Levenslang Stil
.
Here within lies
a recollection
of large talons
that tear smooth
creamy flesh
a cadence ricochets
off paint peeled walls
of the clatter as soles
strike dry dirt and stone
blood rushes
two sets of eyes
squint and scan
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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Renewal
There must be a death
if there is to be a resurrection;
The demise of something
in part or the whole of:
that portion of one's being...
Only then shall we see
with eyes new as morning's first light.
Only then shall we have
reinvented ourselves:
allow ourselves to take the first steps
laden with amnesia
of the former, forgotten self.
Come and cease to be
and let today bow to the
kiss of tomorrow's promise.
Tread upon the petals of yesterday
and smell the fragrance that
lingers, that solitary spectre,
olfactory memory that words cannot outline.
Wound your forgiveness with the scar of remembrance.
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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Crimson of Fear
`
Invisible but not voiceless,
This fire within me burning;
Fueled by things long since done;
Uncertain it would continue
And most certainly would one day end.
Resounding vermillion trains,
Travelling across frontier lands;
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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Gutted
`
It's never easy to step out into the sunlight
away from the safety of your walls - indoors.
Sometimes you forget just how hard it can get,
Until a door slams shut in your face in midstep-
knowing that you threw out the key to yours.
It's never fair when you give your heart away,
only to find out their forever ended yesterday-
That you will from here on forward love on,
caring for both your heart and theirs forever
while the unrequitedness would be for sure.
It's never too late to hope and dream of good;
all will be well if we trust in the heart we love-
that what has brought us together upholds,
until a window opens up and lets light in again:
darkness has no place - forever eternally bright.
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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Within Reach
Prick up your dulled ears, be brave;
Hear the dislodged dirt flying
Listen; the shovels of subservience
Bury truth but carve out your grave.
If a measure of wisdom still remains;
Listen attentively and lift up your eyes.
Remember what you learned as a child.
Release the thirst for ill-gotten gains.
Look upon the mound of soil
Incline your head to this word,
Don't disregard this pronouncement.
In time, it rewards your labour and toil.
Taste with your scalded tongues,
Your now-forgotten native fare.
Wonder at that temperamental jive;
An archived litany of faults harangue.
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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For Them That Know Not
the 'Valley of Vision' - the plains of derision
has caught my eye - ripping out my bossom
lay captive my heart - tethering claws
captured my wandering mind - release nether the vagabond
your cup sends me reeling - tumbling venom drenched
a haughty tower trembling - quiver in the cold of night
never again to be rebuilt - ever awash on the shore
two men once hung from a tree - condemnation rife
the one cursed his life upon himself - excluded realities
the other condemned eternally - for him accursed vindication
neither the valley nor in the plain - hope prescribe
did the eye cast its mark - vision bright become
felled by projectile true - delight, darkened demise
a day no one can rue - smite the wanderlust of hope
poem by Frederick Kesner
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Your Holy Book or Mine?
`
So what if I've gone to Scripture
maybe just to have a look?
So what if it spoke to me so loud
with brilliant flashes of cutting blades?
So what if all my thoughts are laid bare
stripped of any guile or disguise?
We all are pilgrims in this journey,
We all seek for what we know
We do not have yet could not name;
We all of us are on a quest toward
What we know eternity must hold....
So what if in my searching I find
whims and wandering thoughts reigned
within the cosmic finiteness of this mind?
Then there must have been some use
undusting and poring through that Tome.
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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Quetch
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 droppings
of some wastrel desert vagabond
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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On Taking The Early Train
`
Yes, I will try to be brave
just like you'd want me to be;
here I am waiting on shared memory:
Dear old friend, where might you be?
And where is it that we have arrived:
now we're quickly fading into oft-turned pages
that lay dog-eared upon sweet serenity
while a fresh film of dust settles on table tops,
while train carriages shrink into the distance
that could only part-reveal their silent witness.
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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VisionQuest, Keltischer Junge
Unearthing sacred truths bring to light
so many things that beforehand lay hidden
and his voice rings clear and true
he fell off the wall, neither I nor you
to be himself and all he could be
with or without all the kings horses or men
to be yourself his fervent wish
the road we each must take, alone
the futility we often times come against
a madding crowd - formidable, unforgiving
but the greatest hindrance lay within
laying down the dream is sure defeat
a parade, his childhood dream to see
and that he attained, however brief
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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