your name
still
another thousand
memories fill.

your voice
lifts
clear above chimneys
forever shrill.

your form
cryptic silhouette
of faceless clocks' idyllic
secrets spill.

your gait
saunters
deftness on pointe --
pleuritic thrill.






____✒

Disused and abandoned here
a connection no longer clear
of one once to heart held dear.

Water freely runs through, clear
alongside, & around mounting pier
now that the bridge is broken, peer.

Hence across both banks, tarry
an inking of what its currents carry
post traumatic sighs always vary.

"There must be a death for
there to be a resurrection; 
the demise of something
in part or the whole of: 
that portion of one's being.

Only then shall we see
with eyes new as morning's first light.

Only then shall we have
reinvented ourselves: 
allow ourselves to take the first steps
laden with amnesia
of the former, forgotten self.

Come and cease to be
and let today bow to the
kiss of tomorrow's promise.

Tread upon the petals of yesterday
and smell the fragrance that
lingers, that solitary spectre, 
olfactory memory that words cannot outline.

Wound your forgiveness with the scar of remembrance.

Nothing is as sweet to the lips 
than the ashes strewn from the rising phoenix."




Copyright Frederick Kesner

Much like Icarus, off they go; 
until condensation metes them 
reality's condescension:

Whose goals and objectives
are minute in life's greater scheme;
wings fashioned from floss harps-

Yet they soar each firmament;
nary a doubt would sway resolve;
no tempest or tumult could dissuade.

If  you chance upon a cloudless day
catch their echo of jubilant cries
and contemplate your turn to fly.

'

I am never without Ludwig 
that mess of tangled hair 
accompanying me with his 
fifth, ninth, and moonlight 

• • • in my now unplugged ears 

for his remains forever
resonant silence against
blaring cacophony of mind
bars on vibrant circus

stereo muted, no longer 
blasting at my need to hear 
thousands of times before 
now lilts, indelibly sealed 

o, but he moves me still




_ _ __ ✒
○●
°

'


There are days 
in which songs are stifled 
or the throat hoarse and weary 
No more softly gliding notes - 
of raked leaves dance across 
a freshly littered lawn 
their butterfly wings 
hung up in expectant wait 
for another sunny day. 

There are nights 
that stars squander 
their luminescence 
on unappreciative lovers 
listlessly roaming by 
a moonlit shore 
their brilliant points 
curl up in the hope 
of another cloudless night. 

There are mornings 
that sizzle on the stove 
that sparkle sweet tangy-ness 
hands clasping across the table 
reliving life's love-filled moments 
the warmth of the kitchen 
reflects fervent esteem 
done up in various colours 
for each new morning.




____✒
●○
°

'

a grated gate in midnight's light 
once fell upon a sorry sight 
as rain washed out the scarlet stain 
and skies bowed down to hear their pain 

a voice without a body heard 
the sordid tale its waist did gird 
one witness found, torn leaf by leaf 
Creation's glory then sank to grief 

a tale no word was writ nor said 
into the ground the silence bled 
a soaked and orphaned quill remains 
fraught with want of trilled refrains 

a poet's tome thus lay ungathered 
wispy strands of dreams, untethered 
if Heaven cried its tears that night 
set up our quaich by candlelight




_ _ __ ✒
○●
•

stepping onto the doormat
knuckles rapping on wood
heart pounding mind racing

perhaps its like those
after school tv reruns
or those movie remakes

imagine live streaming
and podcasting in
very slow motion

loosing you and having
to remember back then
are unreachable ghosts* 


●○
°

~ a tribute to Emily and Brontëan style poetry, bit of a throwback from the late 80s.
'



The night has fallen around us

And the wind, it savagely blows;

A wicked mood is cast upon me,

One from which I cannot go.



Flickering orbs, on lamp posts loom,

casting forth a sickly yellow light;

A storm from deep within advances,

And still no hope for me to go.




Heavy leaded clouds drape the sky,

The paving just as dark below;

Such sight it fails to move me,

I cannot, and I will not, go.






____✒
●○

Deepest of use, arise, 
surface and make yourself known. 
Here in our verse, 
before our very eyes. 

