Funeral for One
It's the one thing I can't rehearse
The final act where I have no lines
Or watch the audience in the isles
Complain of my performance in the role
And sneer derision that he looks so old
All powdered up and decked in mould
For one day they'll stand at their own curtains end
Being chewed by the flowers of their final applause
So long to the critics I can't hear you judge
Your despondent analysis of my really great lead
The only lead I ever had
In a role that I was born to play
In a role that I was born uncertain
Sitting there won't be so lonely
All cushioned up in velvet lining
Draped in mahogany chesterfield sachet
Escorted somewhere near the Hamptons
I'll be lead by strong men in maître d' form
Perhaps a young splendor will pass me a glance
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Fat - Was it worth it in the End?
Was it worth it in the end?
To waste your time in idle drugs,
and leave your souls to Botox thugs
that wiped your manners of self respect
For questioned choices that circumspect
The fabric of your very persons?
Was it worth it in the end?
Squashing a person who's not ten
Who never popped their sternum pen
But who is boundless in vitality
and vigor then you'll ever comprehend
Was it worth it in the end?
To build a dream on the slop
of a canyon heading down
Were your stuck beneath the bottom,
never reaching the top
Obsessed with the minute
In perfections with no truce
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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To Meet Another Day
In the shower
Her tears mingle with the steel rimmed faucet
Artificial downpours ignescent libations
Parachuting raindrops
On the pours of her late summers sinews
Both releasing and imprisoning
Her thoughts meditations
To the disasters of the past
And the future inference
As vapour breaths of dew exhume the room
Entrapping its occupants
With hopes of quite gloom
Safe in the mechanics of volcanic rain
Blanketing the porcelain of her flesh tender pink
She holds onto the air expecting a miracle
To materialize in a magic box of Gods tricks
But none do show
Preferring to stay silent
with trademark anonymity
As the child she loves
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Map of the World
Near the Niger riverbank
A child swims in shallow torrents
Unaware that in his eyes
Rests a fathomless parasite
Who must develop and consume
A steady diet of his vision
Or face the consequence life
That it will inevitably parish
On the back roads of Capri
There's a colony leopards
Marooned for the last rapture
Because their flesh is bad attired
They receive no Christmas presents
From their families and friends
Although they do get compensation
When their ligaments disintegrate
Through a market in Karachi
A women hide's inside a stall
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Pins and Needles
I am a pin among needles
Clamouring for supremacy
Within a junkyard asylum
Where to win is a treadmill
Of repetitious manoeuvres
Heading forever in saucer
Towards the high peaks of matte paintings
Conveying the false felicitations
Of the ringmasters intrigues
Conspired in suited hyperbole
Through the tip of the whip that tortures desires
Through my magnetic obsessions
And deprecated occupations
That polarizes my character
Into the disconnected hemispheres
Lingering in vertices of static hope and wedded fear
Passive aggressive is the flame
In which the third stone rides the train
And I staire drifting in a crowded shadow
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Death Of A Beehive
Its geometry was fractured
With the flash of the first bulb
The shelf-life of her membrane
Became our sacrificed mascot
From Southgate to Manhattan
You swarmed stages with entrapment
Pouring nectar from your voice
While falling through your private void
Simon said, 'where is that girl? '
She hummed, and bused, but had no sting
Instead, she laughed with black eye pearls
Doomed without the keys to spring
Limousine dreams and red carpet galas
Hollywoods down the yellow brick road
You gave us the taste of your contralto honey
But we neglected your poison, with all that money
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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An Elgy Allegro
Green promenades in meadows wide
Blue radiates a vaulted sky
A chorus of aster stretches through
A splintered Hillock's crystal stream
Where the laughing sun spills out its arms
On lines of wine libations pour
Seesaws of shadow betwixt with gold
Ferment the stately land with moss
Sweet air that strews with honey dew
And calm scantly minted lavender
Invites grasshoppers sound concord
To buzz the bell of natures chapel
Upon the stone I sit and watch
The Birch trees leafs whisper scarcely
Boughs of emerald toothed mosaics
Sway in the breeze a fresh Melody
Here the sounds of thrushes Speaking
Passions luster in pastures Eden
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Four Words
Four beautiful words
Delicately summarizing
A close captioned response
To the Mount Everest of obstacles
Inherently surmounting
The Predestined athletes
Untrained to the Olympics
Of the human condition
Xenophobic retributions
While finding solace in the dog race
In the rewards that there are four words
Worth more than silver, bronze and gold
Four simple words
Hurdling as radio waves
As a beacon of acoustics
Beyond the ocean of infinity
Providing a dosage of serenity
For the occupants in space ships
Recycling dormant relations
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Nothing Truly Ends
Nothing truly ends, for nothing truly begins
The state of all existence, is a season of flux
Temporary, transient, and never eternal
For how would we learn, if everything was ordered?
Ex Nilo arises, from spontaneous fiat lux
The one we call God, is the action of potential
Drawing in a molecule, exploding billions of new guises
From which we are the middle, in his alpha and omega
Stars come and go in the blink of eons eyes
While their helium and carbon, sow the gift of life
Archaea bacteria, and the crème de la eukaryotes
From Trilobites to Dinosaurs, rise a tree of life is magical
For if you accept happiness as a crystallized moment
Would mean to lose the glory of sacrifice acceptance
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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The mayor of Toronto
The mayor of Toronto has cutback public service
Deciding that people are an affront to his office
How dare they want things deserved from their leaders
Shouldn't they be happy for paying their taxes?
So goodbye Libraries, hospitals and public transport
You're gone to pay for jails and the policemen's donuts
The only sanitation is another cup from timmies
Were regulars converge to scorn the Maple Leafs
There was an old lady who thought for her meals
She went to city council and complained about abuse
But the mayor sat in his chair looking slightly obtuse
Wondering if she dropped would she taste like veal?
Then Marge paid a visit in her Viking regalia
Prompting the mayor to run in hysteria
He called the police with the fury of curses
Peering through the window to spot hot nurses
He doesn't like drugs but he does endorse snow
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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