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Best Poems Written by Brian Rusch

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

Details | Brian Rusch Poem

Dark and Wasteful Rambling Conversation I

In all my artist wanderings 
Traveling through these great lands of ours

Places visited or lived in, diverse, memorable
Many messages I received...

As did so many that passed before me
Passing through each wilderness
Learning new steps to take.

                                   ___*___

From the lands themselves, such current’s rising
Graced with as much memory as could be held...

Weaving in with the music’s felt in drifting airs…

Did you hear my singing too, joining too
Off in the distances?

                                       ___*___

Danced I wildly through in all these places
Connecting currents wherever found, discovered…

Becoming one, uniting elements
Strongly manifesting new impressions around chosen places...

Like volcanoes quiet, smelly, silent cones
Some still holding withheld fires.

And such warm cousins, stifling Desert heats
Driving me to ground to wait out the day…

Can you feel this… laughing with me
Waiting until tomorrow’s return.

                                       ___*___

How about even-heated, plain sand places 
Near to Ocean’s rocky, and broken, shell-strewn shores
Having their own tunes to teach...

No place here for barefoot wading
Or, even waiting out the tides to rest.

Holding still there, in your chosen place for sittings...
With only bitter biting fleas and seaweeds stinking
Offering sights and feelings for the day.

                                       ___*___

Though memory can serve up more irksome places
Try Humid swamps with their dank, smelly waters.

Small islanded wildlands opening 
And swiftly closing behind one paddling through.

No trails to follow, just pick any direction
Each offering little argument needed, to leave…

As dusk and darkness settle in early
Ready for new bones to chew on.

                                        ___*___

Quick was I always 
To run away to higher grounds

When alone, lost in high mountain sloping’s
Airs chilling to the bone

Loose scree feeding fears of falling…
Down and down into waiting holes in the ground.

Silent… cold, wet in caves...
Real rocky Earth connecting again.

                                               ___*___

In earlier days, and younger
 Where did that great, silence feeling visit before?

Oh yes, on mystic Moon-lit nights
As the large orb passed it’s own time for reflecting...

Listening then to the rising dark...
The Deep of ocean waters.

Sighing within its quiet waves
Can any chasm be as deep and black as mine?

                                            ___*___ 

All this varied life
Much with bitter laughing…

Well, what else could they even say
’Drop in for a visit…?,’ perhaps.

Dare I even think more crazy things as this
Dare I play so wild, in courting stranger dangers?

                                                ___*___

For be it known, this Earth has many diverse songs to sing
And not all are pleasant melodies, ears find worth hearing.

What do the crowds say…
Oh, less said or sang by most, better to forget

Learning well, few fully sane men are met 
On these sparse empty trails.

So few chasing limits such as these
Through their own many years, then going gray. 

                                                ___*___

Crazy is... this courting chaos
Finding yet still, many new in such haunted places

Why not, are they fit for naive youth, or wise old men.
Youth for learning true
Elder courting curiosities, unsettling to Soul’s home.

Trying to tie mysterious energies rising together 
Merging balanced to be enveloped
By the later sitting-still.

                                                  ___*___

Enough of this and those
That given in Time and its special places

Wait for waking presence in mind 
Sometimes waking old, ancient memories…

Hearing connecting from a deep, quiet within
‘I’ve been here before…’

Ah, for the true artist
Just the place to pursue real art impulses

Where else can the right fools be found?
Can we still dance?

Details | Brian Rusch Poem

Finding Your Temple

In strange dream-lands
Perhaps on far, far away shores
Does stand the rim of Beyond Understanding.

A temple to higher thoughts, and subtle visions
Of more-to-comes and there-afters waiting
Holding futures bright, out from foggy mists.

Here, here is where your next place dwells
Land ye steady, fear not feeling... being alone
For there is no such thing, always is... company.

Sing you here then, your song, bright eyes
And listen ye to what you hear
The Beyond has always held your partner’s voice.

Details | Brian Rusch Poem

Dark and Wasteful Rambling Conversation II

Thank God, for people of order 
That disciplined, hold in people like myself.

We men, who enjoy strange living so…

In such outrageous outposts
Tempting a varied life… 

As well as early imprintings so…
Weren’t we told to be better than this challenging?

Why be vibrating on the edge of chaos so...
Seeing few happy women about to help

They who in feeling
Know true what lies in restless artist’s hearts.

