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Best Poems Written by Chris Kane Jr.

Below are the all-time best Chris Kane Jr. poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Chris Kane Jr. Poem

A Storm In Heaven, Sections 25-30

Yet never did he waver from the path he had chose
Lyla was his sun, his moon, and his desert rose
Not even the temptations he met throughout those years
Those sweet little whispers did fall on deaf ears
Not a friend from class who had too much to drink
Not the pretty sorority girl who told him not to think
Not even the beauty who desired him more than most
Could get Ryan Adams to abandon his mighty oaths

Oft they spent evenings studying late into the morn
Ryan ever cheering her when her heart was sad or worn
Thankful she was but love was not on her mind
Yet she could not tell him for she was too kind
His promise he fulfilled at every opportunity
His efforts ever resilient in the face of adversity
Until the time came when they would soon part
With graduation looming, my comrade bared his heart

With every shred of skill and guts he did possess
He painted a masterpiece of her in a summer dress
The colors swirling dangerous wild full of love and life
Made his mural of memories shine while rife
With gushing emotions and agony and love
Like a torrential downpour of passion from above
And so he appeared a right mess when he poured out
To the lovely Ms. Dawson how he felt without a doubt 

Speechless and stunned was the subject of his art
Unsure of how to respond without harming his heart
She was a gentle woman with great capacity to care
But friendship was all she wished of the man standing there
Troubled and worried the young woman carefully spoke
Knowing all too well his heart would likely be broke
With baited breath and a face drenched with sweat
Ryan Adams heard his love say with much regret

“You are a good man of that I am sure.
But time I think will be the cure
For this love you feel, for I am not the one
To love you in return and be your sun.
Friends we will remain for always I assure you
You have been one of my best since I met you, it’s true
Who else would be so selfless to lend me aid
Whenever I need you for the mistakes I have made”

The angelic Lyla had been as kind as she could
But regardless of her words the effect would be no good
For Ryan Adams would crumble in the wake of devastation
Heart shattered into pieces at Lyla’s declaration
It was his turn to fall, without speaking, to the ground
Desiring a pool of tears in which to be drowned
She reached out to hold him but her touch singed his flesh
No longer, his eyes screamed, will our friendship mesh

Details | Chris Kane Jr. Poem

Memories
become sand full of hourglasses.
One thousand snowflakes are one thousand dead cats in the Hudson River.
Memories hurt.
They are Michael Schofield broken out of prison.
Prison is the look on your father’s face.
We had the same face. I used to remember him being younger.
Once he was James Dean going bald and with a cause.
Now he is the weeping willow pretending to be a Christmas tree.
Trees are ebony towers to admire. They take the place of hands, and lips and voices. Sometimes they can speak but only when you aren’t listening.
I hear ghosts I met a long time ago. Their voices mix like bad wine.
They have a lot to say to somebody else.

Words
were daggers but became backfiring nunchucks.
Painting mosaics is more like scribbling outside the lines.
A car with no brakes and no gas.
An automatic pistol being fired by your shadow, armed with toothpaste ammunition. Nothing adds up because math can’t help.
Lithium is the iron curtain to save the free world.
Conversations are only permitted in dolphinese in the broken dunk tank.
Words twist like ivy at Wrigley Field and taste like blood if you impede upon traffic.
Fifty two card pick up and “will you marry me” mean the same thing.
She had no words for either of me, even if I remembered.

Mirrors
are grown in fields on the dark side of the moon.
They are sold to the vain but crawl into the vein.
They shout at jet takeoff volumes.
We use them as search engines even though they don’t have Wi-Fi.
They are the jealous, condescending friend we have to put up with.
A high school dropout who prefers to lean on a wall and do nothing.
Mirrors were made to be smashed. They deserve to go to hell but never do.
They join their cousins the broken beer bottles from West End in a cozy hole
where they can make out with nuclear sludge and give birth to North Korea.
Then they can go on vacation to the beach where they grew up
and create memories that disappear.
He told me who I was and wasn’t without speaking but he was wrong.
Now he won’t look at me and neither will she.
Two-dimensionalism is bliss.

Details | Chris Kane Jr. Poem

How To Build An Atomic Bomb

First you march through fields--
Green, but choked with weeds.
Until one day chance drops the Bomb
And the world explodes before your eyes.

Never have radar eyes seen beauty
Like this, the fire lily in spring,
Pyrotechnics bursting forth from petals
And the sweet napalm nectar heart.

Tender small hands
Softer than pillows of snow--
Look with adoring eyes, but never touch.
Such miracles are easily shattered.

