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Ken Bennight Poem
The letters build the words that make the sounding of the lips
that touch so deep within the soul to bring the readers bliss
This is what the writer calls the sweetest taste of kiss
this is Poetry...
Copyright © Ken Bennight | Year Posted 2016
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Ken Bennight Poem
A nnihillate
M ore
E villy
R reckless
I intentionally
C combative
A rmies
Copyright © Ken Bennight | Year Posted 2016
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Ken Bennight Poem
Sad she sits,
herself a chain,
that's locked and without key.
Not a tumble left undone,
and combination free.
Shaking has shackled shoe,
noisey within steps.
Ringing deeply tuned to tears,
soaked and deeply wet.
Screams they are her thunder,
lightning in her gaze.
The eye within the storm that brews,
want wash her pain away.
Sad she sits herself a chain.
Copyright © Ken Bennight | Year Posted 2016
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Ken Bennight Poem
He had the dream,
to hear the screams,
of a million aching men.
He sold himself with rhetoric,
and the nightmare soon began.
Hypnotized and blind to lies,
a people showed no pity.
Captured towns and vandalized,
a thousand helpless cities.
Tortured, gassed and served starvation,
to a gentle peaceful nation.
And the whole world stared as if not to care,
with not one thought of aggravation.
Brought every human into war,
every single nation.
Fathers,
mothers,
brothers lost.
The torture to the sister.
All because the madness of the wicked,
Adolf Hitler.
saint cynosure ( Ken Bennight )
Copyright © Ken Bennight | Year Posted 2012
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Ken Bennight Poem
Pound for pound me and my pen,
are the best pair to be found.
You can stand them up all day,
and we will knock them down.
I cannot take the credit,
cause I know for sure its him.
With his sleek chromatic style,
full of ink and slim.
He moves my hand to cross the t's,
and lies while doting i's.
And the words he puts on paper slim,
brings tears to both my eyes.
Without him I am nothing,
a man that's such a bore,
But that sleek chromatic ball point pen,
makes me so much more...
Copyright © Ken Bennight | Year Posted 2016
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Ken Bennight Poem
Scar me deep cut me wide,
write me into suicide.
Suffocate by deadly breath,
taking everything that's left.
Leaving me the empty soul,
to carry on but his not known.
Painful screams and fearful cries,
write me into suicide.
Brutal seems the only call,
fearful shadows melt and fall.
All I've loved is gone away,
I'm pleading for someone to stay.
Selfish me with all my pride,
wrote me into suicide...
Copyright © Ken Bennight | Year Posted 2016
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Ken Bennight Poem
This will hurt me more than it will you...
Ohh
Mom if that were only true,
your striking hand against my skin,
over and over and over again.
Don't know what lies been told to you,
but my flesh speaks truth,
its black and blue.
Every person makes mistakes,
is that my punishment to take?
Seen and unseen little scars,
upon my skin,
inside my heart.
Trust me I'll do this no more,
don't get the belt out of the drawer.
You were right I wasn't thinking,
but...,
Does forgetfulness deserve a spanking?
Copyright © Ken Bennight | Year Posted 2016
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Ken Bennight Poem
Born of bone,
born of flesh,
born of blood of man.
Return to earth the day you die,
return to mud and sand.
The in between you sleep and dream,
and want for what is not.
Either way you have no say,
your stuck with what you've got.
Choose to smile,
choose to frown,
is the only choice your given.
Suck it up buttercup,
this is whats called living.
Copyright © Ken Bennight | Year Posted 2016
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Ken Bennight Poem
Not another letter,
not another breath.
Not another paragraph,
to sentence me to death.
Not another chapter written,
I'm running out of rhyme.
Of all the pages I have filled,
have stolen from me time.
Not another paragraph,
not another breath,
Not another letter,
to sentence me to death.
Copyright © Ken Bennight | Year Posted 2016
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Ken Bennight Poem
My mind is up to trickery,
to find the words like chicory,
rhyme them with words like hickory,
and keep this poem going.
Rarely do I know,
which way the ink will flow,
how far the words will go,
and exactly what they're showing.
But something must be said,
to keep at bay my head.
So visions can't be seen and felt,
like the swelt upon the dead.
Forgetfully remembering,
unlearnedness of soul.
Restless forever searching,
out things I think,
I do not know.
I must stop this fire here,
I must stop,
and drop,
and roll...
Copyright © Ken Bennight | Year Posted 2016
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