R L Kilgore

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Oct 8


Like a carousel tethered to the sun,
Like a dog possessed and chasing its tail,
Hurtling into the vast abyss
Where whirling, twirling motions preside,
This earth obliges none its favor
More than air to breathe and ground to stride.
So, what of loves beyond the lust
That fashion love the sire of greed?
This world suffers naught of pride,
For it fends with issues of its own.

Jan 18
Saga Of Mt. LeConte
icon1 Ron | icon2 nature poetry, personal poetry, Poems | icon4 January 18, 2011 @ 9:54 pm| icon33 Comments »

         Saga Of Mt. LeConte


Benign as a grandmother from

        distant sight,
White hair flowing to your waist,
Such a cruel and spiteful ploy
You played to mask your scowl

        etched face.


Miss Mt. LeConte, a spinster I

        would think
From your morose, unsociable posture,
Towering above, looking down, 

Funeral garb draped to the ground.
Why would you need a man?
Even a backdrop of sun filled skies
Cannot disguise an anger you hold
Of encroachment, nor soften your

        virulent air.


How we mortals love the game,
Dominate, control, violate -
So began my quest to convert
Your insolence to lap cat purring,
An assault to you so pitiful as an ant
On a proven path, no leader,
No follower, just an ant.
Annoyed, you then, with the back

        of your hand
Of wind and snow and ice and rain, 
Reached to brush me from your skirt.




 comment to  rloykilgore@gmail.com

Jul 10


                  (To Toressa – After 44 Years)

Beauty came in the guise of innocence
And wrapped her arms around our youthful days
Until the lust we recognized as love
Sang its final song and departed.

I remember it well.

The grass was smooth and soft under our feet
And the days were long enough that nights had only
Time enough to cool, and cover our passions.
And love came easily, like apples in a laden orchard,
Easily plucked and delicious but now indistinguishable
As birds flying in flock, flitting and sweeping,
So all blend together and become the whole.

Still we remain, you and I, lovers
Regardless the accumulated years.
No evening finds its heaven filled with stars
More faithfully inclined – maybe the language
Of an unknown tongue can answer why, or,
Perhaps, the reason lies in the silence
Of a falling snow.







Jun 21

Born naked and bleak in a cold north wind
To plunder gold from Autumn’s attire,
Winter comes with a skeleton-toothed grin
And icy minions on a ruthless hand.

Each Season finds itself, in order,
Victim of immutable fate,
But life struggles desperately to grasp,
Over nature’s will, another breath.

So Autumn leaps on back the wind
Like a rodeo cowboy rides.
Defiant spurs gouge bucking gusts
To wipe away the skeleton’s smirk
And let the interloper know
Leaves will fall when Autumn decides.

Comment to:     rloykilgore@gmail.com



May 29

What shadow slides across this earth
So randomly as to engulf
One soul but not another?
What cloud portends a destined storm
To hasten those unworldly throes
For one man but not his brother?


With each dawning, renewed light
Reveals the one, by chance, selected
To feel that day the shadow’s passing.
And with each evening, smug presumptions
grow more tempered by realization
Of time, after all, not everlasting.

Perhaps most fortunate are those
Who never feel the cold or rain
Or hear the thunder – for whom swift lightening,
When it strikes, inflicts no pain.


Jan 6
Winter’s Demise
icon1 Ron | icon2 nature poetry, Poems | icon4 January 6, 2010 @ 11:47 pm| icon3No Comments »

      Vibrant rays of sun rain down,
      Splash and cover all around -
    Resplendent colors, yellow, green
  Of crocuses and mown grass sheen.

  Ah! Spring too long delayed beckons,
Calling with promise of warmth’s delight.

        Oh, No!  Was there ever
Fraud more blatant, deceit less latent
    As this haughty Northern Breeze
        Denying Winter’s demise
      And chasing me back inside
            To find my jacket?



Oct 20

We were best of friends, you and I.
Preoccupied, self-absorbed, I failed
To notice your insidious betrayal.
Oh, Sweet Time, what have I
Done to deserve your treachery?
You have stolen from me and
So continue. You took my youth,
And now seek my vigor, leaving
Desperate yearnings. You have 
Abandoned me adrift on a river
With a precipice approaching 
Where I cannot see the edge
But I can hear the roar.


Jul 2
Shades of Gray
icon1 Ron | icon2 nature poetry, personal poetry, Poems | icon4 July 2, 2009 @ 11:33 pm| icon3No Comments »

Standing by the water’s edge, I think
Of her and cinch my collar close to void
The chilling breeze.  She said ………..

    Mist, so fine it fails to fall but taunts
    My face to let me know it’s in the air,
    Veils the distant shore, a quarter mile
    Away or more, while ripples lap beneath
    My feet and roar in miniature relief.

                    …………..I had always
To be right, everything was black
And white.  I never thought myself that way.
I wonder why ………….

    Darkened trees on the opposite side present
    A belt separating skirt from blouse,
    Preventing water from touching clouds ashen
    In a canopy that folds low overhead.
    I never knew so many shades of gray.