Next you must be silent, soldier
 on through sun and sleet.
Look on with a distance at her still.
Sip vineyard wines and lob grenade glances
As the summer’s smirking captain burns her,
And she is dying of a most miserable thirst.
But I have no water left in my canteen…

Lost, but such a thing gained
From naval expeditions into the murky brown twin pools
That shimmer like umber ghosts in the raining moonshine.
But leave before sunrise—the place is forbidden
For men of such stature, of such a character.
Step aside for the hulking boars,
Who will pluck each of her lovely petals
One by one, and stamp them dead in dirt.

Then be still, self-appointed guardian.
Polish off those beers and brood.
But be ever alert should she call.
If the invasion comes, the only gun
She may have to kill is you.
Accompany her on breezy walks
Attempt to humor, but disclose no more.

Simply hang in gardens of babble on and on
Where the only words you speak are Sanskrit to her.
And when the cavalries of autumn winds pillage through,
She will have nothing to shield her from the beatings.
 So close, I am still too far away, and would give away 
my position out in the open.

Remember the gentle beauty, her voice.
Every laugh, every lethal saltwater tear,
Every moment you would kneel beside her
And be more tender than Mother Nature herself.

But at last when winter comes you make the choice
For she needs a man to keep her warm
The night grows cold, the stars smile sinister
 the field is buried in the blackness of time,
that awful plague without a cure.
You may dream to storm the frosty beaches
 And pluck her from her very roots;
Take her off her feet, in hopes 
Of saving her, the only fire lily in the field.

But with a frown, she bows her head
Turns away, withers and dies.
The fire lily in spring, there smolders
In cigarette ashes.

So you stay under cover, and leave the field,
Afraid to turn and look again.
For time has worked hard for months
Building the atomic bomb
That verges on exploding in your heart.

Details | Chris Kane Jr. Poem

A Storm In Heaven, Sections 1-6

To this scene we have gathered on September’s eve
Under darkening sky, where a storm may conceive
Not a sight better is that face I’ve hardly known
So frail and aged in years past he had grown
A tragedy that one with his talents immense
Must be interred so young, still with look of innocence
Too long had my brother decayed under the weight
Of a burden, I’m afraid, that had become too great

And of that blessed curse that I speak
She stands now in the background waiting for her peek
At the man who loved her more than life itself
From the moment they met, he would heed no help
For his eyes had spotted Atlantis it would seem
That girl was no less than a living, breathing dream
And so it was fated by the powers above
The late Ryan Adams be doomed by his love

Young and wild, his heart would stay no cage
At 18, good Ryan as wise as any mage
With the world before him and regrets left behind 
The hermited scholar thought the world quite unkind
Joyous was he of his departure from home
To leave for greener pastures where he was free to roam
An artist he was in his heart and his soul
If not to this end, he would never be whole

Paintings so quaint did he stroke by the night
Quietly laboring by the buzzing street light
Mountains snowcapped and rivers of glass
Any nature’s fancy to pay the time to pass
Restless in heart and sleepless in mind
The troubadour knew not what he wished to find
But longing did fester in his young fevered head
And his heart ever ached, beating love as blood red

A man needs a woman, so the heavens made it so
Cloudseated phantoms casting spells down below
Enchanting a fool so to drive him insane
For the purpose of loving another in vain
To squeeze every drop of passion from his being
And blindfold the eyes he could once use for seeing
A hopeless romantic is born in such a way
And so poor Ryan Adams did become that day

The night air was cool and the liquor ran free
Rivers to the gates of hell or a wine dark sea
For the bottle does make demons of us all
If freedom from troubles is a price fairly tall
And Ryan did imbibe twice his weight on occasion
No other could compare to a man of his station
No less than three times in a week did he stumble
Into stupors of hazy, chaotic jumble

Details | Chris Kane Jr. Poem

An Ode To Silence

O great encompasser
of the three AM world
and the boundless countryside,
where the wind sprints gently
shedding its high heels,

I wish you would come more often,
to rest a weightless hand 
on a banged up shoulder,
and to plant a tender kiss
on a pale grizzled cheek
ripped raw by the winter wind.

A mute descending avalanche
to drown the car horns, the obscenities, the talk shows,
with all united under a single banner,
One that needs no name no color no country,
only to be embraced for what it is,
the rarest of all treasures, the soundless. 

Return to me now, voiceless friend.
I could use your wisdom,
and your brotherly embrace.
But it seems you visit most
with those who roam after death,
your dearest, best-listening friends.

Best Poems Written by Chris Kane Jr.

The First Snow

A Storm In Heaven, Sections 25-30

Love In Futility

Diamonds Are Forever

Soul Train

Cleveland

Schizophrenia

How To Build An Atomic Bomb

A Storm In Heaven, Sections 1-6

An Ode To Silence