Submissions by Kexby (john rickell)
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Poet Introduction
I write free verse.
STORY POEM
Published
25th Apr 2013 4:58pm
25th Apr 2013 4:58pm
The lady and the Parasol (2)
I returned again in pious hope
to sit once more beneath the cypress shade
the table, parasol and empty chair,
the time of day about the same
my drink as red as yesterday;
my memory nagging at my mind.
Was it a dream my eyes dazzled
by the sun. Were those thighs as white
or were shadows from the cypress tree
playing with the light?
The wine more dark than yesterday
saw her first across the square
serene conscious of me, time
as of yesterday,I did not move
sipped my drink raised the glass
but did not smile, nor she ...
to sit once more beneath the cypress shade
the table, parasol and empty chair,
the time of day about the same
my drink as red as yesterday;
my memory nagging at my mind.
Was it a dream my eyes dazzled
by the sun. Were those thighs as white
or were shadows from the cypress tree
playing with the light?
The wine more dark than yesterday
saw her first across the square
serene conscious of me, time
as of yesterday,I did not move
sipped my drink raised the glass
but did not smile, nor she ...
711 reads
2 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
25th Apr 2013 8:01am
25th Apr 2013 8:01am
Awake my Love
Awake my love the world is sleeping
the fox is in his lair and owls dream on
the mouse, with us, will rest in quiet,
assured the humid night is safe,
midsummer day, but memory.
Pan with his pipes,keeps the world at peace,
darkness our friend, wake my love,we are alone
no chill moon, or bailful eye;friendly dark to clothe,
no need of spiders'gossamer veils sleeping with the world.
Wake my love dream, dreams do not count as sleep,
there is another world,or so I'm told,
Come with me,I cannot go alone.
the fox is in his lair and owls dream on
the mouse, with us, will rest in quiet,
assured the humid night is safe,
midsummer day, but memory.
Pan with his pipes,keeps the world at peace,
darkness our friend, wake my love,we are alone
no chill moon, or bailful eye;friendly dark to clothe,
no need of spiders'gossamer veils sleeping with the world.
Wake my love dream, dreams do not count as sleep,
there is another world,or so I'm told,
Come with me,I cannot go alone.
714 reads
2 Comments
EROTIC POEM
Published
25th Apr 2013 7:56am
25th Apr 2013 7:56am
Chuckle of content
You would not think I could forget
the touch of you, light as silk I recall
then of velvet, satin ,finest linen
each the aura that is you.
Would I could steal the cloth, take
it home to my bed wrapped round to
dream of you uterine beside me.
To dream of skin, fine hairs to
glisten in the morning sun, musk laden
with your scents to rival those of lily
which I confirm each time I kiss the
sacred place for which there is no name
save ours, so secret none shall know.
There is but little time to wait, each one too far
now my...
the touch of you, light as silk I recall
then of velvet, satin ,finest linen
each the aura that is you.
Would I could steal the cloth, take
it home to my bed wrapped round to
dream of you uterine beside me.
To dream of skin, fine hairs to
glisten in the morning sun, musk laden
with your scents to rival those of lily
which I confirm each time I kiss the
sacred place for which there is no name
save ours, so secret none shall know.
There is but little time to wait, each one too far
now my...
720 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
24th Apr 2013 5:16pm
24th Apr 2013 5:16pm
Let us float
Let us float above the clouds
beyond the blue of wild belief,
where all, not possible on the earth
is ours for merely asking.
Stay close indulge ourselves
climb with the stars and planets
millennial years, watched when on earth
but not believed for feet of clay.
What have we drunk. what in the glass
lying by the ancient copse
drank I first to share with you?
Disposed our heavy clothes,
left behind purses and imagined cares,
then light as air clasped hands to float
beyond the blue of wild belief.
beyond the blue of wild belief,
where all, not possible on the earth
is ours for merely asking.
Stay close indulge ourselves
climb with the stars and planets
millennial years, watched when on earth
but not believed for feet of clay.
What have we drunk. what in the glass
lying by the ancient copse
drank I first to share with you?
Disposed our heavy clothes,
left behind purses and imagined cares,
then light as air clasped hands to float
beyond the blue of wild belief.
689 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
24th Apr 2013 9:11am
24th Apr 2013 9:11am
Golden tresses
Beside the shrouded lake
golden tresses about my neck
arms, swan-like deep embrace
safe within the veil I breath.
Mystic scents dream on mossy
pillows listening to the trout.
Rippling circles swans and kingfisher,
dredging mud and chasing fish.
My love is still,
golden tresses in my hands
soft,hold, draw close,
jealous lest goldfinches
with more grace to seduce
steal from me as of right,
this not mine,this to share.
We did not speak, yet understand
another world . . . . . free,
wandering . ....
golden tresses about my neck
arms, swan-like deep embrace
safe within the veil I breath.
Mystic scents dream on mossy
pillows listening to the trout.
Rippling circles swans and kingfisher,
dredging mud and chasing fish.
My love is still,
golden tresses in my hands
soft,hold, draw close,
jealous lest goldfinches
with more grace to seduce
steal from me as of right,
this not mine,this to share.
We did not speak, yet understand
another world . . . . . free,
wandering . ....
