Poetry Blogs (2013, kesner)

`

The key of currency
is the changing of hands,
a baton passed on
in constant motion
that binds together
all its participants.

A fresh, crisp bill
is a virgin still,
between your fingers
whose anticipation
and epic journey
are yet to unfold.




 

`

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Up to a point
pliant leaves will seep
into all its waters
until the cup overflows

so much as to stain
the meticulously starched table linen.
Then we shall face with reckoning
its true substance!

`

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Another year about to end. Maybe the Mayans that made up that calendar had it better. As the year closes one is pressed to look back and gauge how it went. It's just another year, perhaps. Many things have transpired, and many more in the offing.

 

Just a few hours more
about half a day for the rest
for each timezone on the globe
we tear off the last sheet ...

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Arise, and walk along these streets,
breathe and partake of the dregs
of the mighty industrial age;
paint the colours of its appeal -

toxic fumes that light the path
to days only just imagined.


Parted lips bare wisdom,
shatter the silence that shackles;
within parched throat, sealed
sounds peal from the belfry -

tender whispers caress
each unknown orphaned heart.


Lift hi...

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`

paisley print
sunflower smile
sat alongside
a leopard that ate parsley
paw in hand
waiting on the sand
for flying fish
to skip upon
cobalt banners
as lazy breezes
pan flute recollections
of this Iberian summer

`

It's all about a leopard that munches on parsley. Apart from family, friendship is the the best relationship you ...

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`

Raise again this chalice,
fearsome and seductive;
that brims with venom
and sparkles with promise

that in the twilight beckons...


Raise this goblet
to once satin lips
now runnelled with
bypassed dreams,

you hope but hope in vain...


Gulp down your fill,
wait for forgetfulness still;
let the dregs of this cup
caress your wearied mind,

'til dawn tops i...

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`

If sticks and stones can break bones
and bombs and guns can kill
then a poet's pen and words can likewise murder
but heals wounds in its sublime expression;
Our differences fade with each line of verse.

 Hence,

Being read, and quoted, and handed out!
That is the poet's true reward.
On shall poetry live, and within its soul
the poet in whose he...

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Into itself, beyond vast darkness, remote lights beckon our tomorrow.

`

Into a new dark age
we go, marching,
careening headlong

[of soapbox poetry
there is no want
for many a voice
loudly rail and rant]

the terrain of our
condition and that
of our experience
has changed over
year upon year of
progress that has brought
us ...

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