Friday, April 20, 2012


For Evan and Elle.
by CWK

You said you wanted to distance yourself from things.                                                
And, I knew that, by the short conversations,                                                                 
the perforation of my heart, the lack of observation,                                                      
and verbal stings.

When I told you what mattered to me,                                                                             
you acted like it didn’t matter at all.                                                            
You didn’t return my call,                                                                                               
or stand next to me in the hall,                                                                                       
or speak gently.

Its freezing being so far away                                                                                        
from you: the warm Spring Sun;                                                                             
and all we’d begun;                                              
coquettish verbal puns;                                                                                          
and, your face.

I have felt less distance                                                                                           
when we weren’t even talking;                                                                  
when, in our minds, together walking                                                                                
along the memory of when we slow danced,                                          
and held hands.

Is this distance far enough?                                                                           
Light years between our hearts:                                                                                        
like two cold stars, galaxies of bitterness apart,                               
never to touch.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

The Stoic and The Poet

by CWK

Empyrean, in majesty, above
is hopelessly fallen in love, in love.

The soil is in love
with rain;
The stars in like with shining;
The tide is in love
with moon;
The eagle in like with flying.

Empyrean, in majesty, above
is hopelessly fallen in love, in love.

I have often heard it said in passing
that this or that thing loves to happen.
With love, the world was fashioned,
and by love the world's sustained.
In love, the world conducts all matters.
To love, toward love, the world remains.

Now, if all creation loves by nature,
who am I to live by hatred?
Shall I roll the universe into a ball,
and fling it back upon it's maker?
Shall I shrink smaller than the ant
who marches timely without complaint?
Should I grow larger than the moon
who appears nightly without restraint?

I should know
to love, love knowing.
For with a seed I have conversed,
and he is in love with growing.
I should live
to love, love showing.
For with a crow I have conversed,
and he is in love with crowing.
I should sow
in love, love sowing.
For, I know a lightning bug,
and he is in love with glowing.

I should move
with love, in motion,
like a wheel inside a wheel.
For I've beheld the high Sun kneel,
his face afire with blushing,
and kiss the wide blue ocean.

I should heed in love, love hearing.
For, I've beheld the strong Sun
stride across the cloudy clearing.
He rises bright, upon command,
without the need of warning,
upon each and every early morning.
Then, moves musically, like a runner,
at a steady stolid pace
to finish each day's race;
Then, stands down without remand,
upon each and every starry evening.
Now, can I be brighter than the Sun
who shines in love, love feeling?

I answer then to the universe:
I love as you love;
your hand is my glove.
I shall do my best, when at my worst,
to compose my heart in mirth.
I shall heed the singing stone,
and sing a lay, a psalm, or song.
For, the whole creation is smitten
with love: like a maid betrothed.
The whole creation's in joy clothed
at the pounce of a kitten,
and the leap of the toad.

I should repent, and surely grow,
and against reasonable love relent
as against a friendly foe.
I should know.
I should know better than most men --
for, I conversed with Empyrian above,
and he is hopelessly fallen in love, in love.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

The Sea

by CWK

It hardly profits that a weary mind
in this dark night should peer past
human knowledge into God’s to find
the truth of things untrue. Lying
sleepless upon a battered mast,
whilst floating lonely in a starless,
stormy, sea, I see: knowing, I know less.
Finding, I have less, not more;
searching, I am never nearer shore.
Sea upon sea sprawls before me
in vast recess, with mystery e’r stored.

Sight in hind, sight declines most
when ‘pon past miseries trained;
for miseries o’rwhelm life and love,
and cover the good disclosed:
like frost upon the rose.
Yet, I sift ‘mong the memories. I hunt
for slivers of light in shade:
Convinced, there lives
in shadows, brighter days. Sane
I may not be, and dancing shadows give
little light; but what light I have,
I cherish – lest at last my last light perish,
and my last hope be undone.

‘Cross long travels and dreary distances
I recall only a single season of repose.
It was a long time ago, perhaps fancy,
and nothing more, when I was happy
in a place not so unlike a home.
Some seven suns ago, upon the Isle
of Numenor, I capsized and spent
a summer drinking Miruvor in mild
sunshine.  The women deemed me wild,
but harmless all the same. The men
deemed me wise, and to a man, a friend.
By all I was beloved; by all, esteemed.
But summer hasted onward, and unrest
began to grow.  For, the Island’s absent king
imposed a tax for past protection.
A demand, it seemed to me, in keeping
with proper fealty of subjection.
But, the men of the Isle were incensed,
and felt their honor sore offended.
For my part, I reckoned the hostility
a nuisance: a distraction soonly ended.

As mad men planned revolt; I laughed,
objected mildly, and scarcely dreamed of war.
Scarcely, but battle plans belied me,
and the Isle grew louder, crueler, bored;
for blood they were restless, and for
freedom of a sort denied to mortal men.
The king threatened; still, the fools boasted more,
and more. At last, the king's anger 
above his mercy soared,
and he grew wroth to settle scores.

I suppressed fear, but feared more;
I protested betimes contention, and hoped –
in folly – that peace would be restored.
 I declined to a kind of idle foolish ease,
and ignored all signs of certain strife
—until, on the day the first bite of Fall fell,
I woke a month into the war
to the sound of siege alarm, and the smell
of blood on blade,
and the cries of widows made.

I emerged, sleepy, dazed –
fires raged, and the stench of death
filled my heart, and cursed my far
flung dream of a home upon this sea.
I beheld men and women fleeing toward,
and away from, war. In the city center,
savaged, I beheld an infant standing,
famished, before a dessicated fountain.
I wept for orphans walking, lonely,
toward the citadel in the mountain.
For, by then, the mountain was no more.
I crawled across carnage to my little ship
as the Isle sank, and with luck, escaped – I only.