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Best Poems Written by Kenneth Kerry

Below are the all-time best Kenneth Kerry poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Rain Falls

Rain Falls.

Details | Kenneth Kerry Poem

Ginny Greenteeth

GINNY GREENTEETH


Water plays on the edge. 
Sand gravel and stone 
Splash and play dear ones 
Disturb my home. 

Skip your pebbles . 
Wet your toes. 
Let my icy reach. 
Creep along ripples. 

Come play with mine. 
Harold,  June,  David. 
Their hair my net; 
feathered wet. 

Look at you peer. 
Sun rays deceive. 
Cool water shall entice. 
My sordid vice. 

Eyes become milky. 
Teeth cracked gray. 
Chew my spit
Swallow  my grime. 

My stare will freeze. 
Only life I crave. 
Loved ones search. 
My wet grave. 

You believe my tale;
A myth for lad and lass. 
So they come to mock!   
Laugh and splash! 

Tell my story !  
Be my secret! 
FEED me! 
Mock me! 




Kenneth Kerry.

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Alone

Here I stand,  alongside a busy road.  Warm,  summer air; a blanket on my 
skin.   I begin to think of the world around me.  It is moving so fast. I become 
dizzy,  though I am still. 

I am alone.  I feel surrounded with the whispers of travelers.  My car is still 
running.  I feel the earths rebuke. 

The earth wishes me to stay.  To not leave this place.  The dry grass takes 
root in a flaky soil.  Like a balding man revealing his age. 

I see a Monarch,  single and alone.  I feel kinship with this creature.  His 
bright orange color,  implies a festive soul.  Does he see my wings as well? 

My shoes want to wander.  To leave this sanctuary.  Where would I go,  if my 
shoes did the choosing?  Walk a vast distance until my shoes had no soul?  

I get back into the running auto.  I sit in the seat.  I leave this place, alone. 

Kenneth Kerry.

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Dear Anonymous

Dear Anonymous, 


The way she touched her hair.  Leaned her head to the side.  Her eyes 
danced with mine,  turning crimson I looked away. 

Did everyone see me?  

Her voice was magical.  My mind acknowledged every movement.  My heart 
took me to places that were not present. Butterflies still live. 

How could this be?  I have lived like no other.  I am no modern man.  I have 
seen death.  I have encountered  danger.  I have been both good and wicked.  
Who is she?  She has picked my lock,  opened the gates. 

 My clothes were the garb of a thrift rack.  God,  how I felt a stranger. Could 
she know this?  Had she seen the real me, despite my costume?  Need I feel 
shame for truth?  Truth is all I am.  

We walked,  she laughed a time or two.  The air became cool.  I shivered like 
a child.  How could I tell her;  I had no coat.  I am poor dear?  What is poor?  

Her touch was electric.  I felt like I  had found what was lost.  Her fingers  
long and slender.  She grabbed my hand,  held it to her comfort.  Did she feel; 
what I felt?  

She says she will see me, again.  Then she will know more. She will know my 
life,  try as I might I cannot hide my journey.  It is a story to be told.    I have 
accumulated nothing.  I have learned,  however,  more than I can carry.   It is 
my story that enchants; am I more than a story?   Will she walk away?  Will I 
sit and feel empty;  feel loss for the never was? 

Yet,  how could I not walk that precipice?  How could I not risk the fragility of 
my being?  My soul would not rest without  knowledge.  

Now I sit,  melancholy ballads guide my mind to both heartbreak and bliss.  I 
both dream and fancy a lovers' tale.   Yet,  I secretly desire the  tragedy.  The 
dear John letter, call,  or lunch.  "You know this is nice,  but..."   Then I can 
crawl back in my mind again.   

My mental space shares rent,  a roommate that prods on desire.  I cannot 
endure heart break one more time.  I am too old to walk on this path,  my 
angst is gone.   I used to say,  "Better to have loved,  than not love at all!"  
Foolhardy!    Holding hands with loneliness is safe.  