Don't be obtuse, surprise
For lace and drink aren't thrown
Where blow our verse
Away, from prying eyes.

Deign a ruse to pries
From place holders, flowers grown
There a garden of verse
Our one redeeming prize.

first light filters
parts curtains
of night's slumber
vision caresses
flight seduces
somewhere
up there, free
fleet of wing
soaring reward
fruit of doting
in spite of peril
flavoured feast

•○●° hence my heart ever welcomes
daedalean destructive doting.






_____✒□

your pigment
      has raised
      delicately
manicured brows

their
    undeterred railing;
      harangue wit,  
shackle eyelids

whether,
      dishevelled compliance,
     rancid breath still concocts  
--perfumed ruin*



●○
°

°

sometimes indecisiveness
is just the wrongest decision
for anyone to ever make

sometimes we just have
to dive in and go with our gut
embracing whatever may result;

sometimes, apologies are enough
when things don't go your way
because it's time to do it mine

sometimes, getting first time right
is not what your life has shown
so, it's okay for me to have another go

it's only taken forty years for you
to realise you love me and be proud
perhaps another forty'll make you really care

your boomer ways are so busted
they don't work here and now
perhaps I need to find my own way

it won't break your ego to be supportive
respect is not earned but extended
perhaps you only need to trust & believe;

every time my child's heart breaks
a memory jolts this scathing parody
perhaps this curse can be broken still:

it doesn't take much to make it right




_ _ __ ✒
●○
°

The reason for our articulation
is simple and utilitarian-
we don't seek perfection,
but seek elusive ablution.

Perfection is reserved for those
with time to spend and money to burn.
Our slavish souls require release,
whose ransom necessitates recompense:

Expiated expeditiously, in a flurry
of words that scathe our every thought.*



●○
°

have ceased stretching
out for your touch
your silhouette ~

fractal scratches
on cheeks seared
by a scathing, east wind

as breath is left
stale, in regret's
sighing breeze*



_ _ __ ✒
●○
°

skulking in the
shadows
lengthen, low
in the day
conjure
spells on iambs
and lyric lines
verses divine
then post & run
high on muses
wine
sup and dine
rationing
cups of universe
ladling sustenance
down our throats
from birth to hearse.





___✒

°

coloured sand pours
rainbow~streaked tears
where the rains bleached
this sunburnt heart with
acid talons of your disdain




_ _ __ ✒
●○
°

'

The TV is my shepherd, I shall not want.
It maketh me to lie down on the sofa.
it leadeth me away from the scriptures;
It destroyeth my soul,
It leads me in the path of *** and violence;
For the sponsors' sake.
yea,  though I walk in the shadow of my Christian responsibilities
There will be no interruptions
For the TV is with me.
Its cable and remote control, they comfort me!
It prepareth an infommercial before me
In the presence of my worldliness;
It anointeth my head with humanism.
My coveting runneth over....
Surely,  laziness and ignorance shall follow me
All the days of my life,
And I shall dwell in the house, watching TV, forever.
Amen.




_ __ ✒
○●
°

these words flow
fluid as cheap wine
crisply coloured as
any branded vintage

easy on worn pockets
dulls minds equally;
after several goblets
it all tastes the same

easy as **** to access
so go roses and petals
though they vary in look
are always same in smell

there is no gently
and no rowing on
this polluted and
half-dried stream

we survive only
by hydrating, but
if it's bottled up

then it must be
right and we're
'merrily, merrily,
life is but a dream'*



●○
°

courtliness promenades
intimate exchanges
crystal refractions

burst in a myriad
of coloured light
music to one's toes

jazzy fingers and
ballet chin, poised:
poetical interludes*




●○
°

no, it was not very difficult to allow many 
other things & thoughts to fill this gaping void 
where we once together spent our quiet moments 

but these distractions have not my pining assuaged 
the withdrawal of not having you here by me 
is a feeling gnarling at the pit of my gut 

yet I have resolved not to be cast down 
keeping constantly before my eyes your promise 
dreaming beyond paper planes & stubbed-out crayons 

time & space are not sufficient to contain 
that part of me that with you experiences & lives 
so here i lightly tred amid the peat & the moss 

