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Best Poems Written by Karen Van Wyk

Below are the all-time best Karen Van Wyk poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Karen Van Wyk Poem

Faces, Cheeks, and Eyes

The air thick, like a sweet sticky syrup
Sirens wail, polluting the air with chaos
Voices screaming, obscenities, obscure messages
All the while little children play, in pothole streets
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

Cries in the light of day, bloody hands wave
Freedom, Choices, a single right
Lost trash, food piles, scattered along roadways
Dirty shoes, dangling over power lines
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

Ever searching, an invisible cape, a quick escape
Smells of rotting food, bloated flies
People who cant stop licking their lips, 
twisting their hips, and geeking
Car alarms screaming, like a symphony out of tune
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

So hungry, empty stomachs, empty hearts, empty minds
Seeking to fill, to satisfy, lapping up milk and honey 
Praying for rain, to wash the stench, to hide the sin, 
away…
Lost, undone, alone, without love
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes.

Writings of love, of peace, scatter in the rain and wind.
An iota, a seed, a shining light, dimly lit in the night
People gather, curious, watching, many hoping
A gentle voice speaks living words, of  life, a better way 
Faces everywhere, stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes

Details | Karen Van Wyk Poem

The Whirling Butterfly

I stepped into a world of pinks, reds, yellow, and purple.
Bee’s, butterflies, and hummingbirds flying free!
Long flowing stems swaying,  in a soft summer breeze.
An aroma, fresh cut hay, teasing my nose!
Smiling, I recall that day…  not so long ago.
Closing my eyes,  I inhale a welcomed scent.

Looking up with dark green eyes -
I feel my Grandmothers smile warm my face.
Calloused finger grasping my small hand. 
Pointing, she drew my eye to a small delicate thing.
Pink wings and tiny feelers,  swaying in the wind!
She bent slowly, whispering, in my eager ear, 
“It’s a Whirling Butterfly”
She said, with a giggle and a sigh.

Time passes quickly, like rushing waters of a fall.
In my garden now, pinks, reds, purple and yellows.
Bee’s, butterflies, and hummingbirds fly free.
Delicate stems, dancing, to music, of an evening breeze.
Movements, drawing me, to a special place.
Pointing, I show my Granddaughter the prize! 
Excited, she looks at me with her big blue eyes.

I smile, tenderly at the soft red curls
sofly lying around her sweet little face.
Tears swell, in a dusty throat, 
as she grasps my calloused finger.
She spies the pink wings, the yellow feelers, 
swaying in the wind.

Whispering, “ It’s a Whirling Butterfly ” 
I almost cry! With a giggle, and a sigh.

Details | Karen Van Wyk Poem

Poem 1653 - Old Man In the Park

In a shell of pressed paper, an old man sleeps.
His thin body trembles, from his real dream.
Woe and mercy let loose in time! 
Fable.
A table.
Outside! 
Gray hair and dark teeth.
Smiles, to sad to weep.
Swollen feet! 
In a shell of pressed paper, an old man sleeps.
His thin body trembles, from his real dream.

Details | Karen Van Wyk Poem

Book of Memories

When I'm weary, tired, when life is
rough and rocky - I look through
the book of my memories. Hidden
among the masses, one shines above
them all. All my troubles fade
into small pebbles bore down from
solid stone. From this one memory -
I rise above my own self-doubt and
travel into the realm of the 
future. Into a bridge built of
stepping stones. As I reach the
center, I fall to my knees,
trembling from it's greatness and
divine hope. Here, I gain the
strength of loves I have known.
As I reach the end of the bridge - 
I am forced to look back and see
the presence that walked with me.
From this shadow of a memory, I
shall always know the comfort of
goodness and hope. Giving me the
strength of a love more solid than
stone. Yes, I often turn the pages
in the book of my memories.

Details | Karen Van Wyk Poem

The Endurance

Woes’, my dearest friend!
I have partaken in battle. 
Facing the fury of ravenous dogs!  
They gnashed my bleeding limbs! 
In the darkest hour, I stood! 
Hands calloused, reaching to the sky!
Gently offering stretched fingers.
Grasping for abandoned faith!

And love. 
Yes…. oh yes! And love! 

Crumpled upon baron soil!
Knowing well, that within this ticking life...
I will once again - be forced to the battle. 
Yes, I carry many scars!

Songs of joy abound.
For, I am victorious once again!
No manner of man shall deprive my stand. 
For my pillar …is faith.
My breath is life! 

Therefore, in fiery death! 
Or quiet, passing in the night!
My presence is known! 
Thus, my story is told.

Details | Karen Van Wyk Poem

Ending, Near

Afar, yet so very near to this child,
no hope of reprieve, no false smile.
At last hope has faded with denial,
leaving a silent breathe broken and vile.

