Poems Come

Poems Come

Poems come

On the edge of sleep
On the borders of waking

In the fiery light of the dawn
In the fading embers of dusk

Beneath cottony clouds dotting a juicy blue sky
Beneath greasy black soil of oil poisoned bogs

Amongst the shuffle and bustle of life
Amongst the solemn stillness of mourners

Within the open, innocent heart of first love

Within the evil, bitter and twisted mind

Above the scented heads of infants
Above the frail heads of elders

From the moment of creation
From the dying of the light

Near the goose bumped flesh of fear
Near the spine-tingling shiver of epiphany

Through the delicate fragrance of flowers
Through nostril flaring stretch of decay

Against the rough, hard, cold edge of stone
Against the smooth, warm curve of a lover

Poems come

Ken Goree

Boatful of Memories

Boatful of Memories

Early morning shore

Waves a lapping
Found my spot
After hours of mapping

In the distance
Coyotes yapping
At water’s edge
Duck wings a flapping

On the boat’s side
The waves are slapping
First fish caught
Child’s hands are clapping

To internal tune
My toes are tapping
My smile grows
Finger snapping

After long hours
My son is napping
The noon-day sun
My strength is sapping

Productive trip
Time to be scrapping
To the trailer
The boat I’m strapping

A perfect day
In my memory trapping
Better than Christmas
It needs no wrapping

Ken Goree

Andromeda

Andromeda

Our girl is Andi

Aptly named Andromeda

Leads Orion ‘round.

Ken Goree

I figured it was time to give Andi a poem.  She really is a sweetie ... at times.  When I got her, I was told she was part dachsund, part chihuahua.  At the time it seemed possible, but she is still getting bigger.  Andi is not very well behaved around company, I know, my fault.  

Narwhal

Narwhal

One of my very favorites is
The Narwhal of the North
Oh so shy and secretive
He rarely does come forth.

Lonely days and silent nights
He spends below the surface
Beneath the polar crust
Enjoying his silent place.

Sailor, in this mythic beast
He certainly believes
One long tusk a hole it pokes
That is how he breathes.

The tusk it really is a tooth
It’s grown so hard and long
Don’t stand above him on the ice or,
You’ll  get skewered on this prong.

Ken Goree

I really do intend to add to this poem down the road, but I was headed out to my friend's birthday party.  It is another one of her 29th birthdays.  

Another note about ...

I intend to redo today's Haystack rock poem. I like the way it turned out, but I want to stretch out the background, and add in a little shading to make it look more like the coast.

No, I know, it doesn't match the exact shape of the monolith itself, but I think it represents it fairly well.