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Kenneth Kirkpatrick Poem
Like the fragrance of honeysuckle clinging to the vine,
Like sea spirit salt rides the inshore breeze,
Like the sun dappled fields of summer, please...
Be mine... my beautiful you... be mine.
Like the flowers I bring you every so often,
Like the ones I should bring you every day,
Be wild and pure and wait there for me,
To see and to take you, my beautiful you.
Like the curves of your body, bending
Behind the glisten of the glass shower stall,
Like sweet nicknames floating down the hall...
Be my mystery ever unfolding, my beautiful you.
All the holidays, like yesterday, I still remember,
Wrapped up with you around the tree…
Leaves falling round us in a crisp September,
As we walk through our seasons, you and me.
And now the twilight's chimney smoke calls us,
Back to the hearth and home we've made,
With little ones who look like you and me,
Our love's perfect union, our soul's sweet serenade.
Through all the days of our days, I'll need you,
So be the breath I cannot live without,
The April morning's rain - mist for my midsummer's drought…
All the holiday's I remember...
Leaves falling round us in a crisp September.
The fragrance of you floating through the hall,
Into my soul's senses, please, be all...
Worth recalling, worth living and dying for...
My beautiful you, my beautiful you...
Be Mine.
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What we Read, is Where we Go...
Copyright © Kenneth Kirkpatrick | Year Posted 2014
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Kenneth Kirkpatrick Poem
Froth and foam, time and tide...
Ah, the motion of the ocean.
‘Tis the source of my heart's longing,
The place of my soul's belonging,
With it's push and pull...
Ebb and flow.
As time and space go rambling on...
At your shores, the same time and space
Stand halted...
Your maker and mine exalted...
By your push and pull...
Ebb and flow.
At times I find myself longing,
To become one with you,
And your knowing of life's beginnings,
Both old and new...
And the days and years of all your learnings.
To find myself wrapped up,
In your fathomless embrace,
In all the ways you have kissed me,
With the currents of your passion…
Your endless days, the mystical fashion,
Of your push and pull...
Ebb and flow.
Yet how shall I fathom,
Your unending endlessness?
And how shall I counter,
Your impartial fury?
Most certain am I that it will bury,
And erase,
All that is and leave no trace,
Of that which is and was to come.
For man who is blind, sees only your wealth,
And not wholly that,
But that which he deems
As wealth.
Till you, left naked and raped, rise...
To reprove us, to open our eyes.
Only then do we see,
T'was meant to be,
That you, and I and we,
Are made as one.
And as to you, unto us is done.
Thus to us is done for sure,
Till blindly stumbling we find this cure:
That those who shall possess you,
Shall do in setting you free.
And to them is your grace,
To them is your passion,
The depths of your soul and the endless fashion,
Of your timeless, enduring mystery.
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What we Read, is Where we Go...
Copyright © Kenneth Kirkpatrick | Year Posted 2014
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Kenneth Kirkpatrick Poem
I feared that soon the snow would leave,
As I watched the melting wreaths give way,
To the hand of time, come now to press,
The passing of my holiday...
Where the ghosts of Christmas just now past,
Their laughter and their footsteps sound,
Up stairways, down hallways, of a heart held fast,
To the cherished and loved once gathered round.
Would they be spirits, or fade as ghosts,
Was left to what I cherished most,
The memory of the moments past,
Or the choice of those to come...
But that those times then, could come again,
In times to come, I was remiss...
So instead I clutched the moment's edge,
And soared out into its’ abyss.
The sight of our fathers on chair and couch,
Straining to wake for time to glean,
The moments that pass from this day to that,
With regret for all missed there in between.
My mother, in the kitchen, dutiful making,
Aglow with the love that she was baking,
And the smells of the season, my senses awaking,
Was in the now as real as then.
And I groaned to leap out of my skin,
Go back and bring them here again...
But the hand of time would not repent...
And the moment's choice both came and went.
And as that moment, my clutches slipped,
A still, small voice my conscious nipped,
Through the march of the wall clock’s tick-tocking tick…
With a question, and an answer and a hope…
“If wreaths and voices and laughter gone,
Had stayed to stay that loneliness…
That furls your brow, then tell me now…
How more, their worth, but when they’re missed?”
