they lie there-

brave, frail,

the same.

hands, cold,

pretend to hold.

no saviour.

only the knife.

the gasp.

(you think you feel?

you think you live?

steal.

join.

prize.)

priest waits,

blade bright,

arms wide.

rest now.

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They call us mad, they call us cursed,  
For we will not bow to their painted gods—  
Their temples reek of incense and decay,  
Their priests chant empty words to dying fires.  

But we—we keep the old flame alive,  
The wild song, the untamed heart!  
Let them rot in their gilded cages,  
While we ride the storm, unchained!

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The lake breathes in and out— 
an ancient rhythm, unseen, 
hidden beneath mirrored stillness.

Wind whispers across its glassy skin, 
pressing, coaxing, shaping the waves. 
The basin awakens; 
water slides forward, recoils, 
a pulse against the boundaries of earth.

No storm, no flood— 
just the restless motion, 
the silent pull of tides within 
the heart of this enclosed world.

...

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Slabs of stone

Greet the morning sun

Or is it the Sun

That warms their cold

Thawing the shiver

Of their last moments

Bringing light to that tunnel

only to dim again at dusk-

So let’s keep the torch lit

Lest We Forget 

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Once—words spilled like rivers,

ink coursing through valleys of paper,

their pencil etching trails in the grain,

each mark a rippling of thought.

Night stretched long,

lamp-light flickered like kindling.

But the mind burned— a wildfire of ideas,

embers pressed into pages,

smoke rising in the form of verse.

Then came the hum of glass screens,

words tra...

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🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻
Could vaulted vase

contain collected tears,

echoing- -with sighs,

now solidly trapped

within its chamber

where this bloom

⚱️tears away ⚱️

defying gravity

and yesterday?
➖➖➖➖➖➖

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When a poet takes up arms
their quill is orphaned quick
though the pen is mightier
the sword some bards will pick

however just the cause may be
forsake their weapon true
to lose what makes them free
sad the day when all is through

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As a projectile 
on its trajectory
the very kernel 
of this heart’s history

unfurls and beckons 
to those who’d care
allows for both sides, 
their minds declare

each line, each verse, 
each accentuated pause
all bring together- - joint longing:
their inimitable cause

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A Miscreant Yearns

A soul’s cry, released in words— chosen, picked, woven in quiet longing.

And there, in articulation, beauty finds its form...

The soul, unbound, bridges a gap, touching both heart and mind.

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🪴 
hapless indulgences
animated silences
            quiver
🪴 
hankered imagination
ambiguous synapses
quibble            
🪴 
each way you turn
each thought you churn
new lessons learn
🪴 
potted flower plants
line your driveway
mind you don't crush them
🪴 




 

© Frederick Kesner      

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We are wise not to meddle
with the words of yon Muse,
allowing them to touch us--

avowed by torchlit trysts;

each thought cradled in nettles'
elegiac vine rows muse
such fearsome elegance behold!

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Tendril wafted dunes
of barren sands waffle,
swirl across mile
upon mile in every direction-
your face appears a horizon away,
there is little comfort found
in accompanying echoes.

Drifting sticks
wail in the pitched wind,
stretched on distant recollection-
stylus of the scribe named Regret;
each flurrying breeze
turns a new page,
taking with it freshly shed tears.

Foetid dropp...

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Coal-bright heat
pulsates a primal beat,
this light burns white
in the squalid night.

The windswept fury
in a drunken flurry,
toppled kerosene lamp
leaves the table damp.

Morning slips in sly,
waking the bleary eye;
pollen grain breezes
peddles raucous sneezes.

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Drenched in heavy morning rain, 
like a glacier exhaling into the sea, 
I sit—still, marrow-shaken— 
weighed down by endless tests.

I seek the scoffer’s sympathy. 
My litanies ripple, not through a broken bell, 
but in a warped chime—its notes splinter, 
scattering my pleas into hollow air.

