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Best Poems Written by Jayme Chapin

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

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The Wall That's Built

There’s a wall that’s built.
As you portray no guilt.
Corruptive void of events unseen.
Parental alienation; as you act like a teen.
Sipping on a tall Jim Beam.
As you unfolded your game of poker.
There’s a wall that you built.
Through the lies and charade.
You perform the Joker.
Incapable of negotiation.
Full of hateful spite.
A man full of lies.
With morphed perception of deranged sight.
There’s a wall that you built.
Where you hurt with daggers of emotional distress.
A sick twisted game of maladaptive chess.

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My Angel

My sons on a secret mission full of bravery, loneliness, comradery.

His smiling face I miss so dear, now his aloofness is quite so clear.

Rich politicians making victims from the military industrial system, as they send out the youth to fight battles they would never send their kids on.

Cowards, and hypocrites, selling, negotiating international arms deals to allies that only stab our nation in the back, as they secretly meet behind closed doors to attack.

War, organized religion, money, greed, power, commodities are the fall of man.

One country flexing their arm muscles while wearing a wife beater shirt; stating that their nuclear weapons are more powerful than the others.

A machismo of sorts, taking over the media with no conscious for the real men and women that die and sacrifice for others.

Humans are so combative, so ruthless, so ugly, such cowards.

The peace loving hippies love to justify their hatred for war.

A Justification for a theatrical sort that embraces love through eccentric high brows and their self education appointed by a family lineage of war or peace, of power, or slavery, of hope or despair.

I miss his gregarious smile, his witty little jokes, as I await to hear from him; from an island that was once war torn.

Killed off by the small pox disease, an island that survived several violent take overs. Once governed by Spain, China, and now America.

A super typhoon or two that scared off the locals, and tourists.

Where our brave sailors await their destination to an unknown underwater siege, as they place their lives in the hands of their military seniors.

Freedom is not free, peace is not peaceful, war is raw, the scared hearts that defend my words in this story, fend off cyber criminals that hold our future, and our presence for ransom.

A thorn of crowns that weep for the brave ones, a mother cub , waiting
patiently for her eldest to return.

In a perplexing state of frenzy, a worried mind, an accelerated heart beat, I see his gregarious smile once again, and I know my angel will return.

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Home

Home is a bright pink crepe myrtle blowing in the wind.
His giggles and laughter while placing his feet in the sand.
Christmas lights wrapped around their hands, full of wonder and delight.
A mighty father making a roar, with all of his might.
A grin so big with that first bicycle tour down the road.
Training wheels coming off for the first time, and everything bold.
His gregarious smile while playing the drums.
A planter of bougainvillea with a bit of a green thumb.
Carving pumpkins with creative flare.
Watching Ginger Rodgers and Fred Astaire.
Home is a safety net where one sleeps tight.
When you lose it, nothing feels right.
Home was a haven where I once felt safe.
Nothing has been right ever since, all out of place.
There once was a teak wood table where Thanksgiving was served.
Full of magical smiles and prayers that were heard. 
Home has been lost for quite some time now.
I attempt to move on, but there is nowhere to go.
I’d rather bury my head in ten feet of snow.
Home was where love once shined on bright.
Full of grace, and kindness and magical delight.
Happy little family with little footsteps running about.
I’ve lived on the streets wondering where to find my home.
But it was stripped away from me and now I have darkness to roam.
Home was full of baby Einstein and Alan Jackson too.
With sweet summer days, and country songs blues.  
Through shadows, and memories I try to go back.
To find a safe place with family in tact.

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Mate

Violation of human rights.
With no regard of the psychological damage.
The parental alienation of lies spewed from your tablecloth.

No decorations for his empty room.
No hugs from mom.
No kisses on the forehead, or uplifting aspirations from my words of wisdom.
Emotional absence while you worship money.
Void of teaching the love of family, and bonds that are to last forever.

