The Cold Tide

I am the icicle.

Glistening in sunlight.

Knowing the point will soon melt away.

Water flowing back in to the Earth.

One day reaching Glendalough.

Where Saint Kevin once built a Church.

Eons ago.

Eons to be.

Water runs.

As do we.

K.J.K.  02/03/2015

Love On Its Own Terms

What would I tell my 16-year-old self?
If I could time travel back.
To that world of teenage angst?

One thing only.
The simplest thing.
The hardest thing.

The thing that no one ever sees.
The thing everyone knows.
But are afraid to admit.

Love isn't what you think it is.
Not some Disney movie.
Not, necessarily, happily ever after.

Love doesn't have to be hugs and kisses.
Passionate nights.
Although it can be.

Love is and is not -
What you think
For you know nothing for the something you know.

So, 16 year old self:
Stop worrying about it.
Just go out, have fun.

Embrace love whichever way it manifests.
Be happy:
Take love on its own terms.

K.J.K. - 01/18/2015

Justice

There is a scale.
Somewhere you only fear to look.

One side filled to the brim with shell casings.
The other overflowing with lifeless, bloody remains.

You are the smoke.
The eye tinctured maliciousness of hate.

Snake, Serpent.
Evil one of old.

Where you walk a shudder breaks the night.
A gasp but not of fear.

Of pure contempt.
As if the sum of mankind turns its collective backs on you.

Snake, Serpent.
You have a scale to attend to:

I do not judge you, although you will be judged.
I pity you.

All the hate you feel.
If it could be washed asunder.

That would be justice
Monsters given the harshest penalty of them all.

To finally feel what you have done.
To know it cannot be undone.

To regret.
For all eternity.

And wish it were not so.

K.J.K.  - 01/09/2015

"Je Suis Charlie"

Drummer

March if you would.

I prefer to walk.

Along gridlines and oil cloths.

Monuments to daybreak

Labyrinth places

Circular and all consuming.

"Tat Tat - Tat Tat Tat".

With a double four beat.

Pounding in the ears.

Life is a challenge.

A call to pickup sticks.

Still the drumming goes:

Where you dictate.

Hold dear.

And believe.

Fear not -

You are not the first to move to the beat of a different drummer.

And you won't be the last.

K.J.K.  01/01/2015

Tidings of a Runaway Clock

Wasn't it just January?
One month in to a "polar vortex" winter?

Then the spring.
Warmth finally returning.

Weren't we all just complaining about the heat yesterday?
That "polar vortex" wasn't that bad, surely...

Here we are again.
The leaves dropping and a chill in the air.

Time flies.
Like some madman is messing with the clocks.

A day is a year.
A month a day.

So much happening.
Life passing before our eyes.

Old life, over life, new life.
Swoosh! Blink and it's all gone.

The tidings of a runaway clock.
Ticking us onward.

Whether we like it or not..

K.J.K.  11/11/2014

The Pathway Series

Greetings!
            Today I have posted the "Pathway" series of poems.  Blogger is displaying the poems in reverse of their proper reading order.  To avoid confusion you can read the poems in their proper reading order by clicking on the links below:

1. Stars of Wax
2. Communion
3. The Path

*Images used under license from Nova Development and Click Art

The Path

(Pathways Three)

There is a path, along Wild Brush road.
It twists and turns.
Goes up a hill, down a valley, up another hill.

The path goes on and on.
As do we who walk it.
Picking up thistles along the way.

The knees hurt.
Petition for rest -
That is not forthcoming.

The path is hard.
It's not easy.
Although it should be second nature.

Comfortable like a favorite pair of jeans.
Worn in.
But never, ever fading away.

It's a way of life.
We are suppose to live.
To put in to practice.

Not just to listen to -
Like the book.
Read aloud in church.

We are to love others as ourselves.
And it's hard.
And we fail.

That's alright.
Jeans are meant to be dusted off after a fall.
Like sin is washed away by Jesus's love.

So, the path is hard.
There are miles to go.
Before we rest, before we rest.

K.J.K.  - 11/2/2014

Communion

(Pathways Two)

Communion frightened me.
I felt not worthy of such a gift.

The invitation to table, called.
I stayed in my seat.

I once heard a voice in my head.
"I understand why you feel this way but you are more than welcome in my house."

These were real words.
Not something overheard or imagined.

Real.
There was no one there, but there was.

Still, I stayed in my seat.
The obstinate child afraid of the change already coming within.

Months pass.
Seasons change.

The invitation to table, called.
The seat never cools down because I do not rise.

After service.
A friend listens to me as I talk about all this stuff.

As we talk she hands me a vanilla cream cookie.
My mind draws a conclusion.

No words this time just a thought:
"Do this in memory of me.."

I eat the cookie as tears come to my eyes.
Leaving my friend perplexed.

Communion doesn't frighten me anymore.

K.J.K.  09/14/2014

Stars of Wax

(Pathways One)

A hundred candles are lit.
Maybe more.

Silent night, holy night.
Wax stars flickering in hands that trembled.

What led to this moment?
Started so long ago.

In a past, now muted by the years -
Gone by.

Do you believe in Angels?
Winged or not.

I have seen my share.
Enough to know that they are real.

Even if they don't believe.
In their own existence.

To a Christmas gathering -
In the most unlikely of places.

Was it really a den of iniquity?
Were we thieves?

Or looking for answers?
Even though the questions were never asked.

What led to this moment?
Flickering candles on Christmas eve.

Love, Love, Love.

It wasn't just his Son he sent.
It was all of us too.

K.J.K.  07/25/2014

Circle Of One

She dreams.
Of forgotten things.
Lives hidden in the fallacy of life.

Of her father, Taslasness.
The Land Of Wonder.
Twelve towers gleaming gold.

The river of life:
He sits on it's banks.
Fishing for more then song of verse can say.

"Where has all the Magic gone, father?
No, not only Magic but wonder, awe at the everything?"
The water splashes with no reply.

"What has been lost:
Life filled too much with the day to day.
No time to live after all the time spent on living.

Father, I remember you!
Speak, please to me."
And the river is a dry bed and no one is sitting on it's banks.

A hedgehog speaks:
"Believe"
"Upon the night of this heart, believe!"

Fades out to the dust of the once river, now desert.
Nothing left
After drying of the flow.

Which runs from the inner self.
This child -
Should never die.

"Harken the word!"
Said the man on the radio.
She awakes.....

K.J.K.

12-27-03