Bitter is the wild wind, the raging tides,
for truth and love has long died.
Even with the greatest of loves, lies,
lies inside one cannot abide.

Filthy faces of evils blackened deeds,
a man with empty words, empty creeds.
Among the Saints he lingers and creeps,
soon without penance, many shall reap.

The walls narrow and waters rise.
Twisting, turning, writhing inside.
Earth shall turn no more.
Time stands, for man knocks at the door.

Alone in empty dreams.
A sinister plot to wipe out the seed.
Blindly lost, laughing, following his lead.
Only with the cross can salvation be. 

0215

Details | Karen Van Wyk Poem

A Write A-101

I knew a wayward man; 
His eyes shadowed with defeat.
His sunken lips and hollow cheeks, 
mapping his journey.

He cannot reach, nor walk a step, 
his will has met it's match.
Lost to his own deceit, 
to liars and ransoms!

His life disguised by tainted thoughts, 
and to his world he let.
A barrower, a beggar, a thief,
he challenges for an allotted fee.
His knees buckle!  
His weighted heart!

A dirty dollar, a euro, a yen,
it fits the same in pockets of men.
The soles of his feet burn,
the scortched path before him, is churned.

Details | Karen Van Wyk Poem

A Writing, a Spouses Tale

I called to the four winds in my desperate hours. 
Her songs came to me through the evening breeze,  
it was songs sweet and hopeful. 
I knew in the depths of my soul, love... 
would climb the mountains standing afore us. 
For we, humans, know the bitter taste of pain 
and the sweet drink of hope. 
We are... of the flesh and the spirit. 
It is within us to soar with eagles,
and run among the creatures of the forest. 
We are free, we are love, we are one. 
We are the flowing river that quinces thirst. 
Now, in even the coldest of nights, 
a soft warmth blankets our hearts. 
For it is with our very hearts that this world turns, 
and the sun shines, and the moon glows. 
It is our tale of a life lived well and complete. 
For it is a tale of we.

Details | Karen Van Wyk Poem

Memories Journey

I’m following the country road I learned to drive on 
the old green ford truck, black rusty stick shift, 
hand carved wooden blocks on my feet.
I glimpse a cane pole pulling a trophy from a small pond, 
The low branches of a weeping willows 
sweeping the ground like a broom,
laughter, innocent, young, still free, I look toward the sound, 
sliding down a red, rusty, tin roof on a worn old barn
into a pile of fresh turned hay!

Through the mist I can see her 
Swaying as she walks along the tree line
Humming a song she learnt as a babe 
black berry stained face and a bucket half empty.

A scream guided me to a new day 
she’s running up a Mulberry tree - stick in hand
a black and white Hampshire boar is displeased.
A grinding noise coming from where the old house lay 
a devious smile as her finger lifted the ice cream freezer seal.
The rooster with red, green and gold starting his morning crow
taking the eggs as she kicked him avoiding his spurs.
She’s older now - on a white and tan spotted horse called Sparky
with giant hooves for kicking when the spring breaks.
Mocking her hero, bib overalls, an engineers hat, black rubber boots 
shoveling quickly as the grain poured into the bed of the big red truck.

A crushed velvet chair with a sunken place on the arm where 
she sat year after year and her ever growing weight.
It’s where she learned to sew - and sow she did imaginary things.
Mmmm,  pies and cakes, wiping the flour off her nose!
Such hugs and happiness and youthful smiles
full of innocence and full of faith.

Driving across the brown and red rocks of the clear water creek
running, jumping in the cool deep welcoming pool.
Falling in the feather bed letting her body sink down and down 
into the sun dried cloud of white fluffy comfort.
The wheels just keep on turning and turning, 
within the moment of this memories journey.

Details | Karen Van Wyk Poem

The Widows Cry

Crying out in anguish.
Flesh, and blood, and voice! 
A cleansed soul left to dry! 
Such searing pain, such poise.
Gnashing waves rise, 
to salty eyes.
No mercy! 
No release shall fall! 
How shall she live, 
this wicked life? 
What will become, 
of these hollowed walls? 
She cannot breathe! 
She cannot fight! 
All hope has faded, 
gone from her sight.
You! All the many you! 
Know you this pain? 
Her lifes mate! 
How shall she bare, 
empty weight? 
This lifeless spirit! 
She bleeds dry, in daily strides.
Oh, a survivor she is, to be sure.
Rising naturaly as the tides.
Tho this unseasoned shell... 
will prevail.
It is not a happy day! 
Ner a voice is heard! 
Love! Love! 
Oh Love! 
This union, this best! 
All seeking, in times test.
Upon her face, balances some hope.
Who now, shall give testament to this life? 
When all is woe unto this widowed wife.