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Best Poems Written by Terry Miller

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

Details | Terry Miller Poem

Footprints

On a frigid winter evening, so still
that hot breath lingered around my face.

In snow sparklingly dry and crystalline
I encountered fresh-made footprints,
leading off my mostly trodden path.

The sun was low in evening's sky
creating long dark spectral shadows
that would all too soon be swallowed.
But for a moment illumed the footprints 
in a strange, compelling light.

A fleet chilling wind whisked around
flurrying the fine, icy flakes,
attempting to erase the marks.

Against the will to forge ahead 
imprint the virgin snow, I turned;
and followed the path the footsteps made.

No further prints I saw upon the ground;
no evidence of animal or other.
Though in the distance I could hear,
as darkness drew its shroud,
the wailing of nocturnal beasts.

Then deathly, eerie silence save
for crying of the wind in tangled trees;
as I was led through thickets coarse,
and forests deepest gloomy dark,
to end beneath an ancient misty lychgate.

I stood beside a solitary grave
one word; 'Father,' etched upon the stone.

I glanced back from whence I came
In snow sparklingly dry and crystalline;
one single track of fresh-made footprints,
illumed in strange, compelling light.

Details | Terry Miller Poem

My Foolish Heart

What kind of foolish heart would let you slip from grasp?
In a land of ten-thousand fools, I would be the king of them
I will now forever walk a lonely path that I have laid myself;
sorrow, torment, regret will be my ever-present burden.

In a land of ten-thousand fools, I would be the king of them
I strayed, lapsed, and failed to stay my earthy urges.
Sorrow, torment, regret will be my ever-present burden.
If it were possible to turn back the clock, I would in instant.

I strayed, lapsed, and failed to stay my earthy urges
Senseless self-gratification, a massaged ego, failure.
If it were possible to turn back the clock, I would in instant.
Could I sing "Non, je ne regrette rien." No, it would be a lie.

Senseless self-gratification, a massaged ego, failure.
Empty glasses in empty bars, this empty foolish heart
Could I sing "Non, je ne regrette rien." No, it would be a lie.
I said my sorries, yet you knew weakness would lead me to repeat.

I saw you gliding by across a busy street today and realized
I will now forever walk a lonely path that I have laid myself
Your beauty, within you and without, what have I done?
What kind of foolish heart would let you slip from grasp?

MY FOOLISH HEART Cash Prize Poetry Contest; placed 5th
Sponsored by: L MILTON HANKINS  
Date wrote: 3rd April 2022

Details | Terry Miller Poem

Fig Leaf

"We're going to need a bigger fig leaf."
Proclaimed the teacher to her staring class
As the model removed the last of his attire.

A collective, almost silent gasp
and the clatter of a fallen brush on parquet floor
confirmed this to be true.

Among the downcast eyes of most
was an accusing glance from pink-faced girl
to blushing secret lover.

Others scanned the body top to toe;
some fixed their gaze;
not all upon the model's eyes.

The over-fondling of a brush,
the squeezing squirting of thick paint from tube
A pencil slowly rotated in a mouth;
gestures, lost of innocence,
in steamy, thickening room.

A closeted sigh.
A wistful moan.

The heavy silence broke;
"As you may have guessed," the teacher coughed
"The subject for your sketch today is Adam."



This or That, Vol 11 Poetry Contest Fig Leaf, placed 3rd
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh 
Date wrote: 31st March 2022

Details | Terry Miller Poem

Tango With a Mango

To tango with a mango;
now that would be sublime;
much sweeter than the bitterness of lime.

With a sticky passion fruit 
I did try to make it merry;
and, once, the innocence of unpicked cherry.

A banana in Havana
I tried, but once beneath the skin
I found it just a little soft, and pale, and thin.

A passion for papaya
gave me all my daily C;
but too much of it did not agree with me.

To moon with a prune
I thought I'd give it a try;
but found that a little wrinkly and dry.

A dapple with an apple?
But taken once a day,
soon become a little tired and gray.

So, I tango with a mango,
I do it all the time;
I tried once with an orange but couldn't make it rhyme.