                                         ___*___

For In many ways these diverse multiple energy’s traded
Are the best of artist’s food

Gourmet meals for the day…
Grinning slightly at yet another close call passing

Blood’s up...
Knowing it feeds special Muses with needed fuels.

Who otherwise would never feed fires so deep within
Jailed instead into bored deafening silences...

So quiet one would think them dead
Instead of so hidden deep.
 
Reserved, waiting for sparkling lights to come shining their way
Spilling out energy’s fresh to use… ‘Wake up and create!’

                                       ___*___

I keep going again through years passing
The energizer of this all, free-choice curiosity, aware…

Of where it strives to be
Wading again throughout our own wild America at will...

Storing future fuels for future work purpose 
Carrying lifted, the used soiled lantern of truth

Filtering out chaff and worthless false images
Burning parasites and biters to the ground

We know horizon mirages are just a tease
Better to visit ‘real’ to know

Above all, in truth be true, and stay that way
Is this how it is?

                                       ___*___

Does Cool Water ring a bell
With no Dan to call, just a crow cawing…
 
To mark the way, as morning doves left long ago
Leaving me to crawl alone, to nearest spring.

Unfettered, unchained, crazy at times questioned
Why would, how could artists as I, come to be so untethered

Whatever happened to the fine imprintings in youth given
Thinking you all, we were, we are so well anchored.

                                           ___*___

In degrees, communion, employment, right to vote and family 
Scattered we and they are and were

Slain all before the wild eyes of chaos.

Looking each in their own mirror
‘Are you happy, fulfilled, truly free?’

Inner-self answers firmly
‘Then what worth was all of that calling itself
In your self, the true, better nature of man?’

Something wrong here
So, in this then, begins the quest

                                     ___*___

With too, a fresh lantern lit and hoisted
As sure enough leaving religion, education
Governance, and family to howl...

They, not seeing their own closets 
Creating their own monsters

Order, presence, and profits struggling well 
To hold such selfish sway. 

Watching false praises to those powers that be
Through so many, tedious passing’s of Time.

                                         ___*___

Better to throw abandoned justices into dark rooms 
Beyond the light of any day, thinking now so well hidden…

War, famine, disease, and sins of all kind
Ever bursting out of bonds, feral, laughing gibberish

Intense, fierce, in more and more velocities
Deliveries of karma, future warning, worse ahead…

Until today, worrying many of forecasted end times
For how else could such encroaching chaos be answered rightly.

                                          ___*___

After so many tries, so much fails
As sins of fathers pass on to sons unhindered

To play on, prey on, again using rare blessings given, wasted
Made only into more foul desserts.

While order excuses all to exhaustion
Holding on to its own justifications…

Tethered as it is to long, thought strong, founding habits
Any tortured pathway home only found etched through dirty, bloody fields.

                                          ___*___

Long past missing saving grace, that thin ribboned trail 
Leading away upwards

Where light lives, and balance reigns supreme
What gain then is that?

No longer needing Chaos understanding
Seeing it then having taken its right place, throughout the All of It

I easily hark back to past dreams and lessor poems
In a new understanding.

                                      ___*___

For today... is only today, the same as yesterday.

Or is it... 

For dues paid...
From the rim of chaos comes light stirring

Muses waken full, life brightening in diverse places
Secretly rise opening, to fuse in new times ascending.

No secret, answer always there as before
Hiding in plain sight as it is…

And has always been...
Enough people care.

So do we all plod on.

Details | Brian Rusch Poem

A Short Burst of Flame, Being Here

Notice:
In the greater scope of things…
No matter how strong each is in arriving


Little matter, for when arriving
Each arrives alone … surviving to need.


‘Alone’, I say
We arrive
Each coming as a babe...


Having a humble
Quiet understanding inside
Knowing within ancient wisdom’s comfort...


‘I arrive here, yes...
Though alone
Not to be forgotten.’


For yes too, in right Time
Balancing out true...
‘I must then leave here too... alone;


Memories, learning’s
And new awareness’s...
Being my only luggage.


Baggage ingested
To carry me on...
Into future abodes.


____*____


All cheer...
Knowing within this
There is ultimate truth…


‘In passing, if nothing else comes along 
Except memories in song… what have I
What have we, learned?’


Ah, the supreme result strides boldly forth...
With the reason needed
For a life’s passage.


And then does the Wheel turn.. and turns
Seeking answer from anywhere...
For more.


Saving its final answer for the day
When called upon to report…
Time passaging versus evolution.


