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Best Paul Knight-Kirby Poems

Below are the all-time best Paul Knight-Kirby poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Paul Knight-Kirby Poem |

First World War

I envy the dust, the way it moves all free and careless,
released from it’s sleeping state the thunderous pounds 
of late shelling, again endless. 

Muffled shouting, through this trench confounding,

Mustard attack, gas mask aside, fingers in fumbling fight
bitter cold night in a field. 

No fireside, food to bite
cigarettes to smoke and mates to joke.

last one gone two days ago up one minute then vanished in a puff of smoke.

this place is beyond reality, it’s beyond insanity 
fighting for earth no mother walked nor father built.

If they want to fight then bring it to my hills, not this flat wasteland of mud, blood, bones and chills.

We were thrown into this bloody war,
and we wont have our say, like we've never had before.

Taken to the slaughter history will say, 
throwing ourselves forward like tidal-waves. 

Waves on waves of sacrificial lunacy again and again.

we've taken little ground and this other trench looks bad, worse than ours 
doesn't looked heavily manned looks like we lost more man.

What do we gain now? apart from more time in thought.

those withered layers of rotting feverish flesh, one part is fresh 
the other pure dread. 

captain is shouting, up on my legs 
what’s going on...conscious or dead?

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2016

Details | Paul Knight-Kirby Poem |

Clouded Mirror

The riveting and winding complexity of this dated device moans in the grinds of it's exhausted exterior. 

Delicate though precise it punctures through the malice of the fools logic.
Grasping onto a vision so modestly tamed. 

permitting the inner reflection of it's grimy vanity and cannily projecting the alter ego for the bespoke acceptance of it's dreary fantasy. 

They will never understand, or ever know...the burden of the wise to the limits of stupidity. 

The jester of maximum proportion, the seller of false attire. 

The woven ingredients come forth to the shiny purity of it's ending destination. 

The folly of all ages, that great pretender of truth. 

And gone to days past the awakening of this shattered belief and fading out the moment of blissful reign. 







 

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2016

Details | Paul Knight-Kirby Poem |

The Crow

The crow is solemn among the branch,
Staring at nothing but horizons and bark.

The snow capped scene it did surround, in the quiet, sleepy 
and noisy town.

The crow shudders its wings and wakes the snow in a hazy 
Clouded shroud the crow did go

He had witnessed the inhabitants more than he dare see
The abuse, the guile the festering fleas

The rodents of theatre masquerading a foul vigor
In duplicated ego, and whispered intuition. 

He saw the truth he saw the daily lies the grand hypocrisy 
The grand prevail.

They cannot ere another fable the replica of tales repeats 
In ceaseless curiosity. 

He flaps amongst the cold air and feels the rush of europhia 
As he dances with ability, freedom and choice

The crow moves in unstoppable momentum towards the observed horizon 
And behind the orange glow of life. 



Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2016

Details | Paul Knight-Kirby Poem |

Homeless Soldier

I once owned a uniform that shone in pride
The polished brass, creases and lines

An army of friends and civilian respect
I marched upon every street, placed every laureate

The glowing admiration, the tireless market
Of gazing faces that sung even to the heartless

Badgered by memories that I couldn’t forget
Now withered and worn the years of regret

My mental battle the suffering toll of silence
No words I could mouth about the raw entirety
Flashbacks of those wars supplying me

But I sit a cluster of before
My battlefield a daily occurrence of aimlessly wandering
In routine emergence 
of seeking cigarette butts and borrowing more time and beer
To drown out the battle none but mine could hear

I clamber from bush broken sunlight, coughing up
The empty sobriety of reality

Just a used device a human resource
Hoodwinked and lead noose in ignorant obligation

A never-ending instigation from mind emancipation
From this dumb founded degree of humiliation

Drunken laughter upon this man once bold
Pissing on the soul, and soles of my ragged boots I couldn’t maintain or even hold

Completely neglected by all I did serve
Now served by a starvational solitude

A face that none could remember, a shadow of my youth
Just aloof, wandering every day until my feet give up from the holes in my boots

Until I drop dead like the rest of the ‘glorious dead’

Should have been left with my rifle on a battlefield proper
Something my mind could accept, something I would now offer.

And who would care and would begin to wonder
Who these men were and why in such slumber

After all I am just a homeless soldier.

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2016

Details | Paul Knight-Kirby Poem |

Collective Recognition

Modern day Empire
The same as old,
Man doesn't really have time
Just Inventions and different clothes. 
Still craving our nature the two split purpose,
Consumption and reproduction
All else is conjuring vanity, 
An evolving Microchip of lost perception, a tinted clarity.
Yet we entrapped ourselves into a diamond cast,
Being compounded by every grasp that meets ear, eye and touch. 
Never forget the truth bearing lust, 
that feeling of inner-ness that splinter-hair precision awareness 
And ask the question you've subconsciously locked away
Why are you being and what are the aims? 
And then at that moment your shell will fall apart 
so remind yourself of the real truth the binds mind and heart, 
and roam among your ancestors in the lyceum of endless fascination 
in one's mighty reflection and complacence.