Dear Anonymous,  will you be there?  Will you listen?   For I fear that she will 
stay,  and I will be lost. 


From, 
Lost in the forest.

Details | Kenneth Kerry Poem

Whispers of Lace

Whispers of Lace

Arms folded; He sits.  A grandfather clock ticks it's way to a song,  in a lonely 
room. 

It had taken ten years and thirty-five days to get to this place.  He was here 
now,  for better or worse. 

"For better or worse. " She had said those words to him a lifetime ago. 

He woke early one morning,  to the song of a finch, the harsh cry of a crow.  
She never heard;  she was already gone. She lay in her floral gown, ashen 
and cold. 

A traveling salesman by trade,  a botanist by dream.  Forgotten interstates 
and dirt roads, had been his companion.  Flowers were his inner passion; his 
vocation took him to many. 

She always greeted him at the front door.  He could still feel the wetness of 
her lips on his cheek; and  the soft whispers in his ear. "I miss you."

"I miss you too. "  the words tumble silently from his tongue.  A lonely tear 
falls, floating on the polished table.  The grandfather clock sings.  It is time. 

Men and women enter the room.  They look at the old man, skeptics every 
last one.   They sit on their chairs,  a fragrance bottle in front of each judge.   
Corporate critics, responsible for  seducing the world with scent. 

Grabbing their appointed bottles;He bows his head.  Fragrance fills the room.  
Enchanting images of the old man flood their minds.  What witches ' spell is 
this? 

Cherry blossoms in Savannah,  cactus flowers from the desert,  the elusive 
ghost orchid of the everglades. His image dances around  petals.  Some 
smile , some weep, others dream. 

Eyes closed,  chin on chest,  he thinks of her.  Her maple coffin, casket open. 
Her formal gown, black,  ebony lace collar.   

Fragrance in the air,  and tears, bring her to life.  “Tell us sir,  what do you call 
this? " 

Raising his head,  their faces all look with wonder.  He can see the tears,   He 
can see  smiles on their lips.  He can see her. 

Standing,  he starts to leave,  with a turn of his head,  he utters. " Whispers of 
Lace "

Kenneth Kerry.

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Little Witch

Little Witch 

Stripping bare; she sits amongst the willow. 
The branches lightly scratch her skin.   The night had been long.  To lay 
waiting for a dream,  is a task that can be harrowing.  Dreams simply are,  
they do not bend to the fancies of man. 

Will and intent.  Bound within ritual. Her eyes rest upon the mossy earth.  
Tangles of soft green under her feet. Moonlit air reaches her nostrils,  filling 
her lungs with worldly fragrance. 

She is close to the earth.  The earth whispers her name.  The pines shake as 
West wind blows through their needles. 
Trees scent the air adding magic to mirth. 
She is smiling,  giddy,  she has said the words; danced the dance. 

Fog rises from the dirt and grass.  Standing she let's the ethereal mist caress 
her skin.  Moisture glistens and she begins to move.
Her limbs fluid to a song that only a soul can hear. 

Earthen beats,  the sound heard within her heart,  mimic those of life around 
her. 
Thump.  Thump. Thump.  Thump. 
Deer,  bear,  and owl stir. Their blood in trance to the song of her body.   Their 
hearts in sync with the mother that slumbers.  

"Oh woman,  let your primal sweat
moisten the roots that burrow deep within dirt.  Move and breathe,  and I will 
rise. 
Call upon the fire,  I will bring the water,  the wind will heed the call.  I will 
wake and reveal my secrets.  I will ground your feet and bless your hands."

Kenneth Kerry. 

For the one who is more than an image.  More than an essay.  More than.