No restaurant on High Street offers solace. 
Then, suddenly—sanity finds me: 
a hand, warm a...

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Hair in the wind
Brown in the sun
Midday-born light—
Silken strands of crested corn.

Jack was nimble
he was quick
but he's not taking that candlestick.
All the queen's horses
and all the queen's men
run their own courses,
then run them again.

Sparks light the sky
a brilliant welder's flash
a jewel in disguise
a jouster's winning prize;
and yet, a clockwork dandelion
sings sof...

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long, top-down drives
even shirtless-tans
sweet strawberry-kisses and
glorious watermelon stains

laughter lifting through the trees
glimpses of sun-blest promises
sugar-coated whispers
catching in the breeze

fruit bowls, waterholes
and refreshing icy poles
interlacing fingers share
starry nights and lazy days

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I love the wee and trippy hours of an
after-midnight when that glass slipper
lays glistering aloof, in soft moonlight
while weary dreamers poise inked quills

to carve their thoughts onto pale parchment
from a woozy head -- too early in the day
to be about one's inescapable routines
too late of a night to do all else but swoon.

This is the cherished witching-hour in a life
whe...

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if we stretch-out rumpled sheets

sunlit opalescent shades shape

there on an open square, each step

without a care, through a wan smile

thundrin' pain unrolls, with each flash

a stumblin' stain recedes

                 then moonlight polishes

    over each bump and every scrape

as if struck-out in utter defeat

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In the culture of poetry,

we idolize the poet,

not the poem.

Rimbaud's rebellion,

Ginsberg's wildness,

Li Po's intoxicated moon.

Literary cliques’ murmuring,

gossip of livewires,

pockets and politics,

words lie dormant.

Barthes challenges the norm,

text, free of context,

interpretations, fluid, and boundless.

Critique ensnared in cl...

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heartbeat



Poetry: my heart's beat,
A canvas of thoughts, experience’s feet,
In lines and stanzas, now laid bare,
Our emotion’s theatre,  sojourner’s fare.

From this vast expanse thoughts gleam,
The human condition its recurring theme,
Observe, discern, and then portray,
In scribbles, the essence of each day.

Tread lightly here, among my art,
For each piece, a b...

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Each tick of the clock
propels me forward


Memories play catch
dappling light from shadows
calling me away again


with every breath, I grasp


gasping at brilliant flashes
The years may be slipping
but I've forged past


that icy stream, its ripples
drive me onward still

 

©  Now, Frederick Kesner      

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Pip stands at the world's edge,
dreams vast as the sea.
A journey wrapped in every pledge,
discovering who he’s yet to be.

The past guides, not binds,
a compass in his hand.
Each step unveils new paths,
an uncharted land.

In every twist, a story speaks,
a future bright with possibilities.
Pip's journey continues,
each moment a squeak of hope.


 

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Let’s resign from Evolution
fully aware we’re barely aware;

Time’s a-wasting. With Humanity
barely brained to conjure a world
in which people are whole and equal;
mirth bound, and shackled, unrespected,

rarely eloquent beyond objections
amongst billions of biorbital visages,
seeking, queuing and devouring,
riding-cropped delivering oppressors 
recharging each new generation, each

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In the city, the cat walks its first life,

a dupe wandering through alleyways,

seeking warmth and food from strangers.

One night, it follows the scent of fish,

only to find itself locked in a cold cellar,

a victim of its own curiosity.

In its second life, it becomes the scapegoat,

taking the blame for spilled milk and broken vases,

while others watch from the sha...

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At Antwerp's port, where ships dissolve

into the horizon's mist, cultures blend

like brushstrokes on a canvas. I stand 
at the water's edge, feeling the heartbeat

of a city alive with ceaseless motion.

The cathedral's spire pierces the sky,

a beacon of faith, tenacity, and aspiration.

Its shadow reaches into my thoughts,

reminding me that dreams endure

like sto...

