Patchwork

Pink Floyd sang about bricks in the wall.
Cold and crazy.
Like the Mad Hatter.

Each brick an incident.
Leading up to the end:
Total madness.

In life there are some bricks.
I think there are more patches though.
The softness of love.

Hearts on cloth panels.
Sewn upon this framework:
The lives we are.

Reaching out from the middle.
Panel after panel.
An entire life.

Sewn with golden thread.
Each connected to the other.
With plenty of thread left over for the future.

Which is yet to be known.


K.J.K.  4/24/2016

Cold Purple

Food was eaten.
Tea being poured.

Prince was on the radio.
"Raspberry Beret."

She smiled and ran to the freezer.
Taking out dessert.

Raspberry, of course.
We laughed through the final chords of the song.

Raspberry Sorbet on a hot summer day.
Etched in the halls of fond memories.

K.J.K.  - 04/21/2016

Rest In Peace Prince

Air

There's a change in the air.
Can't you feel it?

A coldness.
From warm smiles.

Locking in two step.
Triangle wearing  goons.

The story is old.
We should know better.

Remember the mistakes of others.
Lest we make them ourselves.

Kristallnacht can happen again.
If we let it.


K.J.K. - 4-3-2016

Finite

It's coming:
This storm.

Gathering it's forces of wind, rain, and fire.
From behind our innermost fears.

Marching like soldiers.
Bayonets bloody from hate.

Towards us - relentless in their advance.
The dark angels of hell.

Looming upon us.
Waiting for their chance - The order to charge.

Given by us, the defeated masses of apathetic souls.
Who, by our inaction, allowed hell on Earth.

K.J.K. - 07/16/95

Facing

It's here:

The Tick.
The Draw
The Second.

Spinning 'round some old dial.
Reading off what was.
Will be.

On the edge.
The moment before -
The Push.

Striking like some cosmic bell.
Over and over.
12 times.

To the future.


K.J.K.  12/31/2015

Find Him In The Wind

Who do you speak of?

Where do you look?

To find him.

The one you saw and still didn’t see.

On the road.

In the wind.

Blowing like an answer

Just on the tip of your tongue.

In places you would never think to look:

Even across the table from you.

Breaking bread.

Then vanishing from your sight.

But still there.

Always still there.

Lighting your hearts afire.

With the word.

So you can go forth.

And start the telling.

So tell…

Kevin James Keyser - 11/14/2015

Perfect

Enough!
This is not real.
This is a lie perpetuated by the ad-men of fifth avenue.

The products they sell.
To "slim."
"Enhance."

Make you feel less ugly
Then you know you are.
Because you buy in to the lies.

Which are crafted by masters.
Seething out of all media.
Like a green, oozing, slime.

The more ugly you feel.
The more product they sell.
In the name of being "perfect".

Perfect.
Who knows what is perfect?
Do you?

Perhaps, just perhaps -
Perfect is what you already are.
But you don't believe it.

Because they are masters.
In making you believe the lie.
Drinking all the Kool-Aid you can get your hands on.

In the mirror you see "fat".
In the mirror you see "plain"
In the mirror you see their lies.

Not what the world sees.
Or those who would love you see.
If you would realize that you are already perfect.

K.J.K.  09-14-2015

Heart Wall

It's been years now.
So long that one questions memory.

Did that actually happen?
Was it a dream of something that never was?

Perhaps as memory fades we make up the better tale.
All too soon dismissing the real.

After all, there is no evidence.
It was lost by the hands of a mad man.

Torn up and thrown in the air.
Floating away like so many yellow, ruled butterfly's.

But it was real -
Wasn't it?

That and the message it carried.
Plying at a stubborn mind to remember.

Until something brakes.
The damn of emotion overflows.

And the memory is oh so very sweet.

K.J.K.  09/07/2015

Hemlock House

I'm in the house of hemlock thee you know me sweet.
I'm in the house of hemlock just aging, rotting meat.
I'm in the house of hemlock little do you know.
I'm in the house of hemlock drinking it all in before I go.

K.J.K.  08/12/2014

Breakaway

End Times 11

He paid a visit the day before now.
We talked over hot tea turning iced.

The state of affairs
The state of the State.

The red hot blood.
Turning blue.

What is the future?
What is to know?

How many years lay ahead -
Before it all catches up?

Before I leave you all?
To whatever devices you see fit?

Then exist only in memory.
And then not even there?

Is the world gone crazy?
Or is it just a local phenomena?

Pipe dreams?
Pikes Peak?

The cold rain of a Seattle morning?
The weirdness of Portland?

Never thought about this before.
The turning of the screw.

On this rack called my life.
Notch by notch.

One day something's going to snap.
Hey! Step on a crack, break yo Momma's back.

The Cold Man puts his frozen tea down.
Turns to walk out the door.

Turns back with a smile:
"The eviction papers will be ready whenever you are."

K.J.K. - 08/15/2015