684 reads
0 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
24th Apr 2013 9:07am
24th Apr 2013 9:07am
Strolling
I met you strolling in the park
A wistful beauty sad and hurt
So much I felt the pain.
I was unready, so I thought
To start another life,
But walked the park again
And stayed to walk it yet again.
Where this may lead I do not know
must not ask....Whom to ask?
The future not mine to know,
I can but cast a backward glance
see from whence I came
remember every stone I tripped
each muddy patch I trod.
There will be hills to climb
And risks to take,
No more than yesterday.
No less than tomorrow
The way twist and turn....
A wistful beauty sad and hurt
So much I felt the pain.
I was unready, so I thought
To start another life,
But walked the park again
And stayed to walk it yet again.
Where this may lead I do not know
must not ask....Whom to ask?
The future not mine to know,
I can but cast a backward glance
see from whence I came
remember every stone I tripped
each muddy patch I trod.
There will be hills to climb
And risks to take,
No more than yesterday.
No less than tomorrow
The way twist and turn....
732 reads
0 Comments
LOVE POEM
Published
23rd Apr 2013 10:32pm
23rd Apr 2013 10:32pm
The Opium Poppy
There is a poppy in the garden
First I've seen in many years.
Ten years ago they left . . .
Mourning for my love?
Purple ,red , black stamens
As her hair, tall and slim.
Loved them as her own,
Demanding, intoxicant, as she,
One, just one is here,
Beneath the Wellingtonia,
Hanging blooms tight closed.
Will they be red or purple?
The stamens will be black
Of that I'm sure . . . .
As were her eyes and hair.
It called the other night
I did not see, seldom go that far
Thought they never would return. ...
First I've seen in many years.
Ten years ago they left . . .
Mourning for my love?
Purple ,red , black stamens
As her hair, tall and slim.
Loved them as her own,
Demanding, intoxicant, as she,
One, just one is here,
Beneath the Wellingtonia,
Hanging blooms tight closed.
Will they be red or purple?
The stamens will be black
Of that I'm sure . . . .
As were her eyes and hair.
It called the other night
I did not see, seldom go that far
Thought they never would return. ...
720 reads
2 Comments
OBSERVATIONAL POEM
Published
23rd Apr 2013 2:31pm
23rd Apr 2013 2:31pm
London Pride
Does the rose beside the green front door
bloom as when I was youth.
Does the gate clash against the post
the spring that gave us rides
sitting on the bar, six-gun at the ready;
waiting for the sheriff and the call to dinner
(dinnertime was twelve, suppertime at six)
Is the London Pride beside the path,
the zigzag line of bricks, still there?
Fluff from rugs shaken every week
clinging to terracotta edgings
I would go back but know the answer.
The place was home, apple trees and chickens
copper in the scullery, Yorkist...
bloom as when I was youth.
Does the gate clash against the post
the spring that gave us rides
sitting on the bar, six-gun at the ready;
waiting for the sheriff and the call to dinner
(dinnertime was twelve, suppertime at six)
Is the London Pride beside the path,
the zigzag line of bricks, still there?
Fluff from rugs shaken every week
clinging to terracotta edgings
I would go back but know the answer.
The place was home, apple trees and chickens
copper in the scullery, Yorkist...
828 reads
4 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
23rd Apr 2013 10:48am
23rd Apr 2013 10:48am
What
From whence? or where? I know not
for what? I have no answer
yet a haunting seeps my brow
furrows long and deep
keep me from sleep
pillows give no comfort
duvet sweating,
yet the night is cold.
From whence I ask again
there is no wind; my compass lost
worse than lost,it is dark
I have no answer to whence
shall not ask again.
Where do I seek?
an unanswered quest
the book shelf groans
wise volumes turn their backs
the leather hard and dry
dust encased undisturbed.
Do I ask those...
for what? I have no answer
yet a haunting seeps my brow
furrows long and deep
keep me from sleep
pillows give no comfort
duvet sweating,
yet the night is cold.
From whence I ask again
there is no wind; my compass lost
worse than lost,it is dark
I have no answer to whence
shall not ask again.
Where do I seek?
an unanswered quest
the book shelf groans
wise volumes turn their backs
the leather hard and dry
dust encased undisturbed.
Do I ask those...
775 reads
2 Comments
MISCELLANEOUS POEM
Published
21st Apr 2013 7:45pm
21st Apr 2013 7:45pm
Red Candles
Red candles on the mantle shelf
destroying time together
red wax consumed to white
not all they seem these three.
Not wax of bees as in church
cheap paraffin,sickly,
blue smoke when snuffed out
not scents of paschal candles
honey and pollen dust
carrying prayers to willing oak
and kneeling supplications.
Mundane white dipped in red
burning slow . . . . . .
black soot on the cobweb ceiling
truth and time consumed.
destroying time together
red wax consumed to white
not all they seem these three.
Not wax of bees as in church
cheap paraffin,sickly,
blue smoke when snuffed out
not scents of paschal candles
honey and pollen dust
carrying prayers to willing oak
and kneeling supplications.
Mundane white dipped in red
burning slow . . . . . .
black soot on the cobweb ceiling
truth and time consumed.
667 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Submissions by Kexby (john rickell)
