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K. E. Ward Poem
The reflection of myself in a mirror
Is only the opposite of what people see.
A photograph, on the other hand, is right-side forward.
But a mirror and a photograph only show a flat picture,
And all I know about the way I look is what I can imagine.
Even a sculpture could not show me the image of myself.
All the art and all the music and all the poetry that ever was
Do not depict my appearance to me.
All the words you tell me never do enlighten me.
I am not a dove.
I am not a frog.
I am not a crow.
I am not an inchworm.
I am a human being.
But how do I look?
All the words you tell me never do make me see,
But I am satisfied when you are in the mirror next to me.
Copyright © K. E. Ward | Year Posted 2019
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K. E. Ward Poem
I remember the bedspread upon which we slept, checkered and wrinkled;
I remember the green plastic cups and cigarette butts, littered.
I remember a painted face, laughing as we danced on Halloween,
The lines of cocaine on the floor, the room beginning to spin.
I remember kissing you at night under a red moon.
I remember a triangular mirror standing on the wall in your room.
I remember you walking with me at night, under the dark clouds, a black sky;
And later an empty bottle of crème de menthe hidden beneath the bed.
Opal eyes, and full lips;
Tears drenching the pillow, I touched you and you quickly withdrew.
I gave you a black journal full of my words, and colorful pictures of my life;
I whispered slurred words of pleading as you left.
I remember sobbing in the hospital room, crying out your name.
I remember them calling you, although you would give me no time.
The poison which had coursed through my blood
Could have been the nectar through which I escaped this world.
I remember when I was an infant, alone and crying for help.
I remember when I was a child, so humiliated, wanting an underground crib to hide me away.
I remember scrapes and bruises, tears and laughs.
There was so much embarrassment and shame.
My memories are like a flip-book. My life flashes before my eyes. The colors are so vivid.
I see myself dancing around a Maypole, dancing with you, a blue sky, a jack-in-the-box.
I see a doll that is beginning to turn yellow from age, its button-eye missing.
I remember I used to look at my face visually distort in the mirror and wonder about myself.
When you put two mirrors together, you see eternities.
One looks at the other one, and both reflect each other.
Forever facing behind you, and forever ahead of you.
We are two reflecting mirrors.
Copyright © K. E. Ward | Year Posted 2016
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K. E. Ward Poem
Mortvilar, The King Of The Bats
A sickness arose from the darkness, from the bats of the night.
They called it the Coronavirus, and it sought death across the planet.
Humans, its greatest enemies, hid in fear like turtles in their shells.
Then anger, an emotion, spilled out from the hearts of the victimized
And caused violent protests in the streets of the cities,
Whose etched glass windows once shone like diamonds
And whose towering skylines brushed the clean sky, but now they were ugly.
A tree spoke to me today and said to me, “I am frightened.”
This tree knew from the smoke in the air that her friends were dying.
The fires of anger against human beings and their destructive greed,
Were nature’s way of responding when they pillaged the earth of her resources.
Streets dirty with cigarette butts, including my own,
Were evidence that we did not keep ourselves clean as quickly
As we could consume, that there was too much work to do.
But the father of the virus, who was a monster, was the king of the bats.
He lived where shadows hid him, and he had many terrible plans.
It was true that humans were greedy and consumed the fruits of the earth
As addicted people who desired treasures much too much.
But the king of the bats, whose name was Mortvilar, despised the humans
And decided not to save them and the rest of the earth by helping them learn
About their greed and overconsumption, but to seek revenge.
His plan was to kill them.
But he would not succeed. Instead, human brings learned their lesson,
And evil Morvilar went back into the darkness and cried into his hands because he lost.
Copyright © K. E. Ward | Year Posted 2020
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K. E. Ward Poem
Once I plucked a pure, white daisy,
And pulled its petals one by one.
“He loves me,” I spoke. “He loves me not.”
I pulled each petal, and they dropped to the ground.
I pulled them until the very last one was,
“He loves me not.” And it dropped, too.
Soon the flower with its petals plucked died.
It became dust and one with the earth again.
I remembered, “He loves me not,” with sadness.
But the daisy was gone now, and so was the last petal.
The last petal’s divination died, too,
When I realized that it was a Pagan trick.
The daisy is meant for friendship, not for a curse.
But the innocent flower, the daisy, died.
It died to prove the omen false. But it lives.
The daisy lives and soaks up the sun.
It lives forever with petals intact;
And forever it speaks, “He loves you.”
Copyright © K. E. Ward | Year Posted 2019
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