As you severed the beautiful relationship between mother & son.
Caring about yourself.
As you fail to fathom what you have done.

Your actions, have created a wall in which you have built.
As you carry no guilt with a barbarian like mentality. 
Lacking the essential skills to cooperate; as you alienate.

An eruption of emotions as you escalated a high jacking of my sunshine.
Keeping him from a beloved mother that protected, and nurtured.
As you cruelly navigate scatology from a woman that has no regard for truth.
Choosing a mate that only cares about her looks, and fake persona.

While he lays in his bedroom looking at the empty wall.
His phone full of Anime….
Working long hours to escape his fate…..
It’s a shame you chose such a hateful, greedy, manipulative mate……

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Try Again

Love hibernates
Then congregates
Over a lovely gospel
In the middle of Autumn
The angels have not fallen
They rise in praise like the morning sun

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A Witch Trial

Socrates at a witch trial.
Still he pursued wisdom for generations to come.
Question authority, question everything, think for yourself.
Plato’s interpretation of a great philosopher.
Socrates at the stake, standing up for what is right.
Ethics and epistemology questioned the questions.
The ironic method of western philosophical traditions.
Moving towards a new era.
Athena the goddess of wisdom, standing by his side.
Another individualistic soul being condemned for philosophical thought.

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The French Impressionist

You swept in like a French impressionist with the leaves blowing in the air.
You snapped a photograph of me swinging and my long blonde hair. 
We made love all night long, and shared a life that wasn’t at all wrong. 
Now the haystacks are on fire, and the water lilies are gone.

I dared to embrace a pure boundless movement for creativity, exploring my subconscious like a Dali art form.

All I could see were fields of corn, with a lake full of whispers, as you walked away into your ring of fire. 
Walking away from our dreams and desires. 

I wonder who you now admire, with your social climbing, and condescending tone.
I tried to remain in composure in my mind full of strife. 

As you took your vows and threw them down in an angry game of knives.
Now Monet, and Dali have left;  the only thing I have left is this oil painting of Picasso, where the elderly man sings, his ruined clothing and a bucket full of dreams. 

As he panhandles at night he hunches over his guitar with no one in sight, reminds me of my time on the streets, where I was left with abuse and no place to eat. 

You swept in like a French impressionist with a camera in hand, ready to take advantage of my hair and the pure white sand. The haystacks caught fire, and the lilies have died, and now you have a new wife by your side.

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Stranger On the Street

When the sky turns pink, and the sun sets low.
I hope and pray you have a place to go.
After, the cool breeze dies down, and summer sets in.
I hope you find a new place; where you can begin again.
Through the heat of the day, and the cars buzzing by.
I hope you have a place to lay your weary head; while you sigh.
After all of your drinks, and all of your moans.
I hope you find a place you can finally call home.

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Consistency Is Death

Redundancy, & Consistency; a slow death.
Seeping into the spine, deteriorating the bones.
Curve balls exist for a reason.
The vast roads that wind, different ways.
Paving the path for a scenic route, away from the drudge.
Wasabi for the palette; changing the senses for a new tasteful delight.
Cuddling with a new cashmere blanket, feeling safe, cozy, and relaxed. 
Jumping out of bed for the next adventure under the vast constellations.
Soaking up the rays on a river rafting tour.
Monotony, Redundancy, Consistency kills the soul.
Individuals say this on their last breath.
Creating a bucket list, of time lost, adventures to come.
Breaking away from the norm, dancing, singing, kissing in that rainstorm.

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The Bourne Identity

State terrorism still exists with Gestapo police invading our privacy. 
The state of fear and spying defies the constitution. 
What is the resolution?
Immunity for all?
Stand up with this revolution.
Find a solution to their illegitimate proceedings.
While they drink from their chalice with greed in power of religious abuse.
Grinning with malice.
Discriminatory misuse.
Condemnation, of this complication.
Leaves everyone with inflammation from your infiltration.