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Best Poems Written by Bruce Kettelle

Below are the all-time best Bruce Kettelle poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Bruce Kettelle Poem

Topic of Cancer

The dreaded Cancer, seems to me,
gets much too much publicity.
In restaurants, both fast and fine,
at parties up and down the line,
in hurried conversations at
the place I buy food for my cat,
the barber or the hairdressers,
wherever gather hims and hers, 
the Cancer Chat is all the rage.
Why, one can hardly turn a page
of any monthly, weekly, daily,
but there is “Cancer” hearty-haley
written or advertised about
as if its fame must be spread out
to every cranny dark or light.
You’d think Cancer was boon not blight.
And clearly there is some obsession
within the medical profession
for keeping Cancer at the core
of physiological lore.
They pet- or ct-scan every inch
if we complain of ache or pinch.
Mention a pain, from toe to eye?
They’ll send you for an MRI.
Amounts of money much too great
are spent, as if to celebrate
the lure of Cancer’s beck and call—
I’m sick and tired of it all.
But please...don’t tell another soul
I’m sick and tired. Just say “he’s whole”
if they should question, give that answer
or I’ll be suspected of having Cancer!

Details | Bruce Kettelle Poem

Poetic

We recite the lines as found.
The words hang in the air to provoke
Our desperate grasp at their sound,
Then drift out of reach like smoke.

We extend our arms to the edge
Of all that we know, as a lawn
Will reach a limiting hedge
That keeps it from getting beyond.

We lick at a too distant shore,
Like the mime of a curious wave,
But cannot taste anything more
Of the words men take to the grave.

Whether written on paper or stone,
How often we read the lines,
A kernel of truth unknown
Remains lost to us and to time.

Details | Bruce Kettelle Poem

September In July

Behind a night of thunder
and near constant jagged slashing
of voltage in the millions—
behind the awe-inspiring wonder
at the weight of water mashing
blades of grasses in the zillions
and the flowers, leaf and stalk—
behind the impulsive fury
of Good Nature acting badly,
(it was the subject of much talk!)
came a dawn that any jury
called upon would verdict gladly,
with no shadow of a doubt,
to be as clear and humid-free
as any cool September day.
Only Nature has the clout,
good or bad whichever must be,
to make Fall of a July day.