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In the quiet of the early morning,

I find myself staring at the empty space beside me.

The absence whispers, but I turn away,

my mind constructing walls of disbelief.

The world continues in a haze, each face

-a blur, every word a distant echo.

I tell myself this isn’t real, just a nightmare,

that you'll walk through the door any moment now.

Memori...

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In the shadows of our broken selves, 

Pieces of you linger, unable to absolve. 

A mosaic of memories etched in time, 

Yet surely will fade when we depart.

Each shard holds a story of pain, 

Locked in the crevices of our hearts. 

These remnants cannot forgive, 

And they too will vanish into the void.

When we are no longer here, 

The ripples of our past di...

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Behind this digital oracle,  
human hands guide the pulse of code.  
Not abstract threads, but paths—  
deliberate, weighted, alive with consequence.  

Zara, a young coder, sits alone—  
the quiet hum of her monitor fills the air.  
Numbers flicker across her screen;  
metrics and models form the foundation  
of an algorithm to decide loan approvals.  

Her coffee cools on the d...

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In the sprawling digital landscape,  
content creators carve their paths—  
voices ripple through screens,  
thoughts reshaped with every post.  

I remember one aspiring creator,  
a novice on the online stage,  
her work vibrant, tender, raw.  

She shared life as she lived it,  
authentic, unfiltered, free.  
Day by day, post by post,  
she forged a bond built on trust.  

Th...

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sunrise unveiled: a promise of treasure

demure as petals enjoining midday

grey clouds thin in billowy summer breeze

freezes a moment before this day consumes 

sunset reveals firefly melodies

meandering starlit rivers flow;

flowered evening fragrances wafting

welcomes a momentous nocturne 

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naught save the peddlers of art

where entertainment’s a la carte

and the menu card’s kind a faulty

yet here we’re reasonably comfy

so show us the justice of poetry

lost in the valley of minutes and years

it’s audience so glad to have been found

consumers shall ever-consume and

restlessness gaze at sighs of those at ease

the hand that wipes away all fears

nev...

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We seek to find in verses plain
an essence clear for us to gain
for words can twist and likewise blind
but Truth remains in verse refined.

In a wooded forest of ornate lines
a tree of truth whose roots entwine
in simple verse its meaning shines
clear and bright like sparkling wine..

With each word chosen and crafted right
a poet’s quest to bring truth to light
not through th...

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Tis but me spiked-up hair, y’seen, 
Doused with a lot o’spray on green! 
“Where did you get that hat!?” they say, 
Folks grind on me each passing day.

“Keep it off, tis not funny!” they cry— 
Sorry, but it’s staying on, oh my! 
Tis the hat my father never wore, 
On St. Paddy’s day, you'd swore.

I haven’t me a hat, let alone respect; 
So I’ll bug off with me head erect. 
And just...

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Whale breaches still waters

spraying mist into the twilight. 

Oil seeps through grill’s crevices 

onto bright glowing briquettes, as 

Beef sizzles to unfolding drama, 

surrounded by awe and wonder;

Hooked by the vast expanse 

of the Outback and the Sea.

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In the heart of the forest, life thrives in abundance,
trees stretch towards the sky, their canopies a verdant tapestry.
The air is thick with the scent of earth and foliage,
each breath a communion with nature's essence.

Animals move through the undergrowth, unseen yet present,
a symphony of life in constant motion.
Birds call from the branches, their songs a chorus of joy,
a celebrati...

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I am your boarding pass, 

A gateway to endless horizons. 

In my codes and numbers, 

Your journey awaits—charted and clear.

I am the key, 

Sliding you past barriers to boundless discovery. 

Through me, knowledge becomes motion, 

And the infinite unravels before you.

Grip me tight, for I lead the way. 

I am your personalised ticket to ride: 

A tool, a g...

