I would have died some time ago,
and several times over, since.
Lost upon myself, my day of birth:
As well as of the reason to be born.

In a gruelling process of ascent,
There upon this ever wearying rut;
mind and heart raised white flags,
Leaving behind an ill-worn tune.

Perhaps it explains this spectral jaunt;
my erstwhile existence from me torn.

I would have died some time ago, 
and several times over, since. 
Lost upon myself, my day of birth:
As well as of the reason to be born.

In a gruelling process of ascent,
There upon this ever wearying rut;
mind and heart raised white flags,
Leaving behind an ill-worn tune.

Perhaps it explains this spectral jaunt; 
my erstwhile existence from me torn.

breathe:

      all else

      is
        do
          wn
            wa
                rd
                     spin*


○●
°

So, I see that I shan't outrun your shadow;
you've made it clear I'm living in mine.

You, on the other hand, can't outfly my arrow,
So stay awhile longer in this moment divine.  

And though my verse will one day lose its rhyme;
we have at least to ourselves, this time.*





●○
°

They tell us to hold steady,
keep the ground firm,
but the ground itself shifts—
silent adjustments beneath
the weight of old decisions.

Change rolls in like the tide,
deliberate, insistent;
some brace against the swell, while
others dive into its forward pull.

Neither stillness nor
movement alone can hold us—
we are in the in-between,
where each choice sends
ripples across the surface
and every hesitation
writes itself into tomorrow.

everyone's got their reasons
even those that say they don't
everyone's got their seasons
whether they live it or won't

our ears are designed to hear
and lips were made to kiss
the batting of your lashes
turns stony hearts to bliss

for a time and half a time
this pen will cease its scribble
until reasons find its chime
then again resume its ripple*



_ _ __✒
●○
°

do not let your heart be dismayed
nor allow your countenance to fall
the shadows that surround are many
their stretching tendrils make you small

even a tiniest spark breaks darkness

and brightens up the darkest night*


●○
°

run now! Quick!
run, blindly ran
through the jungle
cut and punctured
in this abrasive

rain forest chainsaw
and that rain....
that driving rain
shall always be
whip cracking me

run to where?
ran to where
my soul stripped bare
washed of all iniquity
each droplet, jubilant

tiny screams of release
pelting at my guilt
mirroring my defeat
and the rain didn't mind
there was an axe to grind*







__✒

Would you know my gait
if merely my words parade,
while everything else lay hid?

Perhaps, should you have shared
in my thought and conversation;
maybe your soul would recall-

once, some time ago, I know
we rode our waves back to shore.*



_ _ __✒
●○
•

Gone underground
So that is the score;
In view of which
I can't say much more.

°

Raindrops trickle on a parched forest's brow
Then form translucent puddles in its waist.
Dappled reflections kiss your blushed cheek;
Finger prisms of a moment's dreamy grace.

In the streamlets, your contour takes shape,
Eyes that gaze with wing tips benign
As blooms synchronised on river flow
Summer showers caress your sleepy fields.

 

_ _ __ ✒
●○
°

This is your ultimate admonition
To set perspective in proportion
Of an age old curse, set in motion
It's time to take out the tanning lotion!

“Sun Between Us”

We met in the hush between semesters,
your hoodie up against the fluorescent cold.
I was Endymion—sleepless in a dream
you hadn’t meant to share.

You, Selene with earbuds in,
moonlit glow from your cracked phone screen,
texted back too fast and never what I meant to hear.

Helios was your morning shift—
his gold-flecked smile at the café,
the one who always got your order right,
who kissed with daylight precision.

I asked if you ever missed the dark.
You said you liked it
but needed the sun to feel real again.

Still, you’d find me
between the blinds at midnight,
pulling me in with your gravity
then vanishing at dawn.

I wrote you poems you left unread.
You sent me playlists I played to sleep.
We loved in pieces—
like sky through city scaffolding.

And though I knew
I’d lose you to a brighter orbit,
I stayed still— a moonshadow boy
waiting to glow again in your reflected fire.

Etched in my heart, patterned chiselling emotion

Under foot the mossy down through forgotten paths

jolted by breath, your air reminds me of that time

now you have gone away into the sun and shade

playing and wandering in another clime and place

among countless souls all tucked neatly away

behind numerous stone markers, row upon row

like counting bits of sand too numerous to hold

whose gravelly grains have scattered in my mind

reflecting serenely what once was yours and mine

in stillness lay a day
under the trembling air
Zephyr's dulcet exhaling
plucks gently on a lyre

subtle melodies to ear
each note snatches droplets
of sweet nectar; of delight
covert by fronds dancing

in the belly of the night
all through wee measures
pleasant whispers portray
fond joys and merry play*



●○
°

thou hast waxed sarcastic
to mock and disrespect the
misfortunes of another's need
whether male or female
of varied colour and creed

why dost thou behave unseemly
become as a clanging cymbal
blustering as sounding brass?
kindle again, first love's flame
before it's too late, unsweet charity

roil toil bubble and boil
let news, your appetite spoil*



Ever get those feelings

as you sit at 6 p.m.

watching the newscast

horrified & helpless?




One day you wil;l as well

put into glaring words

what in your heart, you see:

things that should not be




____✒
○●

Squatting on promise -
verdant crest of Mount Parnassus,
on the cusp of a new revelation;

a late-coming realisation:

now at Inspiration's doorstep,
reality is an unexplored frontier.
Here I stand, unwelcome again.*




●○
°

a quick notion of poetry in motion
dare you click the link
find yourself taken
             for a ride

some, too many, find this
diversion annoying
others, on the other hand
don't mind...

      whoppee, for a joy ride!*



●○
○

On powd'ry grains of sand
at genial island's narrow end,
        morning gently breaks:

casting stones at crested waves;
cheeks still moist, in briny breeze.*



●○
°

resuscitate
an ailing soul
bereft of starlight's

superb glimmer
and woollen warmth.  
Mayhap, stellate glow

in the stillness
of tranquil flight,
their counsel, console.

