Ron | 
Opinion, Poems, death, immortality, poetry about age, religion | 
August 31, 2009 @ 7:46 pm| 
No Comments »If death were as peaceful slumber
Sailing on a gentle sea
With cooling warmth from summer breezes
And lying there were she with me
To fill love’s idyllic dreams,
Ambrosia for eternity,
Then hasten coming of that day.
Futility begs a minute glimpse,
By means worldly senses lack,
To dispel musings wary
Of conjecture’s wishfulness
Gauging immortality -
But certainty is today’s possession
And there reason enough to tarry.
rlkilgore
Regardless of the church one attends,
Or whether one attends at all,
Integrity and honor and all that is good
Comes from a noble heart
And not a religion.
rlkilgore
rlkilgore@chartertn.net
A pleasant seat of a sidewalk cafe
Over mocha coffee and a crème brulee
Amidst genteel ladies and white tablecloths
And, unobstructed, a view across
An elm studded park with closely mown grass
Nestled between urban concrete and glass -
Serenity in a turbulent sea.
Why then would young mothers draw their children near,
Not for cuddling but with presence of fear?
He shuffled up the walk with seemingly no mind
Of those around who avoided a sign
That would draw his attention and likely request
For money. (In order to lessen the chance,
Avoiding eye contact works the best).
The Downtown Salvation Mission Retreat
Serves those of his ilk just down the street.
By day their throngs disperse like flies
In summer heat to shadows and shade
And reappear as evening tides
Pull them as cattle to trough,
Obliged to give their souls in trade
With prayer for another meal.
Between stocking cap and jacket collar
His face stained brown from dirt on dirt
And deep lined crevices dark from squalor
Gouged by wind and cold,
He fumbled at his pocket for a lone cigarette,
Fingers shaking with the paper matchbook,
Searching which end to strike,
Oblivious to the time he took -
A three minute ordeal for a ten second task.
And quivering lips sunken from too few teeth
Sucked as discreetly as obvious would allow
From a brown paper bag, the poor man’s flask.
Judge him and judge him harshly,
Whatever loves he might have known
Lie squandered in another life
Through no fault but his own,
And dread from fear of tomorrow
And sorrow over times long now gone
Extend no further than this hour.
He paused, unaware the blight he posed
obstructing the tranquil view of those
who sipped mocha coffee over white tablecloths
and spoke of coming weather
rlkilgore
Ron | Opinion, Poems, happiness, personal comment, personal poetry | July 24, 2009 @ 10:48 am| No Comments »
They say love is sweeter
The second time around,
But that can’t be, you see.
Cause my ex-wife’s husband now knows why
He’s not a happier man than I.
rlkilgore
How dare the suffered fool
Assume the elitist’s pose
To judge my intent,
Presume my ignorance,
Disabuse a deft
Thought, slip of the tongue,
Momentary lapse
Of lucidity.
A ruse I’ll not forget
Pompous, arrogant fool.
rlkilgore
rlkilgore
Was ever a man more enticed
Or held so closely bound,
With no shackles evident
Or prison walls around?
Could ropes be drawn less securely,
And no attempt of a heart to flee?
And could a bird, born to fly
Free of any remand,
Find more desire but to remain
In your open hand?
rlkilgore
(for one who held his Love’s hand
as she passed away)
Sleep, my Dear - Sleep in merited peace,
Your burden freed of infirmity’s heavy cloak.
This moment entered opens a door revealing
What just prior was not ours to evoke.
Sleep, my Love - Sleep, and I shall stand
The watch, a hallowed vigil your sacred shrine.
In this consecrated slumber lies
Your comfort and in your comfort I find mine.
rlkilgore
Party Time
When you think you are impressing someone you are usually having
the opposite effect. When you impress someone favorably,
if you ever do, it’s when you are unaware of being watched.
rlkilgore
The music you hear is from songs I have written (which no one wants to sing).
I would appreciate your leaving a comment on what I can do to improve my blog. Thanks
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.
rlkilgore
Rolling up the interstate,
Cruise control on seventy-eight,
North to Lexington, K. Y.
Dark enough for headlights on
And light enough for ashen sky
To outline billboards zipping by,
The chevy gobbles highway strips,
Spits them out of straight rear pipes,
And the radio pounds out sixties’ gold.
I was drinking, I believe,
The very night I proposed
Marriage on a New Year’s Eve,
A long time ago.
Spontaneous words at the time
Issued from a muddled mind,
Yet some innate internal guide
Recognized that by my side
Sat an angel.
Was she sent to serve a sentence
And I put here to be her penance?
I suppose I’ll never know.
Time as best I can tell
Is motion perceived as change
Relative of another to me
However still as I might be.
But what if both remain the same?
Then decay assumes the name.
So change is not to be deprived
Nor time denied.
Damn, I missed my exit.
rlkilgore
Sweetness of the morning, a breath of air
Drawn and hardly noticed, if at all,
By youthful haughtiness presuming its entitlement.
Of more concern, social events of the day -
Who’s going to be with whom and what to wear.
Tomorrow’s dawn brings just another day
When its beauty is made common by endless supply.
Mortality, when all vistas extend out of sight,
Is only a word, understood without true comprehension
From urgency induced by time’s forsaking way.
Passion of the loins grudgingly releases its grasp,
Not by choice, to passion of the heart and the mind
Where yearnings are compressed against the wall of finality.
Each minute, each second, relentlessly squeezed until,
Surely, most truly cherished are breaths drawn last.
rlkilgore
Comment to rlkilgore@chartertn.net
A few will understand this, many will think
they do and some will haven’t a clue.
Every man in a life
Should know the love of a woman,
A love with passion sustained beyond the night,
Each day a melody made sweet
With love more devoted than to its own breath,
That soars above the surface of self
And breaches the gates of heaven so any man,
Fool as he might be, may see within.
A love when lost, as in its time it shall,
Never to be again.
rlkilgore
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!
rlkilgore
Two old men together
In a small cafe downtown
Near the corner talked
About good old days.
They talked of being in the same
First grade and their competitions
Through the years of school,
Competitions for grades
Where one became salutatorian
And on the football field where
One starred as the receiver.
They talked of competition
Over girls, especially Sarah
Whom one eventually married
While the other remained a bachelor.
They talked of their businesses and
Accomplishments, each proud
In his own way of his.
Two old men in a cafe together,
One drinking coffee served by the other.
rlkilgore
