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Best Poems Written by D.W. Rodgers

Below are the all-time best D.W. Rodgers poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Lake Moments

Not sure what it is
about this land
that grabs you
but I was grabbed
long ago.

Trip ends today,
last night I stayed up late, 
sipping remaining whisky
as the red sun set 
neath hill's dark shoulders.

Crisp morning
up before six
lake like glass
rustle up the fire
and make coffee.

Rest of camp
sound asleep
so I solo
cast the back bay
release a hammer handle
then troll the north shore
into a freshening wind
nothing.

Move out 
to deeper water
perhaps a morning walleye
but the wind’s up, 
and  the sparkling sun 
puts fish down
still nothing.

End of lake
head back
cast the shoreline
snag a bush
retrieve the lure
test line – it snaps.
Retie, change lures, 
Tom got a good fish 
in these narrows
but today  
nothing.

Ignore my watch, 
change to a deeper lure
last point, a satisfying tug
good pike – strong fish
open water, use net
she’s mine.

Paddle back to camp
with fresh fillets for home 
and memories
of when the lake
and I were one.

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Hotwired

Hotwired the orgasmatron
headed out on sixty-nine
know there’s nothin up ahead
and even less behind.
Pagination, pixilation
nothing seems to work
maybe just  I’m gettin old
maybe just a jerk
off that is
gee whiz
can’t ya take a joke?
Lost in smoke
years since last toke 
days since last drink
I think.
As ya'll can see
rhyme don't agree 
with me, 
so back to blank 
slate, mate
and the cheque's 
on you.
Iambic to the core
commonman’s  snore
such a bore.
Straight from the soul
infinite whole
or is that hole,
wasn’t  this 
supposed to be 
erotica?
Never know
have to go
Now.

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Not Too Cold Yet

The season's first snow
fell today
just a dusting but enough 
to excite. 
The kids and dogs
dashed about 
delighting in the 
new found flakes, 
cold but 
not too cold yet.

On the other side 
of the world 
the day's first drones 
struck  today.
The kids and dogs.
dashed about 
but no one 
was delighted;
the dead 
cold but
not too cold yet.


Revised 9/8/2014; first written soon after 11/09/2001. I changed a specific county to 'the other side of the world' and 'missiles' to 'drones', but not much else has changed.

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The Big Question For Those of Little Faith

Energy is neither created, nor destroyed
but does transform
witness the log burning in the fireplace
cellulose and lignin combining with oxygen
yielding heat, water and CO2
and with you sitting so close beside me
another transformation's coming on.

Yet cracks appear as we age,
time and entropy take their toll,
and these days we go to more funerals
than weddings and christenings.
We've made arrangements to smooth
our affairs for those who remain and
laid up good whiskey and cognac
for our last remembrance.
I've chosen green burial 
in a 500 year forest;
you cremation, 
with your ashes
pressed into 
a forever
diamond.

While we know our genes
carry on in our children
and our atoms will still cycle,
but there remains the question
of how the bit that makes us 
us will merge with the cosmos.

Details | D.W. Rodgers Poem

Old Love

Our fire, which once shone brightly through the night,
whilst tempered by age, is no less warm
and still burns slow with cherry embers bright
to keep us safe and sheltered through life's storm.

Our light may dim, yet always kept its mark
though summer doldrums, winter's icy gale
to show our path and guide us through the dark
hold steadfast to our course let love prevail.

In time, our flame gave rise to three new sparks 
to nurture, guide and teach of worldly ways
and then release to find their own true arcs
and bear this fire to yonder days.

Face lined, flesh soft, and hair now grey
together love we greet each coming day.

Details | D.W. Rodgers Poem

Les Demineurs

En France, les demineurs
still search the fields
removing shells, 
grenades and bombs
of two World Wars

Would that we had the same 
for affairs of the human heart
to defuse munitions lurking
under a landscape of civility
I’ll forgive but canna’ forget

A dangerous occupation
more than six hundred have died
removing millions of explosives
and each year farmers die
tilling their fields.

We’ve laid the mines
of icy civility
to  restrict crossing 
this no-man’s land
yet your smile lights a path
through this treacherous passage
to the warmth of your embrace.

En fin, les demineurs, ne travailent pas

______________________________________________________________________My poem to remember this week. I wrote it years ago on reading an piece on Les Demineurs in the newspaper.

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Cold Is the Night

Cold is the night and dark and long
though with the gloom bleak humour comes 
we'll make it through, our love is strong

North wind howls under midnight's gong
and buries all neath ice and snow
cold is the night and dark and  long

Silence deep as snowflakes throng
unbidden doubt ousts fragile sleep 
we'll make it through, our love is strong

On melting snow, black springtails sprong
in tribute  to sun's slow return
though night is cold and dark and  long

From cedar green, red cardinal's song
foretells of warmer days to come
we'll make it through, our love is strong

With sun's return spring comes along       
snow melts, rain falls and life glows green
the days are warm, the sun is strong 
we made it through, our love is long


1/25/2016

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Pandemic Pantoum

In this pestilential year time forgot
behind maskless faces false facts hold sway,
it’s hard to write nice, when our world is not 
what should a poet in quarantine say?

Behind maskless faces false facts hold sway,
while plague is loose and climate still warming
what can a poet in quarantine say
no one cares about daffodils charming.

While plague is loose and climate still warming
yet best science alerts go unheeded
no one cares about daffodils charming
at this time transformation is needed.

When best science warnings are not heeded
it’s hard to write nice, when our world is not 
for this time transformation is needed 
in this pestilential year time forgot.

Details | D.W. Rodgers Poem

Pretty Picture Postcards

I get pretty picture postcards
from faraway places,
not many but over time
they accumulate 
on walls, fridges 
and marking pages in books.

Mostly from old girlfriends
writing to prove
they are still alive.
"Amazing scenery, wonderful people,
haven't had a decent cup of coffee since Montreal,
watch out for the water in ice cubes.
Wish you were here (Not!)
all my love xxxx"

Still on a dull grey morning, 
a message from Mexico, Italy,
Vietnam or New Zealand
is at least intriguing.

Me, I never send postcards
as I never go anywhere
but I get pretty picture postcards
from faraway long ago bitches
every now and then.

Details | D.W. Rodgers Poem

Leap

Two year olds leap
before they look	
DADDY!
replaces gravity
then writhe laughing 
from your arms
AGAIN!
I’ll always catch you
for these moments
pass too soon.