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Best Poems Written by Amy Houck

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

Details | Amy Houck Poem

Gold Shoes

This morning I found her gold shoes under your bed,
size 7'1/2,
They weren’t even in good shape,
all torn up around the heel,
I can just imagine her wearing them
in some slutty clothes flirting with you at the club,
carelessly forgetting them at your house,
because she probably packed an overnight bag.
Strange thing is, I’m not mad at you,
after all, I have a boyfriend
that you don’t even know about,
and I don’t plan on breaking up with him
Unless my feelings towards you grow stronger,
right now, I just like the excitement,
the series of first kisses and touches,
exploring a body so new to me,
running my heads down your chest,
sucking your neck until you cant take it anymore.
I love to tease you, then give it to you,
and by the way, we should really be more careful,
I’m not gonna tell you but I took the morning after pill today,
I’d like to say it doesn’t bother me, but it does,
I guess you could call me a hypocrite, 
cuz I don’t want her gold shoes under your bed,
but then again,
I have his picture on my nightstand.
You left two marks on my neck,
I didn’t notice until I went to the grocery store,
and the clerk was smiling at me, like... "someone had a good night"
I didn’t even try to cover it up, 
no sense in it, besides I scratched your back better anyway.
I can't stop thinking about Friday, the first time we had sex,
I loved attacking you at the door, no talking,
Straight to the point, hands all over each other, kissing so passionately, 
I loved the way you handled my body,
I loved climbin on top of you,
feeling you slip inside me,
I couldn’t resist it,
I started riding you, watching your eyes relax, and I'll never forget,
how you looked at me, gripped my arms tightly and said..
"You know your mine now"
I wanted to be yours. 
Your strong sexy body underneath me,
with all your tattoos, and your brothers rest in peace necklace,
I got a thing for the thug type,
It’s something in me that wants it.
Even when I know if I go for it,
I might just wake up,
and find a pair of shoes, Gold Shoes, 
playfully shoved under your bed,
from some, other, love affair.

Details | Amy Houck Poem

Natural Temptation

While Lusts fever sweats out self-possession,
Haunted Passion multiplies per heartbeat              
Turning cold blood hot with obsession.

Though the past has left an impression,
New Hunger hunts an old bed-sheet
While Lusts fever sweats out self-possession.

“No,” should speak an easy confession,
But loneliness pressures purity backseat
Turning cold blood hot with obsession.

Wild thoughts parade with indiscretion
Pendulum emotions erratically repeat
While Lusts fever sweats out self-possession.

Sex brews choice with oppression 
Baking bitter standards so semisweet 
Turning cold blood hot with obsession.

A war of feelings with no recession
Continually fight the ache to secrete,
Still, Lusts fever sweats out self-possession,
Turning cold blood hot with obsession.

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Gray

Poor miserable mysterious color,
Not a dark, not a light, an in between. 
Oh the complexity of gray in laundry.
This neutral hazy excuse for a color,
like the polluted version of white,
or the immature offspring of black.
Gloomy, uninspiring, gray surely must be 
the fraternal twin of gleaming desirable silver. 

In a gray room, gray senses linger in air like overcast,
damp enough to deepen your breath, 
muggy enough to sting your eyes.
An old dead coat of thick gray dust 
dresses a bookshelf of unused knowledge,
which plays house to a gray photograph,
…A gray girl without a smile. 
Bulky furniture colors the room gray,
taking on a dead life of its own. 
Gray clouds stretch whistles of wind through an old window,
the eerie draft sways the once white sheets, 
stirring gray dust,
reminding us all, that time is forgotten.

Gray touches time. 
As age
As wisdom, like an old man’s beard, 
as power, like a dark stone pathway, 
forcefully planning our footsteps,
obnoxious, as a gray seagull 
stealing my sandwich crumbs, as well as my privacy on a sandy beach shore. 
Damn the gray seagull!
Interrupting the black and white rigidity in my ignorant world of perfection,
forcing me to see things as they truly are.

My eyes gaze up my mountain of hopes,
till I see a gray stormy sky, 
which casts out gray sounds like the surprise of thunder in a convertible with a 
broken top, 
playing Simon Says with chilling gray rain, 
dripping gray water spots of smeared ink on my morning newspaper,
smudging the lies, 
developed by gray minds of people unable to see past what they know,
more blind then the actual eyes of the blind, 
but better off then those with gray hearts, who do not know who they are. 


We are born opening our eyes to the white light of this world 
and die closing them to black darkness…
We are not born with gray minds 
but die with them,
as we cloud our abilities with gray standards and gray walls, 
un-wanting to explore any unfamiliar gray area,
until we ourselves, unknowingly turn gray.
Even in death, we never break the blind borders that confine us.
Our perception remains gray,
Always attempting to look beneath the surface,
When really 
We need to look at the same surface differently.
This world remembers us by what we did,
instead of who we were…
Sooner or later,
No one is ever known
And we all become…
nothing 
but gray.

