

'and forget to mention'

DEAD FOR ME TO SEE!

so

be weak in love and wish its death.
those prone to hold and own,
will always grasp at breath
and find shadows in their home.

Love like this will always burn,
will always make habit of it's beauty,
and will happen again and again,
for as long as we love.

Details | Local Order Poem

The Saddest Days

And there are not enough cubicles and grey paneling that
sugar rock candy lights won’t cut
the sapling eye from its still decline into Abyss.

And there are not enough sad thoughts wars rapes to gratify inward hatreds which never walk the feather but mobilize the thousand marching whales across an entire worlds sandy interior.
across every turtle egg.

If there are secrets below us we are too many
too numerously traveling
a cacophonous tandem that secrets could survive our drumming lull.
Surely we have broken all our secrets with our song.
I hear only ever what anyone always forever has known.

I have no doubt anymore.
There is only sand below.

No. The saddest days are behind in mouths of our trekking bedded with pruned flowers who wilted passing along the snaking vine of history which coils and dies as mast and pointed finger at every moment we recall our saddest days.

But these days are not polished aged silvers of goals and just conquering, but like a sword waved through crowds at night where the tallest fell in heads and became mountainous cultures of sporadic hands where finally at this moment cresting backwards
we see our ladder in dawn
and it is blood.

Every possible minute from every now onwards.
Each point along stretches back marking the infinite fence of beginnings lamely ticked from the chain which links them. Such that as time leans in the depth of reflection, in the understanding of casual existence, of tragedy, everyday comedy — the noon will bite its appearance, and we will miss our lunch.
Dry and sour throats work along this real thing.
Where there was once water and loss
Is the leftward image of death in decline.

We are not so caring as to want for our lives.

For as long as we want others, and acquire others, and drift from others — who were once familiars — only to drift back and want again, and not be in haste of charging this social pattern with contempt of experience;
Of laughing at us,
Doubting our depths,
Then there is hope.

If not, then we shall continue.
But we will not have our sadness.
We will dry our tears from each other
And mask the body to wed from time.
This tomb is a forever we would not escape.

It is a death amidst the sand.

The river awaits.

Details | Local Order Poem

To Livia, And, To You Reader

I see our time,
and, around it
a door.

Latchless hinging
on the thimble 
thumbs of 
two children.

I run into you
a needle,
arive behind
you a thread,
undone in my 
knitting,
stained red.

Best Poems Written by Local Order

Die Twice Exclamation Mark

Child of Sleep

Poetry Soup Talks, Ow, Hot

Say To the Sun

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We Will Never Understand Love As Death

Language Rots

The Saddest Days

To Livia, And, To You Reader