          ………….. I was oblivious to see
That which now she finds repugnant in me.
Yesterday I felt so confident in myself.





Apr 12







This poem was written for an elderly lady, Haydee Cansada.  She was born into position and wealth in Cuba, but had to leave when Castro came to power.  She lived in a small apartment in our town to be near her brother, her closest remaining relative. I took Spanish lessons from her and the reference to an owl comes from a discussion we had about why the owl is a symbol of wisdom.  She longed for the chance to see Cuba again but it never happened.  I wrote this for her as a present while she was still alive.

          Caribbean Blue
  (a Haydee, una dama de Cuba)

Fog of morning rolls up from the ground,
Windless motion that carries no sound
Except the hoot of an owl.
Out past the porch where ought to be trees,
Hangs abstract forest without any leaves,
Shrouded in a misty cowl.

Down the front steps, grass, smooth and deep,
Soft, wet and messy, adheres to my feet
And bends temporarily prone.
The air had texture that rubs on my face.
My God, how have I come to this place
To be so all alone?

Symmetrical webs perspire in the light
Reflecting labors completed last night,
Designed not to hinder the view.
Beauties of Spring, their colors in array,
Just memories masked by this curtain of gray.
Vainly, I strain to see through.

At last through the mist an unfiltered ray
Of sunlight cleaves cleanly, announcing the day
With its welcoming light.
Slowly, above, the veil changes hue,
First lacy, then pastel, then Caribbean blue.
Again the beloved sight!



Feb 19
Passing By
icon1 Ron | icon2 happiness, nature poetry, Poems | icon4 February 19, 2009 @ 11:00 pm| icon3No Comments »

            I paused my walk of a hillside path
                To catch the morning glow,
              A distant crest with haloed sun             
                  And valley spread below.

            Close by flowers of yellow and red,
                  Dispersed in fields of grass,
              Gently swayed belying the breeze
                Stiffened by Springtime’s grasp.

              My eye lulled first on those nearby
                  Then rose above the crowd
        Where colors flowed and, blending as one,
                  Showed less bold and loud.

              Contented, I left my mind at ease,
                    Unfocused eyes to stare,
            With naught but feel the hand of God
                    Through my tousled hair.

              Suddenly, in flurry of wings and wind
                    A covy of panicked quail
              Exploding in flight from unseen peril
                    Startled me from my spell.

            When next I looked the sun’s full bloom
                    So reigned in blinding splay,
                The tranquil scene before now gone,
                      I turned and walked away.


Feb 15
Timidity and Pride
icon1 Ron | icon2 nature poetry, personal poetry, Poems | icon4 February 15, 2009 @ 12:17 am| icon3No Comments »

Why glamorize a shooting star
Stealing swiftly through the darkened night,
Fleet and silent as a craven thief
Streaking so to cheat the dawning light?

Flashing thunder booms its flaunted pride
To emphasize with aplomb and flair
The bolt harbors no timidity of the star,
Yet neither leaves sign of ever passing there.


Jan 26
Dreamy River
icon1 Ron | icon2 nature poetry, Poems | icon4 January 26, 2009 @ 7:57 pm| icon3No Comments »

Dreamy river, which way you flow concealed,
Indiscernible with the stillness of the air,
And ripples chased by the lightest breath of breeze
Belie your intent.  Only below, beneath
Your quiet surface, is your true course revealed.

Far away, on a distant mountain crest
Or sage covered prairie, your birthplace where
A single drop of rain finds its destiny,
A drip, a puddle, a trickle, a stream exploring
Each hollow and crevice, seeking unattainable rest.

Disdaining decorous shape, your surging swell
Grows, rising, strengthening, rushing, supplements
Of each gully and ravine quickening
The current to marauding pitch, undeniable,
Unyielding, nimbly accommodating each travail.

Your torrent plummets in cascades where boulders impede
Orderly passage, here quickly, there slowly, each spilllway
And eddy swirling and gushing in anguished impatience,
Single-mindedly driven, plunging in headlong
Pursuit to satisfy an ocean’s insatiable need.

Dreamy river, your tumultuous race to the sea
Now adjourned, your waters, deep and settled, have earned
This peace. Rest by my shore and warm your body.
The glistening sheen of your placid surface sparkles
Where your seminal raindrop smiles – and winks at me.


Dec 4
Sounds Unseen
icon1 Ron | icon2 nature poetry | icon4 December 4, 2008 @ 8:51 pm| icon3No Comments »

Water on the moonlit lake is smooth.
So smooth, surface ripples swirl
In diverse directions from an invisible hand
Of the breeze which I neither hear nor feel.
I only see.

Tree frogs croak on this cool August
Night and are the predominate sound.
These I cannot see -
Nor the crickets or the outboard motor
Droning in the distance,
Nor the muted, far off shout of a man
Who for some reason chose
This moment to raise his voice.
These I only hear.

A search light, probably some advertising prop
From the town beyond the hills,
Faintly sweeps the clouds, punctuated
By a red period shining from the top
Of an invisible cell phone tower.
None of these I hear.

Incongruous sights unheard and sounds unseen
Search the senses
To find an interpreter.