Details | Amy Houck Poem

Baltimore City

No Love in childhood, it's understood why we love our hood, 
Raised by the village so I feel it,
Afeni says a child needs knowledge in the realest,
Everyones a teacher, so I listen to hear it, 
Keep my ears to da street, cuz it speaks as it rots, 
wit drugs and cops, posin mixed wit rock, 
On my Block, You either survive or get knocked.
This Man we call Tube Socks, Lives outside 711, 
wit a sign that says waitin on heaven,
Cant give um cash, cuz hes on crack, wonder why he gotta be like that?
Sometimes I just stare, wonder why hes there and Im here.
It was tough growing up, I saw to much to soon,
Seven years old open the curtain in my room
see a gang out back, always said I'd never be like that.
But life changes like a river,
and I became a fiend for the liquor,
Get high and Prophesize while smokin da swisher. 
Don't think I'm a saint, cuz I'm just a sinner,
I see da bigger picture, its all connected, 
Im to young to understand it,  but I try and respect it.

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The Lost Man

Identity Crisis!? We Fight it,
Thinking, no one will see the candle, If we don't light it.
Loose Ourselves in daily survival, 
Don't read the bible cuz the times not there.
Work all day saying life an't fair.
Bad attitudes, bad moods, 
People pass by, and can't even look you in the eye.
Why?
What happened to Hi, Good morning, Goodnight,
How you doing, is everything alright?
Were on the defense, rushing life and fighting death,
It don't even make sense!?
Were not that different, were just so distant.
We lost unity and compassion,
But most of all passion,
What happened?

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The Grave of Our Beginning

Hold your breath.
Feel your heart pound in your chest,
Yes, life's precious but we run around and second guess it?
These worldly ways destroy us,
We don't trust what came before us,
We want to be the witness and understand how it all shifted,
I in vision it, with a blindfold, 
Under my streets theres a story to be told,
Before the cites and the brick,
I wonder what was here before all of this?
I see a tree every few feet,
and grass cracking through the concrete,
I think there used to be a forest here
but there an't much left,
just a few trees behind my neighbors fence,
This cities like a tombstone on the grave of our beginning,
I hate how we're living in all this power,
So, I took a flower and laid it on the street,
just to show my respect for what lies beneath.

Imagine how it used to be.....

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Samson

My man grows a black afro like Samson, I understand him.
I grow dark braids like Rapunzel,
It’s my symbol of strength in this jungle,
On paper I dream...
Grew up a fiend for the words making my pen bleed,
Drip on paper like water to a seed, I need room to breathe.
Everyday I escape, shadow box my demons but ya'll can’t see um, 
Spar with imaginary reality, It bothers me.
I see, 
Ten times ten men and I’m trying to get in?
Coming around the mountain from the fountain of truth,
I speak knowledge for the youth with an old souls roots.
I break loose…I am the one in the chamber on Russian Roulette,
I bring the most unexpected danger, could be life, could be death.
You attract your destruction, so my wisdom is not a threat.
Zig Zag Zig,
It’s a higher intelligence, an’t traveled the world but I’ve seen all its elements.
Been everywhere through my third eye, The Mind.
Don’t look for God in the sky, but inside.

Details | Amy Houck Poem

Bricks

I slept, but my heart was awake,
A thousand times over, I tell myself,
I will not think about you,
But then I do.
You have molded into my life
Like a brick in my foundation, a dark cherry red one.
And no matter what I do, everyday there you are.
Notice, that you are among other bricks.
Bricks, from the last year,
Bricks, from last week,
Even some deep burgundy ones, with ashy passion marks from years ago.
I often sit alone and look around at what life I have built for myself,
And I realize that if I were to remove a single piece, a single brick,
The walls of my very world would collapse. 
That is the reason; I would not change a thing,
Each and every brick, has a place.
No matter how unpleasant,
It is mine. 
And I will claim it.
…Do not run from the things that have made you.
…When asked do not deny them,
…Stand Boldly and be who you are,
Because that, is the only thing that will save you.

-AIM

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Revelations

Why does it take the unexpected for me to feel connected?
Gods the architect, He designed it, I reflect it. 
Flip the coin of life and death,
One side Emotion the other intellect, 
Human trial and error, then progress.
It’s a domino affect.
We grow, 
Some are silent, others shine like Ultraviolet. 
I am sunlight and purple pain,
Wrist bound by misery’s chains.
I see,
We all stereotype it’s the truth,
We got deep roots and bad habits 
woven into the souls fabric,
It’s hard to manage, everyday’s a challenge.
I got to find balance.
Destroy system taught, polluted Thoughts,
Cut out the worlds poison, and burn the wound with Salt. 
Were all cut from the same Cloth.

My Truth:
Ignorance is not an Excuse.