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Best Poems Written by Paul Knight-Kirby

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

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Details | Paul Knight-Kirby Poem

Clouded Mirror

The intricate and winding complexity of this aged device groans as its worn exterior strains.

Though delicate, it punctures through the malice of fools' logic, gripping onto a vision modestly contained.

Allowing an inner reflection of its grimy vanity, it projects an altered ego for the faint acceptance of its bleak fantasy.

They will never understand or know the burden of the wise when faced with the limits of stupidity.

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

The woven threads come forth to the gleaming purity of its ultimate destination.

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

Gone are the days of awakening, shattering belief, and fading away the moment of blissful reign.

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2016



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

The Escalating Deep

A withered and separated flower lay squashed in bent stature.The wind silently erodes the remaining petals sequentially, with each pulse of the air. 

A distant nightmare, tangibly manifested, the echoing warning from the past. 

A trapped piece of newspaper married to a low-lying hedge branch, concealed from notice, dead from purpose.

An hourglass society, scuttling around in organized vice and engineered hypocrisy with time to dictate and money to distract. 

A plague of opinions in this boundless possibility never reaching bedrock. A gash made upon the earth, a slow
puncture untreated in our hourglass existence we believe isn’t moving.

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2019

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

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

London

Here's a refined version of your poem, with a focus on improving grammar, punctuation, and structure while preserving your unique imagery and tone:

I wander through the maze of time,
Gazing upon every century,
Each turn leading me astray along
Fascinating arrays of cobbled roads,
Beer-soaked corners, and freshly watered bouquets.

This unique charm, unified by
The usual hustle of most western cities,
Stands firm amidst multitudes
Of admirers.

An opera of reality,
Singing loud in silent nostalgia.

Conventional yet complex,
A weighty rock sinking under human creativity,
Yet sitting in invincible unity.

Among swarms of dust,
Battered by ceaseless activity,
An oiled engine forever purring,
Forever working, with inexhaustible duty.

A machine that never stops, never
Sleeps.

Awaiting the next influx of eyes,
Every minute descending from the skies.

An elixir of life,
Continuously evolving under the weight of existence,
Greeting the morning sun,
Starting another day on the routine of innocence
Among the charcoal lungs

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

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

The Cosmos

Swirling gases and gigantic clusters of floating rock
black-holes and supernovas and radioactive dust, 

the pinnacle of all imagination living magic and void from adaptation or joint celebration 


gravity's fabric cuddling the weight of all creation.

Spinning in numb service for the unknown purpose 
the cornucopia of wonder and fear.

Will the mind even conjure the wisdom of thou? 
desperately waiting for reason seeking out? 

Or shall we ever wallow in worn theory, 
waiting for a trained genius to add to this story

Or will death allow the cheat giving us our comforting complete, 
or will we retreat back to logic's feet and find we are just  
mere accident all bacteria, atoms just freaks!

Either way it's magic and welcome when in nothing.
 
the smashing of need the screaming of invention and happening 
the living canvas ever added and amended, ever made and forgotten.

Consumed and cemented a dancing pattern each to their own the 
Ceaseless ripples of organized chaos drift us more from home.  

And every conclusion the same the black hole and life again.

Copyright © Paul K K | Year Posted 2016

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