blending what is imagined & what is in fact real 
walking toward the lilting songs of languid streams 
where hope whittles away this overwhelming subterfuge 

i catch a turquoised vision of dancing lights 
proferring a glimpse of that thrilling prospect 
of faith in your returning home in due season true

s t r a n g e    d a y s
h a v e    f o u n d
s t r a n g e r    n i g h t s

~

in the aftermath
echoes of silence
rise above our mushroom cloud

after all's been said and done
there is no more of you
than there is of me




_ _ __ ✒
●○
°

Tendril-wafted dunes
of barren sands waffle,
swirl across mindless mile
upon mile, in every direction-
your face appears, a horizon away,
there is little comfort found
in its accompanying echoes.


Drifting sticks caterwauling,
wail on, in the pitched wind,
stretched by distant recollection-
stylus of a scribe named Regret;
each flurrying breeze shifts
turns over and over a new page,
taking with it freshly shed tears.


Foetid droppings steaming out
of some wastrel, desert vagabond
provides a vivid reminder
of how it can never be again,
to kick it away -- desolation
could only deign contaminate
these well-worn wandering shoes.


Head facing forward
wherever the nose points
except in the back of the mind
where gentle oasis burbles-
each leafy frond conceals
intimate moments now buried
within the unmindful desert's belly.*


●○
°

several thousand feet
high above but nowhere
to land from a vantage
leased by fresh steam;
floating then plummet
now, no more free fall
no pull on the ripcord,
no tug; pulled the plug
- - life support flatlines
are vacuums really void
when you're stuck in one?

morning mist spreads wide
dew drops glide on leafy fronds
sun light peeps through clouds*




●○
°

the road stays while we move onward 

yet connects from our here to there 
this life's complications on it unwind 

by it we return homeward-bound, trusting: 

a trick we learned from Gretel & Hansel 
assured that it is safe to venture out 

while we move forward, roads stay put

was it grafted interference
or was it incompetence
all this time, scraping moss
across unguerneyed pavers

each exercise a shocker
grating petition to the ear
a swinging fence gate
badly in need of repair

some may prefer violence
to being always ignored
a busted lip,  a swollen eye
to being always bypassed

some prefer constant abuse
to being always neglected
a bruised ego, a battered thigh
to being always unattended

it ***** to be nobody
so a price we steeply pay
enmeshed, convoluted reality
to co-dependent toxicity

She 
used to make me 
eat mouldy food! 

"Oh, that..." she'd
reply to my protest

then she'd scoop off 
the mouldy top layer 
and hand me a vile dish! 

"It's still good...
you can't put a
good thing to waste."
"Erm, thanks???"*



●○
°

why are you so easy
to walk passed
but then so difficult
to forget?

a cattle brand
sears waking memory
scathes dreams of night;
what remains of you

are rumpled bed-
clothes at sun up
and crumpled sheets
on litter-strewn desk*



●○
°

Cheshire cat lazily frowns,
smile turned upside down
while all the way to town
a lady from Down Under
hobbles along, in a freshly
frayed, browned-gown*




●○
•

Farewell, days of summer
Your sweat stains remain;
And the fading tan lines
Blend into a chalky frame.
Let's point to autumn leaves
To hide the pale underneath
Folds of warmer sleeves.
Maybe our winter hibernation
Shall blossom into sparkly spring.

There is maybe 
in each burst of 
energy, a product 
of fanaticism filling 

the air or the cities 
when the limbs 
of trees hail the 
soldiers to the war. 

Perhaps in each 
bellow, the burst 
of energy produces 
fanatic followers. 

Perhaps in each 
gust, the rush of 
wind uproots all 
modicum of calm. 

Perhaps in each 
caterwaul, the limbs 
of protest raises 
interjective receipt. 

Each is a product 
maybe, without 
hope of reprieve: 
alone in time; Perhaps. 





____✒
•

Feet throb through well worn shoes 
after a brisk walk to central station. 
We keep our ears plugged with our beats 
to finally find seated, at furtherest point; 

Backs of heads, napes, and collars 
mushroom away, stare blankly ahead - 
polarised sunnies paint them bright; 
choked only by an assumption of gain.

