Note to Solicitors of Votes
Note to those soliciting reviews.
I find it a rather distasteful act to spam
(for lack of a better word)
members of this site with requests
for comments and reviews
without first introducing yourself and at least posting a comment prior to making a request for comments and votes.
I have been too kind and too lenient in the past,
believing in your promises to return the favour
only to end up waiting for something that will probably never arrive.
Hence, heretofore, please be so kind to give what you so desperately petition for me to do -
post comments/reviews on my works FIRST
and only then and thereafter ask me to return the favour.
That is how it works.
Otherwise your requests will fall on deaf ears and be reported as spam.
Thank you for your attentive consideration.
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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Beginnings
He who dares talk with you in your silence,
Listening even as he speaks your name;
Whose pulse is mingling with your stirring heart;
Who walks at once beside you without qualms:
Who can sense what you feel, and is there all along
When something goes wrong and when you're most alone;
Who understands your fears, tries to find the answers
When you face the unknown, when questions fill your head.
The weariness of your heart banished for he is there.
His words may not impress, physique unadmirable;
His tongue and his hands often misunderstood.
He is true to all, though he may not be strong.
You seek what seems to shatter former views;
Ask yourself if as one your paths will fuse,
You recognise that there is something there;
You both will never be again the same.
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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Love's Unrequited Paradoxicity
Love of the unrequited type...
Ah! How paradoxical it be!
Even more paradoxical
Than that of the returned type...
return to me my boomerang
if ironic paradox be
bring on your wings an offering
return to set this captive free
Love is love whether returned or not.
It gives all meaning to life,
But when not returned
It drives us into insanity!
Constantly contemplating
Upon what may or may not be...
provide a reason, supply a rhyme
keep despair exiled forever
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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A Writer's Quest
My quest for the 'extended metaphor' is flowing
into the daily beat of my typical day.
Something of my day is breathing out meaning and song -
expressing and teaching me with whispers that can blare so loudly
that their silence flashes blindingly with a brilliance that shadows
the darkness and illumines the gentle curves of Truth.
My quest takes me on a journey where I can no longer lay back and watch the rising and setting of the sun, the moon, and yes, even the stars that crown a head filled with dreams and thoughts in that sable field that is beyond and within us....
Something of this day shall imprint itself in my soul and yell out invectives.... grabbing my shoulders and throttling my awareness.
My quest requires that I take on my gear and trek the unknown twists and turns, the unchartered horizons, and risk the possible heartache....
it compels me to be the sun, the moon, and yes, even the stars - traversing the vast expanse of universal experience....
Something in this day shall filter into my nights nagging and wailing, crooning and serenading - lifting my spirits with its rise and ebb.... and as I float on midnight blues and obsidian hues, I sense one thought forming:
My quest is yours, and the universality of human experience shall meld our separate yet mirrored conditions into a unified expression of what we vainly and clumsily perceive and call 'love'.
poem by Frederick Kesner
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Shot at Dawn
This poem does not condone desertion
nor is it a proponent of summary execution
or the use of capital punishment as a deterrent.
The citizen army of August 1914
saw in its time 8Million signed up
resulting in 750,000 dead
of this 300/3000 executed.
This is the tale of just one life.
Shot at Dawn
`
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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A Feather Called Macaroni
This is about 'living life to the max; ' a smidgen of humour is required to get full enjoyment of this poem. Cheers!
`
Live life to the max, it's a good way to be -
methinks the first mac I may have ever encountered
is a popular fellow to kiddies, called Old Macdonald
who had a rather lively and musical farm
now follows a yummy collection of food
from baked mac to mac & cheese
mccormick spices, and a complete
range of products from mcdonalds'
golden arches: big macs to mcflurries
mchappy meals to mcnuggets
of course there was also mother's
freshly baked coconut macaroons
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poem by Frederick Kesner
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