Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

“As for women . . .”   Leave a comment

Joy Makeup-2-Edit-2-art-72-2“As for women . . .” — Photo-Artistry by kenne

I have always had a fondness for the gritty-romanticism of Charles Bukowski’s work. 

to lean back into it

like in a chair the color of the sun
as you listen to lazy piano music
and the aircraft overhead are not
at war.
where the last drink is as good as 
the first
and you realize that the promises 
you made yourself were
kept.
that’s plenty.
that last: about the promises:
what’s not so good is that the few
friends you had are
dead and they seem
irreplacable.
as for women, you didn’t know enough
early enough
and you knew enough
too late.
and if more self-analysis is allowed: it’s 
nice that you turned out well-
honed,
that you arrived late
and remained generally 
capable.
outside of that, not much to say
except you can leave without 
regret.
until then, a bit more amusement,
a bit more endurance,
leaning back 
into it.
like the dog who got across
the busy street:
not all of it was good
luck

— Charles Bukowski, from  “what matters most is how well you walk through the fire” 

La Cocina Cantina   1 comment

Tucson Folk Festival 2013La Cocina Cantina, Tucson — Photo-Artistry by kenne

In downtown Tucson
The historical district —
El Presidio.

— kenne

Tonight No Poetry Will Serve   Leave a comment

 

Moon & Strom Shots August 2012Photo-Artistry by kenne

Tonight No Poetry Will Serve

Saw you walking barefoot
taking a long look
at the new moon’s eyelid

later spread
sleep-fallen, naked in your dark hair
asleep but not oblivious
of the unslept unsleeping
elsewhere

Tonight I think
no poetry
will serve

Syntax of rendition:

verb pilots the plane
adverb modifies action

verb force-feeds noun
submerges the subject
noun is choking
verb disgraced goes on doing

there are adjectives up for sale

now diagram the sentence

— Adrienne Rich

The Meaning of Existence   Leave a comment

Alamos Trip_2016 01 24_1065-Edit-4-art-72Sea of Cortez — Photo-Artistry by kenne

The Meaning of Existence

Everything except language
knows the meaning of existence. 
Trees, planets, rivers, time
know nothing else. They express it 
moment by moment as the universe.

Even this fool of a body
lives it in part, and would 
have full dignity within it 
but for the ignorant freedom 
of my talking mind.

— Les Murray

The Open Road   1 comment

Christmas 2012The Open Road — Image by kenne

“Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,

Healthy, free, the world before me,

The long brown path before me, leading me wherever I choose…

Allons! whoever you are! come forth!

You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you….

Allons! be not detain’d!…

Allons! the road is before us!”

— Walt  Whitman

Tom Turner, Shall Seventy-Seven Bells Sing Struck   4 comments

Tom-kenne_0333-b-w-blogTom and Kenne Turner (Tom would have been 77 today.)

Twits

POEM ON HIS BIRTHDAY

We are hairy men
who may be thought of a “Twits,”
but I dare say, are not.
Why might you ask?
If you  look closely, you will not see
tasty morsels in our beards,
while Twits upon close review
will have tiny little specks
of dried-up scrambled eggs.

So says Roald Dahl,
and he should know
of all the disgusting things
found in the beard of a twit,
but no need to hold your noses.

So, what is it these hairy men
are trying to hide?
Is it an ugly face, you ask?
No, not really,
for we are two guys
possessing good thoughts,
which shone out of our faces
like sunbeams,
so we will always look lovely.

Again, Roald Dahl should know:
‘If a person has ugly thoughts,
it begins to show on the face.
And when that person
has ugly thoughts every day,
every week, every year,
the face gets uglier and uglier
until it gets so ugly
you can hardly bear to look at it.’

Even so, on this sand grain day
in the bent bay’s grave
I celebrate and spurn
what would have been
brother Tom’s driftwood
seventy-seventh 
wind turned age,
shall seventy-seven bells sing struck.

— kenne

(Some lines in this poem are from Dylan Thomas’ poem, Poem On His Birthday. My brother loved quoting lines from Dylan Thomas’ poems.)

A Pair of Ravens: Birds of the Darkness   4 comments

A Pair of Ravens-72A Pair of Ravens: Birds of the Darkness — Image by kenne

Birds of the darkness
Tired of groping in the dark
Ravens stole the sun.

— kenne

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