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Best Poems Written by Roger Wilson

Below are the all-time best Roger Wilson poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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I Want To Be a Poet

I want to be a poet to write those words which rhyme
But it seems I'm having trouble with tempo, tense and time
How do the poets do it rhyme words so undisputed
They neatly find the perfect word and exactly where to put it

They make it seem so simple words flow in easy verse
While my words go from good to bad and then they just get worse
Oh to have the poets flair for grasping words from out the air
But alas I stare at paper bare and pine for words which are not there

With ease the poets do it pen words so neatly dressed
While I sit here debating and getting more depressed
To them it's not too arduous to mete out rosy prose
While in my mind bewildering a musty cobweb grows

Ornately Poets do it scribe sentiment so clear
That lifts the heart and stirs the soul like music to the ear
As I scan their lines which meld and knit I envy those who conjured it
And when I read their words united tis my id which gets excited

I twitch and get elated when I find two words of whit
But I'll be darned if I can find another two which neatly fit
I thumb through my thesaurus till the moon is fully lit
But my brain is still in neutral and not a rhymes been writ

Each pair I work to sound enhance fails to bring the bards due dance
And the prose I opt for seems to lack the poet's gift of word romance
But I'll persist and see how it goes
And perhaps one day I'll write some prose

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Seasons of My Life

Seasons of my life

In the autumn of my life ti's springtime I recall
when the pregnancy of winter gives birth to flora all

colour hue and freshness as only sol may rise
seeds faithfully long trusted yield fruit in blush surprise

bulbs beget their flowers in colours hot and cold
while rose buds blossom gently their fragrance sweetly bold

candied dew upon their petals reflects the morning sun
which is busy lifting blankets of mist where rivers run

creation in profusion life's spectrum how it glows
in a sea of waving splendour earths bounty ebbs and flows

in the winter of my years let springtime be my bed
lay me neath the flora so my spirit ne'er be dead

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Ode To Our Cat Tom

I know I should apologise but I ponder at my fault
I truly thought that every cat had abilities to vault
Most other times he ran away when I backed out of the drive
I mean it's only natural a cat's instinct to survive

I'll admit I've damaged other things like skateboards bikes and toys
But this time it was different you could tell so by the noise
Now the kids won't talk my wife won't talk I'm really in the pooh
Especially when I made that joke the one about cat stew

I said I'll buy another cat same type and age and fur
But unforgiving voices choired "He had a special purr"
What about a robot cat immune to hurt and pain
No support from either camp only looks iced with disdain

Eight times that cat survived a life with luck more apt than mine
I hap to be the luckless one who snuffed out number nine
Well old Tom I'm really sad and regret I did you wrong
So to prove my worth when I'm heaven bound I'll bring a mouse along

3/4/2023 Free Submission Sponsor: Sotto Poet

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She Is Gone

She is gone now
Gone but not fogotten
Is her touch
Soft upon me 
Soft as mist upon the morn 
She is gone now
As mist upon the morn
I mourn

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Seasons of My Life

Season of my life

In the autumn of my life tis springtime I recall
when the pregnancy of winter gives birth to flora all

colour hue and freshness as only sol my rise
seeds faithfully long trusted yield fruit in blush surprise

bulbs beget their flowers in colours hot and cold
while rose buds blossom gently their fragrance sweetly bold

candied dew upon their petals reflects the morning sun
which is busy lifting blankets of mist where rivers run

creation in profusion life's spectrum how it glows
in a sea of waving splendour earths bounty ebbs and flows 

in the winter of my years let springtime be my bed
lay me neath the flora so my spirit ne'er be dead

Details | Roger Wilson Poem

The Grape

 In my many years I have found the ideal travelling companion.  An escort who can be quiet and reserved yet sometimes,when required, strong and bold. Most times pleasantly agreeable.  Her age it does not matter and in some cases the older the better.  My companion can be sweet and sugary and maybe at times a little tart.  Yet every now and then,contemporary with plenty of drive and a certain nuance of audacity. Red or white it makes no difference to me.  Tis the grape that has become my friend, my travel guide to the world.  She (and she must always be a she) has seduced me to sip my way through life.  To enjoy its many pleasures and endure its many hardships. A cool sweet Chardonnay has been my Orient Express to intrigue, a potent port my African Queen to adventure and, a delicate red-fruit pinot noir my Apollo to the moon.  I toast to you my friends and to my friend "The Grape".

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Painters, Writers, Poets

Painters, Writers, Poets live in a world apart
Crazed and demented they somehow create art
Commentary varies as to what is good or bad
Laud the creative architects who are nothing short of mad

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The Frog and the Cricket

The Frog croaked
The Cricket chirped
The Cricket croaked
The Frog burped

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The Devil's Reach

The devil he has reached for me and tried to take my soul
He plied me with contentment yet his hearts as black as coal
Yes he tempted me with riches he bespoke an easy path
However I was wary for I sensed the spell he cast

He had taken some before me those who slipped into the breach
Those who gave into his prattle and lived within his reach
No doubt I could have joined him so weakly in the night
But I looked beyond his darkness and I saw a brightened light

The light it called me strongly still the devil fast his reach
He would not give up easily he clung on like a leech
Yet I knew within my heart that beyond that brightened light
Lay what life had meant for me a flame I must ignite

So I stood up to the devil and I spat him in the eye
The prince of darkness loses tis not with him I'll die
For somewhere in my lifetime an angel I'll beseech
To let me lie within her arms and slip the devil's reach

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A Helping Hand

For some the weight of the land will task a heavy load
A load so hand to bear

Although it may be lightened with many hands to share
Not just hands against the doughts nor floods and fires faced

But a hand upon the shoulder
With understanding placed