Koffee With Kennedy : 2018

Saturday, September 29, 2018

skater ...

the lines blur
the crisp, thick blacks
losing their edge
and bleeding into grey haze
before dissolving completely
to become white on white
and somewhere in this blind confusion
she sends crackling shards of ice
with every turn and pivot
into the boreal air
shaving scars in
the near-perfect surface
of a frozen pond
with glacial pirouettes
and unexpected leaps
defying gravity
sending her skyward
with the excitement
of freedom

and i am there
locked in the frosty remorse
of an onlooker
there where the tree line
cuts somehow past
the fading edge
of the horizon
and reaches skyward
to the hoary sun
where kamikaze snowflakes
drift once over the scene
and then ever so casually
collapse into tiny
droplets
of rain

Thursday, April 19, 2018

do not ...

do not go to the edge of the forest
do not look for what you cannot find
do not watch the birds take flight
let your eyes remain fixed on the underbrush
for that is where the true danger lives
do not listen to the wind
so full of so many lies from the passing of time
do not smell the smoke of stale campfires
do not try to rekindle dead sparks into flame
let ash be ash and dust be dust
do not fix beads to your coat
vanity has no place here
do not spread contraband across the trail
that children after you may find
do not look for shape shifters in the corners of your eyes
they are here but they are not here for you
do not consider stars or yellow moon
they will taunt you with hope
do not memorize your dreams
for they are windows to death
do not hide your heart from the bear
for he eats it to survive
do not be grateful for your life
be grateful instead for your death
do not remain
do not step into the future
and most of all
do not do not
do not let go
and do not hold on

Wednesday, February 14, 2018

these love letters ...

these love letters
that you left in such
a small black box
there in the back of my closet
have faded to the colour
of sour cream now
and even the vibrant
envelopes that once were red
and snapdragon purple
have paled
as if left out in the rain
and summer sun
their tattered corners
crumbling somewhat
from repeated unfoldings
when words of hopefulness
mattered and numbed
the solitude of times apart
but that was long ago
when knowing tomorrows
was easy and
meant something

these love letters
are what remain
and should i dare to open
one or two
i guess
for a moment
i would remember
you
and the love we shared
caught in words
and phrases
and inimitable images
of passion perfect
the promises
of a future together
sketched out in
blue-black ink
scratched across
cheap newsprint
or costly vellum
all so well-worn now
the writing has faded
and all but fallen off the pages

these love letters
these are the dusty history books
chronicling our short
time together
stowed away now
in the backmost shelves of
an unknown library
where no one goes
and no one
but you and i
has ever been
unread by any of the great scholars
and unknown to the curious eyes
of the students of love
instead they remain
a singular collection
that tells one story
of a romantic journey
towards happiness
that seemed
without end
but there always is an end
isn't there?

these love letters
have grown old with me
and i have been proud
to be the curator
of these testaments
to the unfolding
of furious fantasies
custodian to
the moments we knew
and then forgot
moments to file away
in dark closets
as we drift
from hello
to goodbye
over and over
always hoping
always waiting
and who can say
why we write
our feelings onto
cards and letters
that age
and crumble
until those feelings
are lost
disappearing in an instant
recalling that first moment
when one heart suddenly
reaches for another heart
spark to flame
flame to fire
fire to ashes

these love letters
tumble over the bed
we once shared
and as i look over
this quilt of memories
i see your face again
the eyes that lit
even the darkest rooms
the soft pink lips
quietly whispering
to me between
gentle kisses
and for a moment
i am moved
to breathe in the scent
of youth and promise
but in the next moment
i find myself
gathering them up
and slipping each
into a large manilla envelope
addressed to you
and your new life
the one you chose
over the dreams we shared
dreams as fragile
as the paper world
where we lived
for a while
and then abandoned

Monday, January 29, 2018

i don't need ...

i don't need a lover
don't need the snowdrift of velvet skin
don't need the softness
of late night kisses
don't need the sweat and salvation
of sex
don't need the harsh word mornings
when my head fills with thunder
and your face breaks into
a torrential rain
i don't need a woman
don't need an embrace
don't need the heartache
when the armies of goodbye
storm the castle of hope
and break through the walls
with the scream of silent adieus
i don't need a reason
don't need excuses
don't need explanations
for living alone
for waking in the darkness
and not calling your name
i don't need a voice
from faraway places
don't need letters and postcards
full of promises
that read like best-before dates
on a half-eaten loaf of stale bread
i don't need your troubles
don't need to know
that your heart is failing
don't need to prepare
for your final whisper
don't care if that last breath
puffs out the sound of my name
i don't need all the sadness
people discover when things
fall apart
don't need to understand
how anyone fails
to anticipate disaster
when disaster is as certain
as tomorrow's sunrise
i don't need God
don't need Jesus
don't need the priests
with their incense-stained hands
and their strings of magic beads
i don't need retreat
don't need to move on
don't need yesterday or tomorrow
and above all else
i don't need the eyes that
never just watch me
but always actually see me
don't need the trace of fingers
through my hair
don't need the promises
that have never failed me
the promises of deliverance
and safekeeping
so perfect and so rare
they ring like church bells
over wedding vows
and when my breath falters
remember only that
i never needed the miracle
that has always been
you

Monday, January 15, 2018

you ...

you — the ones i trusted
you — the ones on whom i depended most
you — the ones always in my warmest thoughts
you — the hands and arms of comfort
you — the lips of soft kisses
you — there and there and there
but no longer
here
no longer
within reach
no longer
within screaming distance

oh don't say
it's late in the evening
and time for bed
don't turn me over
in my heartache
so that you can see the other side
of my pain
i'm

living without you
living in empty spaces
lost in the uncertainty
of loneliness
caught in a net of empty hands

this is
this is how music leaves a room
and never returns
this is
this is how love falters and fails
and later i will

listen to the thunder
and think of you and
you and
you
yes, i will
think

of the puddles
i splash through
after the storm
and nothing
nothing more

and remember you

Monday, January 08, 2018

the news was bad ...

you were standing in the hallway
beneath the fluorescent lights
close by the one that flickered
in rapid pulsations
that i somehow imagined
emulated the beat of your heart
when the doctor said to you
in his softest voice
that the news was bad

and i guess you didn't see me
standing just inside the door
opened just enough for me to hear
what you heard
and i guess you couldn't know
that when you began to shake
i began to shake too
but not for the same reason
since you suddenly foresaw
a life without me
and i was dreaming of escaping
my pain at last

if memory survives the closing drift
of life's final song
i will remember you
i will remember the cup you used every morning
when we shared coffee on the front porch
and you wondered if the drifting clouds
foretold a day of rain
i will remember the way you slept
so ass-backwards it befuddled me
and i will remember the touch of your hands
over the scars and craters of my body
and i will above all else remember
your love
and what i forget
i will re-imagine
as maybe only a poet can
and i will know everything again

in the winter meadow
an aging horse
stumbles and falls
and in the crash of mortality
the snow billows up around him
cloaking his frosted body
in conclusive veils of white
and if you look hard enough
you will see a young girl
far off in the distance
running to that cold place
her eyes wide with tears
but not tears of rage
and not tears of sorrow
simply tears born of some knowledge
of this finality
of having known his exuberant gallop
beneath her tense thighs
once before
and once again
and now
she hastens to him
to watch his crippled body
rise from the ice and cold
and race towards
the warm light of the sun
and to know the twitch
of his head
and the turning pull of the reins
endlessly again
and then
endlessly again