“And like the bright eyed angels, hurling hands first,
into dreams wrapped up for months concealed,
Will you take hold of the gifts untold
that the coming days reveal?”
My God, I pray to thee I will...
Please fix in us, that hope we will.
So Embrace the fear that the snow will leave,
and when it does you'll fear no more...
And rejoice in the coming day's reprieves ...
and seize their gifts each and every one.
And when your resting day is once more won...
the snow's repose shall once more come...
And the white soft blanket of earth's rebirth,
Shall tuck you into dreams unknown,
And whisper in that silent night,
that all is calm... all is right…
And will whisper to your silent night...
That you are not alone.
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What we Read, is Where we Go...
Copyright © Kenneth Kirkpatrick | Year Posted 2014
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Kenneth Kirkpatrick Poem
The tides roll in; I do not see them,
As the fog breathes in, obscuring the sun,
Just a moment ago, you were here beside me,
But the fog stole in, and now you’re gone.
In the daylight, we were so very bright,
As diamonds sparkling in the sands of time,
Two pearls together in a single shell,
We left to see what lay beyond.
And somewhere upon our newfound shores,
We let our eyes wonder for a moment's glimpse,
To see if what we shared was true,
And ignored that fog growing ever dense.
Yet sometimes the fog is what we need,
To teach us how to walk alone,
So when our daylight comes breaking through,
It's not the WHERE, for which we care...
But for the WHO is our true home.
So meet me down on the shores of time,
My darling, when the daybreak springs,
Lay your soft head on my wearied chest...
Let the tides roll in and do the rest...
They’ll sweep us back into forever,
That together, forever we shall never loose,
Except again, when a fog rolls in...
And the home we are, is the one we choose.
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Copyright © Kenneth Kirkpatrick | Year Posted 2014
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Kenneth Kirkpatrick Poem
As the life and voice of Dr. Maya Angelou were profoundly deep and moving, I hope you will find this grateful tribute to her to be fitting. As it is too long to be posted here, you can find it at
http://www.gopoem.com/immortal-a-poetic-tribute-to-dr-maya-angelou-april-4-1928-forever/
Or, Read it in parts I and II:
Part I:
The name woke me up - sat me up in my bed...
"Maya", the name my voice called out...
As I sat there in the dark, listening...
As I had so many times before...
Wondering at the "whys" and "how - tos" of my impossible dreams.
And as the dark, so was the divide -
That place in me, between what I was,
And the Why and Who I wanted to be...
But always, her voice, that voice named "Maya",
Had called across the divide as a still and steady light.
That unbreakable, unshakable, steady light...
I wondered where it was now, with blinking, thinking eyes.
Had it vanished? Was it vanquished? Could I once again rise -
In the dark staring dead at me... daring me to rise...
I felt hopeless, lost back in the divide… now growing ever and ever wide.
What happens now - my question? A miracle now, an answer - indeed...
For through the dark, that voice named "Maya" whispered...
Whispered into me... sounding a new song's drumbeat creed...
"You", the whispering voice whispered..."You, child - Now, You"...
And my feet were suddenly planted, planted bravely on the ground.
And I stood tall and strong, stepping peacefully forward, twirling round,
For the dark no longer stared at me, but I stared into it...
It no longer owned me... but instead, I commanded it,
By a path so still and steady - and now, so brightly lit:
The light I had strained to see was now the miracle shining from inside of me.
My divide... was now, somehow... unified.
And again the whispering voice came: "Yes child - Yes - I speak your name…
I have come and gone so very far, borne witness to it -
Have delivered a gift to you all - and you were born to use it.
Share it... wear it... and to the dark - dare it - with that unbreakable, unshakable light.”
“Be a voice for all seasons - make some noise for all the reasons,
The downtrodden have to hope for, that the world would grasp and grope for…
Be my voice Now… as I have been yours… a brilliant spirit, not a wandering ghost…
Make your choice, Now - Decide - to be Identified…
To see and live your unbreakable, unshakable, unstoppable dreams.”
Continued i Part II
Copyright © Kenneth Kirkpatrick | Year Posted 2014
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Kenneth Kirkpatrick Poem
Seraphic faces, shapes slicked in rubber,
With Iron Lungs strapped to their back,
Terra Firma’s tether, now growing slack,
Frog footed adventurers adrift in space,
As they slip from this world’s iron bonds,
Down the sapphire glide, of the Mother’s face.