And all I see is a tiny reflection of me. 
Here in my world another day begins: 
a mourning of suited, tired paramours;
in this cosmos of peopled isolation.*



_ _ __ ✒
●○
°

Where did you get that hat!?
Folks grind on  me each day.
"Keep it off, tis not funny!"
Sorry, but it's staying on this way!

Tis the hat my father never wore
on St. Paddy's day, you'd swore
Tis but me spiked up hair, y'seen
Doused with a lot o'spray on green!

I haven't me a hat, let alone respect;
So I'll bug off with me head *****.
And just as well, I'm on me way
I haven't a shamrock on me today.

'

See, a smiley or a lack thereof 
doth not a writer make 

but dressing-up like Antoinette 
doth usually win the cake 

what equine sacrifice will meet 
agreement for disagreeing? 

for if a quill with parchment wed 
shan't send the torments fleeing 

pour ale, splatter ink, mine friends 
send Smiley-in-trousers twirling!



_ __ ✒
○●
°

there need not be iron bars
to keep a heart imprisoned
there is no white flag of surrender
nor o-d, nor cutting would resolve

nor does the coming-off of chains make one trully free
the stench of blood curdled cold
staining my cheek with ferrous-ity

on that flee bitten bunk each unforgiving night
a plaintive prayer wafts in upward draft
to rejoin the fraying bonds of you and me


no prison bars my mind and heart could hold
no gruesome sight my countenance would melt
if we but have a moment pure as gold

'

Love of the unrequited type... 
Ah! How paradoxical it be! 
Even more paradoxical 
Than that of the returned type... 

return to me my boomerang 
if ironic paradox be 
bring on your wings an offering 
return to set this captive free 

Love is love whether returned or not. 

It gives all meaning to life, 
But when not returned 
It drives us into insanity! 
Constantly contemplating 
Upon what may or may not be... 

provide a reason, supply a rhyme 
keep despair exiled forever 
to hearts a breathe of gentle clime 
elixir to heart's endeavour 

If you have not experienced 
This type of love, 
This unrequited love 
Then you shall not understand 
The joyous part. 
You will think it all tragic. 
But there is a joyous part! 

you freely give from joyous grace 
once prisoner of love withheld 
escape on wings of kiss' embrace 
receive twin souls, tender fire meld 

Love is love whether returned or not. 

my need reaches to the heavens 
despaired reply from there to find 
where is that spark this chest quickens 
love without truth is love unkind 

Whether that person feels the same or not, 
I still love her, and to have someone 
That I love so much, 
Brings certain joy unto me... 
But certain grief to not recieve the love in return... 

It is the most tragic grief 
And the most joyous joy 
At the same time! 

Love, paradox of paradoxes!




_ __ ✒
●○
°

one moment of life
exquisite pleasure
droned and drugged-up
then, it's on with
sustaining their future....

once her she-spider
majesty is widowed
many, many times over,
a cyclical dance in which
you're out of the picture*




_ _ __✒
●○
°

unsleep now; keep still
unwakened dreams

a sun shall set
a moon will rise
a star falls, shooting
kissing dirt, no small
earthbound consolation

even in shadows, evening
dancers pave paths into dark
bear upon themselves, yearnings  

bare feet, tip-toe-ing into
slivers of this moonlit night

angels dare not wander off
deft fingers drift among
slumbering, fragrant blooms

here, where fireflies
have up and flown
please, please, promise
not rouse the dream*




●○
°

Less than a bell's ****** 
fainter than a whistle 
stars in the sky twinkle; 
your breath a hushed whisper. 

O the tiniest sparkle 
dapple on glassy water 
far from distant heckles, 
my soul freed from shackles.*




_ _ __✒
○●
°

Much like Icarus, off they go; 
until condensation metes them 
reality's condescension:

Whose goals and objectives
are minute in life's greater scheme; 
wings fashioned from floss harps-

Yet they soar each firmament;
nary a doubt would sway resolve;
no tempest or tumult could dissuade.

If you chance upon a cloudless day
catch their echo of jubilant cries
and contemplate your turn to fly.