RapeThere is something hideously cleverabout watching television outside.It is possibly the ultimate defiance.Over there, rebels have flipped off officials,they have fornicated with machinesand they have worn shirts like flags.But here, revolutionaries haveripped the binding dress off of mother earththey have stuck their thirsty tonguesin the magnetic air of steel and windand they have swallowed the sovereignwaters of Calypso.Gaia could not weep,because her throat was pluggedby the sharp middle fingerof electric sockets and wires.
LonelyI look at the starsHoping to see somethingLooking back at me.But its just echoesOf dead and dyingSuns and worlds.Nothing's listening,Nothing's speaking,Nothing really cares.There is no design,No grand plans toMake the universe spin.There's only darkness,Suffocating and cold,Consuming the light.
the weather latelywhen i tilt my glass up,dregs of iced tea powderbecome an orange starscape,an eclipse wrought with holes;summer, beautiful and searing.
ugly hungerI. the wolf in herheart is whimperinglike a pup hungryfor pure milkbut all it is givenis blood--thickand warm in aforeign wayone that isn't thelove of a motheror love of any kind.II.in the dry shadelies the beast of eden,her heavy jaw slackfrom gnawing rotten fruit and he is sayingwith sweet, red skin between his teethshe was asking for it--how her thin fingers wrapped and pulledand plucked at the forbidden-ness, this is no confessionhe hisses like the snakein his heart.III.we are all victims says god
ReptileBy design, I survive hiding, quiet;carnivorous.I am my fangs, or my claws, or my muscle;alien from accepted.Please, do not forget,my cold blood seeks heat.The softness of scales surprises the skin of ignorant fingers.
Lookingwhy do we as human beingsignore what is placed before usat our feetsin our heartsi want to be apart of naturedissolve into the endless stretchof baby blue skieslift off in nimbus cloudsand when i wantgently float back down
The WavesThe wavesLapping the shoreEndlessly rollingMerely repetitive motionsThat Unless you do not experience them day after dayBecome merely a noiseA background song To your day Your life.The wavesLapping the shoreEndlessly As if they are oblivious To the way they are ignored.
LacusSunlight glistens off the top of the lake;Fish swim beneath the cool, crystal waters,And the wind chops at the surface,Breaking, for a moment, the reflectionOf the azure ocean above.
Theme Prompt - FreeArms outstretched, head highSweet breezes caress me.I am free, in blue skyThe wide expanse my home.
What A Star SeesWhen they look down,Do they look at me?A slumbering form beneath sheets?When they shoot byCan they see me?A blurred figure jumping with glee?When I wish upon themDo they hear me?Whispering beneath the trees?When I dreamDo they watch me?Can they see what I see?When I cry at nightDo they weep for me?As I rock myself to sleep?When I worry in my bedDo they comfort me?Help ease my mind of silly things?When my eyes won't shutDo they sing for me?Lulling me into my dreams?When they look down,What do they see?Insomnia, depression, guilt, glee?Or this girl of nearly seventeen,Stressed and tired,Longing for a dream?I k
Winter's Daylight, Spring's ShadowThe air still bites as cold as Winter,The shadows in the sky have yet to fade away.The trees’ arms, lonely and bareAs Winter morphs into the form of Spring, But what can we compare?Light creeps into daylight ever so slowlyIt’s pale glow rarely emanating across the sky.The bay’s breeze is carried inRaging war against sun rays—Cold and warmth inseparable everyday.But whether it’s Spring or WinterCan we ever tell?The first ofSpring, the season that shakes Winter off it’s back.
After It RainsWhy is it the leaves always seem greenerafter it rains?Does that meanafter a bad timecomes a great time?And after a great timecomes a memory?When it rainsare you crying inside?When it criesis God helping you?When it rainsdoes it always storm somewhere?When it sprinkleswill there be ice cream?When it sprinklesis the world going tinkle?When it sprinklesis there a surprise inside?When it stormsit seems like the day couldn't get worseor are you dancing in the rain?When it stormsare you blowing the clouds awayor are you getting struck by lightning?When lightning strikesis someone always hurtphysically or emotionally
Ode to the WindWest to East,North to South,From great lands,From the ocean’s mouth.Who is this Great WhispererWho hums through the trees?A zephyr wind,A gentle breeze.A joker you are,And a saint, O wind,To gather the watersAnd in clouds sendRain and snow,But also dry outThe torrential floodingAnd heal the drought.You play in the fieldsAnd run through the pines,Playing with leaves,Laughing all the time.From the center of the sea,To the mountain’s height,You take off once againOn your continuous flight.No maze you cannot solve,No space you cannot fill,Creeping from under the doorAnd by the window sill,Never happy to
The Little BirdI used to have a birdHe sat on my shoulderHis songs comforted me day and nightEvery time I opened his cage my heart filled with delightFor he was my only companyBut then one day he flew out the windowI shouted and called his nameUntil the night was goneSometimes if I play a song he would come to meBut when he did not come my eyes filled with tearsFor I thought he had gone to the place in the skyAt least he was in a good place if he was or was he?After days of not finding him I gave up and sat with a piece of breadMy eyes were bloodshot from nights of lookingThen I heard something familiar, was it him?True enough
Morning CallMorning CallSudden showerLying half-awake in bedThe soft, tender form of my darling touching meTo my delight, the trill of the bugleThe tumult of the riflesHad been stilled by the rainThe only sound i heardThrough the soft, quiet swish of my fanWas the soft and silent swish of the late summer rainI lay in bed to listenUntil 9 AM
Jupiter in the 21st CenturyTraveling without wheels on a morning with Mozart. En route to meet St. Jane of Grape street, Symphony #41 in C major begins just beyond Rita's house. A walking meditation performed on aching feet. Carbon emissions zero. When traveling without wheels ignored rhythms become ghostly memory faceted by sensory recall. Time seemingly stands still, grounded by a gentle spring snow fall, resurrecting the tulips. They rise to the occasion enthusiastically in the neglected gardens of foreclosed homeswhere the columbines have returned to the wild and the neighbor's dog has left his mark. I miss my car. No
Sacred MorningOrchestral Sunday morning. Coffee incense suspended in silent comfort. A lifetime of unchanging Sundays spent observing changes in the world.Some things never change.Golden Sunday morning suspended in silent comfort. The sleeping child, older now, snoring, innocent in her dormancy. The sleeping cats, older too, and fatter.Their slumber celebrates a joyous occasion. Another Sunday sunrise suspended in silent comfort.©2011 L. L. Kelly
To An Empty ChairOn this Kitchen Holiday morning. The jazz man plays a samba of sorrow While I dream up temporary ways of forgetting. This room, filled with light, is so dark and The night held a thousand waking thoughts. You are where you should be. Missing you feels like a crime. Saudade…© L. L. Kelly 2012Note: The Portugese use the word 'saudade',to describe a profound feeling of longing or loss. A feeling so intense, it is more a state of being than a sentiment. It is mostly used in romantic terms.
-In this winter wind I hear you whisper we have become dust. I have become dust. © L. L. Kelly 2012
Just Another Recession PoemThe lights have gone out.Moving Forward carries a high price. Change is an empty pocket filled with Hope for a paralyzed Work Force.One Mile High, winter has arrived. The lights have gone out. The telephone line is down. The frosted air outside my window tells me it's going to be a long sleepless night.© L. L. Kelly 2012
**Old Man Winter's cloak is a poor champion for this summer-born body, quivering. Yet ,I know his chill kiss sires the green of spring. January is the cruelest month. I have been a fool. He loves me not. I love him still. I abide.© L. L. Kelly 2012
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