___*___


For so many lie sleeping
So many others left wondering…


Not even knowing where they are
Only that they are, in a returning...
With It is, as Is, reporting it’s truth.


With agreed agenda arriving for accounting
Providing only now true, balanced right answers
Leaving all else folded back in Time.


What was truly learned
Was intent satisfied?
Most times, with surprises evoking a smile…


Meanings become clearer
Leaving then... to go on from there…
Returning once more to life, with fresh intent.


So does the wheel keep turning.

Details | Brian Rusch Poem

A Quiet Understanding

Yes… even still, one’s philosophical reaching matters
Not because it conquers space...

But because it aligns with something deep
And ancient in the design… a personal calling.

As if the Cosmos longs to be understood
Even by a single, small being.

Why? Perhaps for nothing more than this…
That the dance becomes better.

Details | Brian Rusch Poem

The Withering Grace

A Closing Reflection

Is it not true that we look for forgiveness
for our feigned ignorance's
For the hypocrisies we allowed because they served us?

We ask to be forgiven
Not because we changed
But because we are afraid of what’s coming.

As if the Earth were a mother
Who always welcomes us home
Even when we’ve burned the field.

But forgiveness is no longer in the seeds.
No, not anymore
And the forgiveness we crave in the earth is drying out
The grace is withering.
And the soil remembers.

It does not forget the pesticides we called 'progress'
Or the poisons we buried beneath language like 'efficiency' and 'growth'
It remembers what was taken...
And what was denied.

And so we stand now in a field of mirrors
Our algorithms humming, our stories spinning
Dancing with reflections of costumed pasts
Still pretending that scale will save us.

But the Earth has already answered
And her silence is not consent.
It is warning.

The next era will not be judged by what we built
But by whether we can still sow.

And if we cannot…
Then let no one say
We were not warned, and did not know.

Details | Brian Rusch Poem

A Writer's Malaise

A writer's challenge
Is like any artist's…

A many sided coin flipped.

Feel, see, hear, dream
Sweats tasted, presenting pasts 

Saw, felt, heard, and dreamt
Bringing future in to bear.

Not just a flat, slim coin, mind you...

A presence coin, flipped of immeasurable depth 
Holding saved wisdom's placement.

Search boxes present, now titled past
Waiting for more recent future’s to come.

                                       ___*___

Thoughts unbidden, spinning out 
The webs they soon are to become

Gut-guided by Spider Muse
Desire, worry, quick mind.

The space of it boggles restless spirit
Wishes hoped, or not, in widest breadth manifesting so

Look close, they hold universes hanging 
Teasing’s, like bright ornaments. 

                                             ___*___

Such shining candles
Come I uneasy into that mass?

Then answer, what tethers me here 
In who’s chosen spot...

For to go on and on is my own choice.

Directing where, and use 
Is how now, I am the changed ‘I am’.

Please don't get me started
After all, I’m a working writer

And like most all writers
I have a friend nearby…

To keep me on my toes.

Details | Brian Rusch Poem

Winding Way

Black crow flying 
Low stalling
Wise too in caution taking
Know’s a fool would not last as long.

Winding way I calls him
Not one to fly straight lines
Curious, attention-deficited
Following ‘what’s that’, as a worthy lifeline.

Fence siting… I know not
For staying is not his calling card
God only knows all he’s truly seen
A loner looking… perhaps returning tomorrow.

I’ll wait and see, a loner, curious too
There are crumbs left from others feeding
Some thought to stay…
But not him, today.

Details | Brian Rusch Poem

Waiting for the Third Day, A Muse Chronicle

Muse - Day 1, 2016

For years I had read
Not realizing what I too, had given…

I had given, just not sure what I received in return.

So, in these, my later years thinking on this...
I approached morning’s-day Muse
Fresh with the Sun.

From all I had become in the Sum of Days 
Muse asked gently of me...
“Who are you?”

I am an artist.

“I see no feeling
I feel no seeing.”

And so, the Muse went away
Fading back into the Sun.

And I wait for the next day becoming...
Taking a while.

                        ___*___

Muse - Day 2, 2021

Once again summoned...
I approached morning’s-day Muse
In the rising Sun’s early hours.

And from life’s second Sum-Of-Days becoming
The Muse, now testy, asked me…

“Who are you?” She demanded.

I am an artist becoming.

“I don't feel what you see
I don't see what you feel
So how do you know who you are becoming?”

And so, the Muse sped away
Again… fading back into the Sun.
  
And I still wait for the summoning...

For the Third Day Becoming.