A Merger With Food Poetry Contest, placed 1st
Sponsored by: Natasha L Scragg 
Date wrote: 9th May 2022

Details | Terry Miller Poem

Like Violins In a Marching Band

I hear them on the television,
like I have a choice,
that's flat-out all they show these days:
Politicians
with their elucidations
tangled as Grandma's yarn.
Honest Joe, explicating why I'm beggared;
"It's your own fault, my good friends,
frankly, we need bold solutions"
they boom; 
then hike the price of gas.
And the voices of we, the people;
lost
like violins in a marching band.




Simile Poetry Contest placed 10th
Sponsored by: Hilo Poet  
Date wrote: 6th August 2022

Details | Terry Miller Poem

Stand In a Field and Scream

When you are confused, anxious, in pain, your stomach in a granny knot.
Near the end, nowhere to go, no friends, no family that understands.
"Stand in a field and scream," it helps, they say. I can tell you; it does not.

You've given yourself away; soul, body turned into a parking lot.
It feels like you exist only in a twilight world, a no man's land, 
when you are confused, anxious, in pain, your stomach in a granny knot. 

When your heart has bled bone dry to leave a shriveled purple apricot,
lover gone, left for another, even worse, you heard it second-hand,
"stand in a field and scream;" it helps, they say. I can tell you; it does not.

You've tried and tried so desperately hard, giving everything you've got.
It's like the walking of the living dead with feet in deep dark quicksand
when you are confused, anxious, in pain, your stomach in a granny knot.

When you've lost all you desire, your love, your life, your home, your Camelot,
and it's become much more than you can weather, tolerate, or withstand.
"Stand in a field and scream," it helps, they say. I can tell you; it does not.

From all I've learned in love and life, and that's a lot, here's a parting shot;
by do-gooders and hosts of influencers, it's often said offhand:
"When you are confused, anxious, in pain, your stomach in a granny knot,
stand in a field and scream; it helps," they say. I can tell you; it does not.

Details | Terry Miller Poem

Being Rich Is So Much a Bore

No greasy treats from chippie van;
I have my starch now au, gratin
with blasted, deconstructed bass,
petits pois, served; in Demi tasse.

No pint of best down at the pub
I drink with chums now at the club;
Prosecco, or a Chardonay
depending on the time of day.

No picking up the kids from school;
done by Au pair now; as a rule;
she turns up in our four by four
dressed top to toe in old Dior

No visits to the Home Depot
I have ten craftsmen now in tow;
who add things at my beck and call
to my enormous stately hall.

No need to visit family;
They all now want to come see me,
drink all my wine, then use the pool;
methinks they take me for some fool!

There's nothing left that I can buy;
so why, you ask, that big old sigh?
I have new friends, but here's the rub;
I miss my mates down at the pub.

Yes, being rich is such a bore!

Details | Terry Miller Poem

Captured Moments

The detritus of a household of smokers was a joy to the young child, stifled in a family he believed he had outgrown. Matchsticks, by the score, he used to build magical castles with towers to climb or Spanish Galleons to sail away to places far. A live match found was a rare treasure, a pregnant opportunity to destroy--a secret power. The best were the small cardboard matchboxes with their slide-out tray, which he arranged like a chest of a hundred tiny drawers. Each drawer contained a precious item, a pebble, a penny, a bloodstained band-aid, a tooth, four-leafed clover, a tear-stained note, a lock of hair. . .


   weaving
   a smaller web
   spider in a box



Like A Child Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Regina McIntosh 
Date wrote: 4th July 2022

Details | Terry Miller Poem

Rapacious

Rich get richer as they
ride shamelessly over 
rights, and equality; 
remorseless profiteers,
reaping their lust for gold,
reduce the rabble to
rats in a maze of debt.

Details | Terry Miller Poem

Fall

We lazed in the sun, a small town square;
I ate a croissant while we were there;
she had a coffee, and I, a tea.
I glanced at her, and then she at me.
Somewhere in France, not sure even where;
Sunday, people coming from prayer.
We thought to ourselves, “what do you see?”
“Is this quite how you thought it would be?”
Under a hat, a lock of gray hair;
slight tarnish on the silverware.
A leaf slow, gently fell from a tree
and landed softly upon your knee;
its rusty fall red, a scar to wear.
We sit still awhile; we look, we stare;
“I so love you still,” you say to me,
“I you too, as it should always be.”



The Way We Look Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Unseeking Seeker
Date wrote: 11th December 2022