The needles on their compass, steady…
Their heart’s desire, magnetic north…
To find in full this life’s embrace,
To see it’s bounty surging forth,
And back, into the cool blue keep,
Of the Mother’s womb, the Origin Deep.
To mend the split of time and space,
That mutes our ancient, inner voice,
And molds us, holds us, in our place…
To transcend the blog of buzzing noise…
We here descend, our souls complete,
With our counterpart, the Origin Deep.
All thoughts provoked, illusions stoked,
Settle now into a listless sphere,
Where life’s divergence flows into one,
With all its’ member cast, revered.
To dance the rim of our first keep,
And unify in our Origin Deep.
Here, rivers of air, so breathe your lungs,
Here, bottomless blue, so breathes your soul,
A map of coral dot ladder rungs,
Here guides your thrust-kick vortex bold,
Pushed down, held up of nature’s law,
Of nature’s God, now drift in awe.
Then return thou, man, to landed cares,
Crawl back upon my outpost shores,
To feel your weightless flight a dream…
But leave your fins there at my door…
A manmade webbed foot monument,
To your long lost lover’s deep lament.
For token, I’ll hold your souls with me,
To find them, will your bodies yearn…
I’ll feed and clothe them as my kin,
Till you collect them on return.
When you my chamber curtains part,
And merge with me again as one…
To run the rim of life’s first keep…
And find again your Origin Deep.
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What we Read, is Where we Go...
Copyright © Kenneth Kirkpatrick | Year Posted 2014
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Kenneth Kirkpatrick Poem
Part II of The Poem, Immortal, A tribute to Dr. Maya Angelou, is posted below:
... continued...
And her voice passed through me, and kissed me with a trace of grace…
And then… the voice of Maya echoed once more… again:
“I have others to see Now… you have somewhere to be Now:
An appointment with your life, so precious and rare, awaits.
Make haste, my child, make haste.”
And I ran after her voice, out onto my doorstep…
To behold the night heavens so wide and awake…
Aglow with their newest host - I stood and watched her circumnavigate,
All of the spheres that the toil of her years - and her joy - had built there.
And I could feel her voice in the gentle wind blowing…
The voice of Maya, saying to me… saying to you…
“You, child, You… oh Yes, child -Yes… Now, child - NOW”.
And NOW… she is Immortal.
Copyright © Kenneth Kirkpatrick | Year Posted 2014
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Kenneth Kirkpatrick Poem
On The Threshold
Two rooms shared a single door,
One my past, one the now,
But yet to see the future, How?
Eyes strained, brow furled… Nevermore?
In final collapse to my finitude,
I threw open the single door,
Stood on the threshold of then and now,
Screamed at the Future… Nevermore!
And silence let in, as I there stood,
Having fixed my mind on those two rooms,
To reveal a third, open windowed, view,
Of a world awaiting for me to join…
And then I saw my future there,
Yet not as made, but waiting to be,
And through that window, I had not seen,
I set the past and present free…
Slipped through that window, into the world,
To find the future waiting for me.
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What we Read, is Where we Go...
Copyright © Kenneth Kirkpatrick | Year Posted 2014
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Kenneth Kirkpatrick Poem
The Knighted Night
Too much sun can kill the skin,
The Benevolent whispered to me,
The daylight’s hard due diligence done,
Grants no shade from toil for free…
But yield instead to my calm implore,
Let loose the day’s long listed sins,
Walk into me to find the cure,
For all day’s debts I have forgiven.
So Benevolent marked in winter’s woods,
a place where I alone would find,
that kinder, gentler, steadfast light,
Where’s It’s man, the moon did shine.
And Benevolent breathed upon my skin,
and bathed me in moon’s light,
To rejuvenate the child within…
With dark, restore my sight.
And with new eyes I turned to see,
Who my Benevolent could truly be,
When in-beamed moonlight cascading down,
To dress Benevolent in his crown…
And all I thought was mine to bear,
I wept for now – it all made right,
And my smile beamed forth, as if a sword,
For Benevolent was the Night…
And with my beaming, smiling sword,
I Knighted Him the Night…
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What we Read, is Where we Go...
Copyright © Kenneth Kirkpatrick | Year Posted 2014
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