Humbly, we plea--
hymn of the night,
come and tarry awhile.*




_ _ __ ✏
○●
°

Up to a point
leaves will seep
into all its waters
until the cup overflows

so much as to stain
meticulously starched table linen.
Then we shall face with reckoning
its true substance!*






__✒

when reasons
have changed, 
transformed along

with circumstances 
defined by those we
have allowed into our

             life 

shaping us 
charging us
releasing us

and giving new days
their tints and shades;
now to open up jugular 

and allow hatchets to fall 
or celestial hosts in array,
rouses breath-bound to sing.*




_ _ __ ✒
●○
°

Drenched in heavy morning rain
Like an arctic soaking, to the vein;
I just sat there stunned and wordless,
by the results of endless tests.

Only do I seek the scoffer's sympathy;
my litanies dot the bottom of this timpani.
No restaurant on high street offers...
Whoa! I found where my sanity rests:

A very comforting hand takes mine,
The other hand, by her child as well.
I draw dry ice sculptures in my mind,
While a hawk’s screech rings overhead.





_✒

'

The TV is my shepherd, I shall not want.
It maketh me to lie down on the sofa.
it leadeth me away from the scriptures;
It destroyeth my soul,
It leads me in the path of *** and violence;
For the sponsors' sake.
yea,  though I walk in the shadow of my Christian responsibilities
There will be no interruptions
For the TV is with me.
Its cable and remote control, they comfort me!
It prepareth an infommercial before me
In the presence of my worldliness;
It anointeth my head with humanism.
My coveting runneth over....
Surely,  laziness and ignorance shall follow me
All the days of my life,
And I shall dwell in the house, watching TV, forever.
Amen.




_ __ ✒
○●
°

With disdain they looked upon one Billy McGee
a boy that promised never to be
a rep that's scarred and scratched
for sure his name's mismatched
as darker skin ya'ever did see
on blackish hair with reddish flecks of Billy McGee.

A red haired aboriginal boy
matches were only a toy
and he was caught red handed
and always branded
the troublesome fire starter.
poor boy had no farda
he was stolen in a generation
trouble, his one destination
for any of his wild sown seed.
Never had a chance, Billy McGee.

'

Arise, and walk along these streets, 
breathe and partake of these dregs 
of the mighty industrial age; 
paint effulgent colours of its appeal - 

toxic fumes that light our path 
to days only just imagined. 


Parted lips bare wisdom, 
shatter silence that shackles; 
within parched throat, sealed 
sounds peal from indolent belfry - 

tender whispers caress 
each unknown orphaned heart. 


Lift high bright banners brave; 
let the bitter winds bite 
lash fierce its tattered frame, 
light gapes through its holes- 

release the soul's query: 
How can one forgive what is forgotten? 


Illumine that dim horizon; 
extricate each sole from bog and mire. 
Grab the morning call, 
Borrow its voice if you must - 

Stir up the spirit from slumber; 
the darkness of night will not prevail.




_ _ ✒
○●
°

'

Arise, and walk along these streets, 
breathe and partake these dregs 
of the mighty industrial age; 
paint effulgent colours of its appeal - 

toxic fumes that light our path 
to days only just imagined. 


Parted lips bare wisdom, 
shatter silence that shackles; 
within parched throat, sealed 
sounds peal from indolent belfries - 

tender whispers caress 
each unknown orphaned heart. 


Lift high, bright banners brave; 
let the bitter winds bite 
lash fierce against tattered frame, 
light shines through gaping holes- 

release the soul's query: 
How can one forgive what is forgotten? 


Illumine that dim horizon; 
extricate each sole from bog and mire. 
Grab bugler's morning call, 
Borrow its voice if you must - 

Stir up the spirit from slumber; 
the dark of night will not prevail.




_ _ ✒
○●
°

beauty, they say,
is in the eye of the beholder.
ergo, if feet smell like cheese
or cheese stink like feet
all depends on the nose
of the smeller....*



●○
°

A barely audible creak greeted me
As I entered a still unfamiliar home.
Then his figure approached, step by step;
Aged and wizened, unsteady at a walker.

Where it not for his gait and slouch,
He could have been any other.
Now he seemed so much smaller,
Not the monstrous terror of long ago.

There I stood, a deer in the spotlight,
Shaking off a child's phantom fright;
In the haze of ill-served remembrance
Realising that I loved him all along.

"There must be a death for
there to be a resurrection; 
the demise of something
in part or the whole of: 
that portion of one's being.

Only then shall we see
with eyes new as morning's first light.

Only then shall we have
reinvented ourselves: 
allow ourselves to take the first steps
laden with amnesia
of the former, forgotten self.

Come and cease to be
and let today bow to the
kiss of tomorrow's promise.

Tread upon the petals of yesterday
and smell the fragrance that
lingers, that solitary spectre, 
olfactory memory that words cannot outline.

Wound your forgiveness with the scar of remembrance.

Nothing is as sweet to the lips 
than the ashes strewn from the rising phoenix."




Copyright Frederick Kesner

Lichen, you are the quiet conqueror,
Settling where others cannot,
On barren rock and ancient trees,
You weave your tapestry.

In shades of green and gray,
You whisper the language of time,
Slowly, subtly, transforming,
The places you call home.

You thrive in stillness,
In the patience of centuries,
A symbiosis of life,
In the most unlikely places.

In your intricate forms,
We see resilience,
A testament to survival,
Against the harshest of odds.

You do not boast,
You do not cry for attention,
Yet in your quiet existence,
You teach us the power of perseverance.