Sunday, August 24, 2014

if the moon ...




if the moon ...

If the moon were bright
And the stars just right
I suppose there'd be no need
For love,
But the day brings storms
And the evening swarms
With hordes of the darkest clouds.
Still I can't help but wonder
If beyond the harsh thunder
Lovers will be embracing tonight.

If the sun were to rise
In clear eastern skies
I suppose there'd be no need
For love,
But the night's unforgiving
And it's dark for those living
Behind veils, tapestries, and shrouds.
Still I can't help but assume
That the glow from every room
Is the glimmer of love taking flight.

If the years were to wane
Without heartache or pain
I suppose there'd be no need
For love,
But it seems that every tomorrow
Spreads more anger and sorrow
Like the fury of unruly crowds.
Still I can't help but dare
Say that love is everywhere
Exchanging the dark with an unfailing light.



© Kennedy James. All rights reserved.


 







 

Sunday, August 17, 2014

Lost & Found




Lost & Found

i see you there in the
Lost & Found
half-hidden under a collection
of scratched sunglasses
and a decent fountain pen
bleeding black over
foreign scribblings
on a postcard from
somewhere in Spain
you are wearing
your sky-off-blue frock
the one with a crinkled
white paper rose
pinned just beneath the neckline
and though your hair
is a tattered nest of bees
your bright red lipstick
is only slightly smeared
above your soft upper lip
and though your eyes
are hidden behind
a cracked drapery of faded
sea-green eyeshadow
underlined by teary rivulets
of charcoal mascara
i remember the clarity
of your bright look of love
and have returned to find
what i so easily lost
here at the counter
after so many
winters-waiting

i wonder if you wonder
where the wings of time have
carried me
or if you are angered
by the choices i made
to travel roads mapped only
by the dullest stars
leaving you to wait
with a simple sticky-note promise
pressed against
your patient and loving heart
a vow that quickly
became unglued
and fluttered
in an unforgiving parabola
to the cold floor
of your despair
where i can only guess
that your search for hopefulness
robbed you of love's
most vital air
and left you gasping
and grasping
for a reason to believe
in something
you could trust
something hidden behind
the obvious
until at last
you must have questioned if
that something was ever really there
at all

i'm not asking to be forgiven
for the indifference
of my past
i can't patch
the cracks in the windows
of your soul
stained
translucent white
by the frost of words
that never arrived
i can't build an altar
in a church
of steel and brick
to protect the holiness
of your unfaltering beauty
from a future scare
i have only a simple prayer
that might rekindle
what was there
hoping to find fire
in the ashes
of what went cold
hoping you will turn to me
open your eyes
and see
that i may not be
what you wanted
or even what you needed me to be
but i'm here
to reclaim your heart
or with a simple goodbye
to set you free



© Kennedy James. All rights reserved.


 







 

Sunday, August 10, 2014

circles of time




circles of time

the girl waiting to become a woman
smiled as she watched me
from across the room
her clear blue eyes
stuttering in anticipation
like the hands
on an ancient hallway clock
counting down the seconds
the minutes
the hours
the days
the months and the years
that she had endured
to arrive at this single axis
in the unending circles of time
and as she peeled
the bed covers aside
i said a silent prayer
that i might not falter
through the rise of night
and the urgency of desire
to be the one for her
but i hesitated
a second
a minute
an hour
a day
a month and a year too long
and what might have been
slipped by in an instant
sending her drifting into shadows
with only a final whispered thought
that every moment embraces
every other moment before it
and defines all the moments
yet to come


© Kennedy James. All rights reserved.


 







 

Sunday, August 03, 2014

once certain, twice removed ...




once certain, twice removed ...

i miss my youth
the prairie roads
carving poetry in
fields of dappled gold
a summer's harvest reaching heavenward
to the toppling clouds
of a never-ending sky
where every imagined
beast or beauty
was caught in the reflection
of the big rivers
that poured like holy wine
into a young boy's veins
a sacrament of sorts
you'd think
but more and more
a tattered collection of memories
not quite lost
but lost all the same
i miss the danger
of falling in love
with a perfect stranger
unexpectedly slipping into my life
of imperfection
i miss the jarred butterfly pandemonium
and the nervous excitement
of hands wandering across
the skin of unknown bodies
the silly giggles of encouragement
and even the whispers of
hesitant rebuke
i miss the softest cheek
against my cheek
when lips wander
to lips
to share the breath of love
and breathe the pulse of life
from heart to heart
blending the two into one
i miss the slow waking
from solitude
into arms that wrap
across my shoulders
and coax my body
from the cold
and carry me
into the warmth of knowing
that dreamers live
lives asleep
i miss the missing
the times apart
the you there
and the me somewhere unknown
so high above the world
in vacant night skies
the time or distance
or both
that divides improbable lovers
from one another
the words and promises
that reach across
crackling telephone conversations
of wounded longing
i miss the purpose
the obvious reason
for being who i am
that i see in a knowing look
from bright expectant eyes
or that i feel in the soft fingers
that brush my hair back and away
from my brow
but mostly
i miss every day
when i might have said
something hopeful
and was silent


© Kennedy James. All rights reserved.


 







 








 
 


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