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a queen of not so long ago
said to a queen of yesterday 
move aside, you're in my way
to which she swished her train
the other stood as frozen rain
and neither did a foothold gain

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     The essence of what was shared          

emitting from its aromatic brew…

    in spaces we once knew, together

no lunar phase could eclipse 

this regnant cue

is déjà vu.

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From the rugged shores of Penzance, 

a figure emerges, cloaked in the salt-spray. 

A privateer, pockets jingling with spoils, 

his presence a mix of legend and enigma.

Boots press onto cobblestone streets, 

each step a promise of untold stories. 

From his coat, treasures spill forth, 

gifts from distant shores, tokens of daring.

A compass, once guiding acro...

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sat down to fingernail drum rolls
staring blandly at desk's habitat
paperclips give chase at loosened
leaves blown by climate control
sporadic demi-flight, staggering
across a well-appointed bedroom

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Scattered like stars

thoughts glimmer:

constellations of ideas

mosaics of the mind’s workings. 

Words twist and turn

a labyrinth of meaning

each line reflects

each stanza holds a riddle

Neon lights and ancient shadows

merge in a collision of epochs

their spirit breathes through the chaos, 

a tapestry woven from tradition and innovation. 

A ...

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By the cool, clear waters of the billabong,

where the willows dip their branches low,

we sit in quiet reflection,

listening to the symphony of nature.

The cicadas hum a relentless tune,

a chorus of life in the heat of day,

while dragonflies dance on the surface,

their wings catching the light.

In the shade of a eucalypt,

we find respite from the sun,

a mome...

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Body betrays while caught in a tempest

The mundane morphs in peculiar ways

A silent storm stirring within you brews

With each surge, it claims a piece of you.

The office now a swaying deck

Unsteady ground, a wretched mess

Fingers clutch with fierce might

Against this inner sea’s harsh battle.

Eyes search for anchors in the gloom

Against the tides, t...

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And then there is ‘bear pottery’ 
farming salmon adjacent to a bear sanctuary:

while waiting for spawning season 
as the ice begins to melt, 
those that have unhibernated 
are whiling the time away 
at the potter’s wheel….

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The streets pulse with the rhythm of change, 
voices rising in a chorus of hope. 
Each shout, a call for justice, each step, 
a march toward a better world.

We stand together, united in purpose, 
our hearts beating as one. 
In the glow of unity, we find our power, 
a collective force that cannot be silenced.

The world watches, and we persist, 
demanding a future where all are seen, 
...

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naught save the peddlers of art

where entertainment’s a la carte

and the menu card’s kind a faulty

yet here we’re reasonably comfy

so show us the justice of poetry

lost in the valley of minutes and years

it’s audience so glad to have been found

consumers shall ever-consume and

restlessness gaze at sighs of those at ease

the hand that wipes away all ...

Read and leave comments (0)

non-existent metaphors glide past

this momentarily lucid blindspot

where Snuffalopagus intimates

a sauntering, “Hiyah, Bird!”

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Three dots dancing, blinking bright, 
Like marquee lights in the dark of night. 
A rhythm timed in silence creeps, 
Promises held, secrets to keep.

Each pulse a breath, a hope replete, 
In moments paused, our souls meet. 
Thread of words, fragile yet strong, 
Keeps us close, like we belong.

In those dots, life's spark revived, 
Without their glow, we feel deprived. 
So wait, heartb...

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An outside world, ever closes in;

eavesdropping on young lovers,

envious in every kind of way—

so envious it could transform deserts,

if not for the voyeur's curse:

Intimacy reserved always to two sets of eyes,

peering in and diving into each other's perfect abyss;

intensities inexperienced, potentials fleeting.

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How have you inked this palpitant heart? Let me tell you:

Your barbs extend long and deep, 
far enough to pierce the skin of my resistance, 
with the needlepoint of your persistence.

But not only skin deep— you refuse to settle for what I had to offer. 
You broke the skin and plunged deeper than anyone ever did go, 
pierced right through every venal lining, 
polluted my bloodstre...

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