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2013

Details | Paul Knight-Kirby Poem |

Superior knowledge

The world is a lave a pallet of creation
Looking into space, a futile distraction 
The earth is in space and all it represents 
Looking upward wondering ignoring the obvious 
The pattern of nature the key to life 
Everything in nature release us from strife 
From wondering mind, from wondering soul 
Pillar too pillar young and old 
Some think of it as architecture, some confusing mess, 
Some a spontaneous fragment of scientific jest 
To some a duty a jigsaw to caress, 
And some just get on and never confess
We each hold the answer to our brain 
Coming once sometimes again and again 
Sometimes never at all, contained in distraction 
The harrowing lore, the abyss of infatuation 
The buckled belt restraint on the mind 
Have to find out, not sure I will with death and time 
But will it empower or dissolve my life 
Sitting here continually wondering why
When that could be it, just to live to experience and enjoy it
And we the fools who try to explain never understood the simplicity 
Expanding our stupidity with information overload, we didn't need 
To study or to vex our thoughts flexing our complexion 
With stressful sickness broken and distraught,
Are we just the sickness in god’s body? 
A disease spreading in the DNA of the supreme 
Thinking we are special, a comforting belief 
Or are we trapped in our own creation, 
Our creation is no waiting quotation 
Or selfish intoxication of boredom 
Or perhaps, the conclusion the capstone solution 
Buried with its foundation, alas the incantation released 
And now fondled into confusion its veil of truth still uncovered 
No one is true enough to bind its rudder, 
Elevate one’s conscience, conjure up the thunder 
Not in modern times where knowledge is sought 
By any mind, any person, any element of thought. 

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2012

Details | Paul Knight-Kirby Poem |

Forgotten Love

And here i arrive at the lovers gate,

Steering thoughts to captivate 

the ferrying notions of our fate,

the empty, quiet, familiar state.


Alas it's come to say goodbye 

as i knock on yesterday's door,

no confidence or measure 

no laughter, no more.


as we continue in our absence 

we fade our memories in weary complacence,

like festering leaves among the steps, 

leaning over the window ledge 

coffee morning toast, bed 

we eliminate the dread of the past undead.


just so we can forget and adjust 

and forever pass-by in forgotten love.  

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2015

Details | Paul Knight-Kirby Poem |

Lost Generation

We the victim's of incompetence 
We the pawns of vain experiments
Imprisoned by oligarchic, social engine.
Our pains, reflected by gluttonous pride.
Fermenting in black boil bubbling greed
Modern slavery in it's prime, glistening 
like polished diamond shine.
All pretentious, phoney entrapment,
lurking through time,  the ideal system, 
for a criminal eye, the perfect crook, 
filtered on a system it built, it impressed, 
and we undertook, now just mere 
puppets,
Upon the ladder of fingers,
The shadow composer casting the melody 
of subjugated illusion, laughing at ease, 
gazing upon their resolution.
A famine of needs and desires, tortured 
by the selected lot, who mock as we rot, 
in the mould around the bars of our cot. 
The misleading consequence of 
innocence, of ignorance, of vulnerability.
The digital web of deception, ripples in 
shuddered glee, it's next victim 
screaming, and then hushed silently 
among those chambers of conformity, an 
commodity given a number and then 
freed, for some years.
Next it's taught to adhere to the 
requirement of 'our' society,
Pushed through  any resistance,
Your ADD, labeled and branded for all to 
see, your defunct from a higher form, an 
acceptable sense of reality, the easier 
chores of slavery,
and less material distraction, an extra 
penalty.
In the sinister sweating perversion,
The passive exodus that moves in night 
and day excursions, fossiled in a lava of 
weary confusion.
We are the lost Generation on a path we 
cannot see, in a destiny that isn't you and 
isn't me. 

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2012

Details | Paul Knight-Kirby Poem |

Ego vultures

What do you see in the mirror of your reflection? 
your own body, or your own detection? 
or the competition of another...the mindless mind occupy your subjective projector
Confusing, deluding...dreams know more order, dreams show more practical structure
The Ego is your master and you the acute apprentice infecting the weak of reality 
using the close resources to master it's design in your mind
It's built your normality and to question is your own insanity 
Feasting upon your wretched blindfold granting your desires \
it gave you your house, that house in which it made you. 
the fatal awareness that mostly last breaths discover
a touching leap too late too seeped with much too weep 
And by then too little to seek what then shall you do once you see the truth?

Could you even muster your own imagination and destroy natures enemy
Or are you the Anti-persona dripped in your own tragedy rippled and shelled
making a hell of a heaven or a heaven of a hell this is the abundant device 
so rarely fought so quiet like mice so if you unveil this master of tricks 
be sure to find your way out of it like shattered glass you may find yourself 
lost without hope grinding deeper into the oblivion vanishing like air in smoke.

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2012

Details | Paul Knight-Kirby Poem |

Fatal Awareness

Bang, Bang, Bang 
The cracks in my ears 
Run,run,gone the silhouette of my peers 
My boots are sandals of mud, moulded like baked pastry 
Time, time, time, was the beating of my thought 
March, march, march, were my orders of before 
Now the battle smoke has cleared and my heart can feel no more
Strains of my friends leave memories upon this ground 
Like ripped soggy tissue, all around 
And I am alone, too scared to make sound 
Too much realization too young to know 
What things I could be doing and what things I should bestow  
What sights I should of seen and what has tarnished the in-between 
The passive reacting cold has taken my future, blemished the soul 
Young,young,young was the age of us all 
Kill, blood, kill was all we had in store
Rapid swirling deaf I see the blood inside
I’ve taken one round and I’ll never survive 
I can see a rain drop roaming down this rock 
It’s the last vision to understand this life I still have got  
It’s harmonic stature it’s peaceful rot 
And here is my end I cannot grip a stare 
I cannot effort my fingers I know I must be dying, seconds to bare 
I don’t know what to do but I am not crying 
It’s getting hard to breathe I cannot feel my toes 
I can hear my mother calling, I muster a smile 
I am surrounded by the loved ones escalating mile upon mile 
A final push of effort understood as folly
Yawn, gasp, then death has taken me to dark 
I’ll miss a many faces; I’ll never ride my bike 
I’ll never kiss those soft lips or feed a little guy 
I’ll never enjoy those things I’ve always lived to buy 
And I’ll never know the future as I am far too young to die 

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2012

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