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Kim Mcadam Poem
I have no spirit.
I have no soul.
I am nothing more than a terrible troll.
I’ll never see Heaven,
And this is my Hell,
To be shunned by all men and the fair mademoiselle.
I was made by a madman,
Assembled from parts
Of decaying cadavers, and life from a spark.
My twisted existence
Of needles and thread,
Malodorous materials from realms of the dead.
I entered this world
One dark stormy night,
My creator’s repugnance foretelling my plight.
I opened my eyelids
As lightning bolts zapped,
With howling of winds and thunderous claps.
I was thrust into light.
I knew darkness and cold.
I was thirsty and hungry, a sight to behold.
A blind man took pity.
I did not offend.
He was my one unconditional friend.
And then he was gone,
But I needed someone,
A partner to witness what I had become.
I wanted affection,
But all that I fetched
Was fear and revulsion for this awful wretch.
All I desired
Was someone to share
Ups and downs of a life filled with sorrow and care.
Alas! My creator
Reneged on our deal.
In spite of my honest and urgent appeal,
He butchered my bride.
I butchered his, too.
But first I killed Henry. That day he will rue.
The way I’d been treated
Only heightened my rage.
Yet my maker perished before the last page.
Soon I discovered
That I could not die.
I’ve lasted for decades. Death I defy.
And my punishment still,
As a tragic outcast,
Is to walk among gravestones of people who’ve passed.
Copyright © Kim Mcadam | Year Posted 2019
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Kim Mcadam Poem
the eagle watches me
from high above
it has finally come to this
I stand on this ragged lookout
this jagged rock
alone
my friends are gone
Bruce "Bear Paw" Perry
Billy Fly and Blackpowder Bourgoin
died in these mountains
one by one
we shouldered hardships together
fought a winter
that pinched three toes
from my right foot
and took a bite of my left ear
I'll never understand
those flatlanders down below
where spring means mud
eating pigs and chicken
when they could be roasting elk
but the boosway is gone
rendezvous cancelled
no beaver left
heck, there's no wild Indians left
they've all been herded
into reservations
near the forts
a pitiful place
for a proud people
what is left for me?
where will I lay my trusty
Hawken gun?
perhaps I'll work
in a trading post
or guide wagon trains west
I've earned every tear
these mountains had to offer
battled bear, wolves, and hostiles
but my biggest sorrow
is leaving
I close my eyes
and I'm there
spring ice melting in the river
trading with my Indian brothers
smoking the peace pipe
the rustle of golden birch leaves
on an Autumn ridge
a misty waterfall
soaking me to the skin
throwing peat moss
on the roof of my log cabin
I think I'll just linger here
while the birds are singing
Copyright © Kim Mcadam | Year Posted 2019
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Kim Mcadam Poem
This is the tale of Betty Vautour
Who took on a lover at age forty-four.
Stormed out of the house
With soft-spoken curse,
In nightdress and slippers,
Cosmetics and purse.
What was she thinking? I'll never know.
Into the arms of a drunkard named Joe,
A no-good-for-nuthin,
Unemployable bum,
Who'd wash down a six pack
With Seven Seas rum.
And Darrell, poor Darrell, truck driver by trade,
Delivering milk for the money he made.
All for his family,
Betty and kids,
Keeping them clothed,
And food in the fridge.
When he asked her why, she did not hesitate.
"There's only so much baloney I'll take.
With you, there was no
Matrimonial bliss.
I got tired of watching
Friends cuddle and kiss."
Copyright © Kim Mcadam | Year Posted 2019
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Kim Mcadam Poem
Begin with something positive;
no need to start out negative.
A writer needs encouragement;
it feeds their ego nourishment.
And what is strong about the piece?
Is there a spot that needs some grease?
Or did it flow like brooks in spring?
Is there a line that really rings?
Can you suggest some helpful hints
that act like after-dinner mints?
And did their writing make you cry?
Or, perhaps, it made you sigh.
Did you giggle? Did you laugh?
Do you want their autograph?
Was there a phrase that kept you hooked?
Or was the subject overcooked?
Was your perception so engaged
you couldn't wait to flip the page?
Above all else, try to be kind.
Writer, reader intertwined.
Copyright © Kim Mcadam | Year Posted 2019
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Kim Mcadam Poem
I hold back
hiding the gifts I've been given
the curtain opens
but the stage is empty
a hushed audience awaits
but this play has no act
just lots of rehearsing
now actor-less
no applause
no flowers
no bows
I've always held out
not letting go
watching others perform
imagining me
Copyright © Kim Mcadam | Year Posted 2019
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Kim Mcadam Poem
ocean waves rush in
like rambunctious preschoolers
at morning recess
eager to entertain you
in goofy games of pretend
Copyright © Kim Mcadam | Year Posted 2019
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Kim Mcadam Poem
I'm hanging on to summertime
like monkeys hanging on a vine,
like kitty cats on old screen doors,
like winter snows in Labrador,
like spiders on a silken thread,
like bellies that were overfed,
like kites trapped in an apple tree,
but Fall will come eventually.
Copyright © Kim Mcadam | Year Posted 2019
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Kim Mcadam Poem
Never bug the Ug Wug, or he’ll be bugging you.
He lives inside a cold dark cave near Douglas Avenue.
Some people say they’ve seen him swimming in the tide.
Spinning in a whirlpool, he’s quite preoccupied.
Never bug the Ug Wug. Please leave him alone.
He’s been around since Water Street was laid with cobblestone.
Some say he’s prehistoric, half-lizard and half-seal.
He’ll look at you with big red eyes and make you his next meal.
Never bug the Ug Wug, especially not in Spring
When gasperaux are on the move in an endless string.
He’s gluttonous and greedy with a massive appetite.
When it comes to empty bellies, he’s very impolite.
Never bug the Ug Wug. He’s faster than you think.
He’ll swallow you in one large gulp as quick as you can blink.
When thunder rumbles high above; when rapids race below,
Don’t let yourself be swept away in the undertow.
Never bug the Ug Wug. He’s why the Falls reverse.
The Saint John River is afraid of this antiquated curse.
If you’re fishing in the current, and you feel a stubborn tug,
It better be a big striped bass, and not old Mister Ug ……. Wug!
Copyright © Kim Mcadam | Year Posted 2019
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Kim Mcadam Poem
As silent as a sparrow,
she hopped into my heart.
She made me dream the sweetest dreams
that never will depart.
Our love was technicolor
like autumn's splendrous leaves.
We danced through winter's coldest snows
and into spring's reprieve.
We shared our hopes and wishes,
our diamonds of the dawn.
When Easter lilies bloom their best,
I looked and she was gone.
She took my poor heart with her
and left a vacant place,
but even after fifty years,
I still can see her face.
I never have forgotten
our season in the sun.
If only we could dance again...
But alas, the dance is done.
Copyright © Kim Mcadam | Year Posted 2019
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Kim Mcadam Poem
crumpled papers
decorate
the rug
sometimes
poems come
sometimes only words
on wrinkled sheets
Copyright © Kim Mcadam | Year Posted 2019
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