Details | Kenneth Kerry Poem

A Father's Essence

A father sits. 
Wrench in hand;
To fasten a wheel. 
The wagon now shiny red. 
A gift for her. 
To tote a doll promised to share. 
Sisters always fought. 
He never found the words, 
To appease their struggle. 
A blue can lubricated the
Squeaks of age. 
He stood,  the crook of his thumb
Hitched to a belt loop. 
Oh,  she will like this. 
Will she jostle her toys;
In a bumpy field? 
Will her little sister chase
Her about? 
Demanding a turn! 

He stood.  A tall and sturdy man. 
Fortune never found him
Just hard labor. 
There had not been enough
Time.  They are growing so fast! 
They had so many questions. 
Why?  why?  why? 
He rarely answered to satisfaction. 
The oldest.  Stubborn like a mule. 
The youngest.  Touching everything! 
He didn't Dare leave anything within reach. 

Now he rest; thinking of the wagon. 
Thinking of fishing trips. 
Camping trip disasters. 
Thinking of words never spoken. 
They are older now. 
The why,  was in their stares. 
Not their words. 
His heart was clumsy. 
Couldn't they see that? 
He will visit them with his spirit. 
His vision sees what he could not
In youth.  
He will give them words 
Through the mouths of strangers. 

He still remembers the wagon. 
There are no broken pieces in his rest. 
He still remembers the first catch. 
Memories are his essence; His heaven. 
Fight no more dear ones!  
Remember that last hug. 
Wipe away that last tear!  
For I am here and there. 

KKenneth Kerry

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Fae In My Shadow

FAE IN MY SHADOW

Still night air,  heavy and wet. 
Damp my skin; I rise,  I sit. 
Cloudy dreams lie in shadow. 
Whispers of laughter. 
Promises of a kiss. 
The sound of hummingbird wings.  This cannot be. 
Midnight flight in Autumn?  
Stirring I stand. 
My balance amiss. 
Flop on the bed once more. 
Soft giggles.  
A whirring hum. 
I listen. 
Moonlight catches my eye. 
A shadow dance. 
My Window shakes. 
I ponder the disturbance. 
My lack of rest. 
Midnight visitors? 
I turned on a light,  
My feet find a floor. 
My shadow led the way. 
"To the window, "
I heard them say. 
Their voices soft. 
Tiny whispers. 
As I stood at panes
Of glass,  I unhitched
The clasp. 
By the fountain they play. 
Their skin silver
Shining in moonlight. 
Two fairy lovers. 
Holding hands. 
Legs and feet entwined. 
They turned their heads, 
Smiling at me. 
"Watch us finish this dance."
Then wish it to be. 
"You will have a Fae,  
Named for thee . "
Their skin glistening, 
They touched. 
Caressed and smiled. 
Aroused I stood. 
Entranced I stared. 
The lovers took my 
Mind to places
Both light and dark. 
When finished I wished for 
Them; the child they sought. 
" Mortal one,  it has come to be. 
A Fae will be named for thee. "


K. Kerry.

Details | Kenneth Kerry Poem

A Window

A Window
For L.  Moonchild. 

Shut your window dear;
Shut it tight. 
Phantoms comes from
Fields of sorrow. 
Carrying terror  with
Every flight. 

Tie the clasp with string. 
Though the pane may rattle, 
And shake.  
The string shan't break;
For phantoms, 
Have not strength. 

Kenneth Kerry.

Details | Kenneth Kerry Poem

Hope

Hope. 


Today started with a son's tear. 
I left  him with a stranger. 
I have to feed him..
I work for a sandwich. 
Then tomorrow I do it again. 
I get scared when the cupboards
Are bare. 
I cry when he is gone. 
I cry when he is here. 

I see the ones;
I can become. 
Holding their signs. 
Clothes once new. 
Clothes now torn. 
Skin just skin
Never really present. 
Always vacant. 
Just memories. 

At night I dream. 
At night I hope;
For a miracle. 
Just a word. 
Miracle. 
My soul. 
Torn 
Like paper
Bills. 
Unpaid. 

Kenneth Kerry.