whistle

she grew up near the railroad tracks
there she & her friends would wander in packs
in jeans with holes that revealed scabby knees
they’d count train cars in the summer breeze

the tracks led to another place
where she had a friend with a smiling face
two dreamy kids, outcasts who didn’t care
finding joy in the secrets they would share

to the tracks she’d often go alone
delighting in being on her own
there to write a lengthy epistle
a childish homage to the train’s whistle

each day the sound awakened her
like sunrise, she knew it would occur
she loved the melancholy song it sang each night
as she lay in bed in the glow of a single light

almost hazy now are those days of her youth
& she’s had to learn many a bitter truth
though life is sunshine marked by stormy rains
comfort can be found in the whistle of passing trains

copyright © 2016 KPM

whistle

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when she wuz two

when ah leave da room
fo’ a much-needed pee
a little voice comes through da door:
“aunty kaffie, come get me!”
 
when ah boot up mah laptop
to write a poem or two
a tiny voice demands:
“aunty kaffie, whut you do?”
 
when ah let slip a swear word
a mild one like ‘dayum’ or ‘hell”
da little voice bursts into giggles:
“aunty kaffie, ah’m a tell!”
 
whut when where
how why who
baby gurl is fulla questions
ah’m exhausted thru ‘n thru!
 
copyright © 2014 KPM

Modelling the earrings from Auntie Kaffie

in days gone by

in days gone by
there was bright blue sky
& carolling clouds & sun that shone
amidst this beauty the Weaver walked alone
sometimes she sang, mostly she thought
& she was happy more often than not
watching everything with a wary writer’s eye
silently seeking an answer to the eternal question:
why?

in days gone by
lived an aging monarch
dying lion in a tower in a city out of place
& every day his mirror revealed
another line bisecting his face
vividly he recalled the taste of old dangers
as he grew old surrounded by
sycophants & strangers
who do not know him, who do not care
that he dreams of a Weaver with jet-black hair

in days gone by
the Weaver would dance
through streets & square
oblivious to point & stare
slanted eyes searching for those who knew
& weren’t afraid to join her retinue
but she was luckless, the city’s inhabitants pluckless
misunderstood, she was mocked & taunted
yet she danced & wove, undaunted

in days gone by
the aging monarch mourned
struggling vainly to recapture the kingdom
where love in him was born
he is moody & melancholy, wondering if this is all
groaning beneath the weight of the script
that orchestrates his fall
pleading & praying to the deities above
that at his life’s end he’s granted
one more chance to love

in days gone by
the Weaver lost heart
she could find no one who’d listen
to the tales she had to tell
the townsfolk sneered & scoffed at her
resistant to her spell
so she packed her poems & potions
& set off for distant lands
enraged but resolute she leaves, with ne’er a backward glance
for she is still the Weaver & her faith is still in Chance

in days gone by
the monarch’s eyes grew dim
his soul was cold
late one night he quit his kingdom
seeking someone warm to hold
he cast off his robes of ermine, & tossed aside his crown
tormented by terrible thoughts as he trod the stony ground
bewildered & bitter, his royal heart was in despair
then the wondrous words of the Weaver
floated to him through the air

she sang of ships that sailed the seas
& slaves that killed their masters
of love that brought one to their knees
& the squander of piasters
& creatures that did terrorize the Lost Boy of the bog
maidens with mesmerizing eyes whose lovers dwelt in fog
she sang of all these things & more
in a voice sultry & strong
& the monarch rejoiced that he had found
that which he’d sought for so long

with agéd voice he spoke to her, laying bare all his woes
how he’s hounded by fear & futility
as his useless life comes to a close
he’s lost the desire for food & drink
& fleshly delights are past
on Death he wastes neither thoughts nor fear
accepting those die as cast
“But I pray,” he pleads,
“Grant me one wish – to lie with you at my last.”

the Weaver’s gentle soul is touched, & her heart is kind
she takes the monarch by the hand, & leads him like one blind
to the center of the enchanted wood
tall trees with leaves like lace
on the mossy bed where they recline, she reveals her secret face
& he gazes on her glory, his old eyes red & bleary
& she sings to him & kisses him
‘til he’s no longer weary

in days gone by
an abdicated king &
a Weaver with jet-black hair
dwelt in an enchanted wood
& lived lives free from care
no thought they gave to the outside world
no wish had they to go back
pleased by each other’s presence
of love they had no lack
& they grew old together
untroubled by cold or storm
& when at last the monarch died
he did so in arms that were warm

copyright © 2014 KPM

the poet

the amorous couple in the Tesco aisle

listen my children
here’s a tale to make you smile
‘bout some kids I saw
in the Metro Tesco aisle

young couple in their early 20s
out for a bit of fun
& totally oblivious
to everyone

punk rockers they were –
or maybe they were Goth
both had spiky hair & piercings
fully covered in black cloth

the girl’s hair was magenta
the boy’s a brilliant sky blue
& they gazed upon each other
with eyes that shone like dew

they stood like perfect statues
in the middle of the floor
hands clasped & lips locked
while shoppers ambled round the store

some shoppers looked upon them
with mingled scorn and disgust
but they didn’t bother me:
I rather admired their lust

it’s a natural emotion
neither dirty nor stealthy
they were happy showing their love,
so to me, that made them healthy

I paid for my purchases
pretending not to watch them kiss
hoping my face did not reveal
my envy at their bliss

as I walked up the hill alone
on my face was a wistful smile
rememberin’ my days as part of a couple
like the one in the Tesco aisle

copyright © 2009-2014 KPM

amorous couple pic

shaker lake

one late summer evening
after washin’ the GTO
he casually suggests
they get in the car & go

“where we goin’?” she asks
he gives her hand a playful shake
squeezes her ass & says,
“let’s go down to Shaker Lake”

“I can get some beer & weed,
cuz I got a little money,
& we need the time alone,
please don’t say no, honey”

so down Fairmount they head
beneath the dusky sky
& she can barely breathe
aware of his hand on her thigh

down Fairmount he drives
past kids playin’ in their front yard
& she blushes as she thinks
of her nipples & how they’re hard

he makes a hasty stop
to get the beer & the weed
while she waits in the car
vulva throbbin’ with its need

he turns right offa Fairmount
the June night’s now fully dark
downshifts expertly
& beneath the trees they park

he kisses her
before they get out the car
her hand moves between his legs
his dick’s an iron bar

they stumble from the car
tightly clutching hands
her eyes alight with lust
his calves tightly wound rubber bands

in a safe secluded spot
he watches as she disrobes
grabbin’ her before she’s finished
& she delights in the tongue that probes

possessively he kisses her
hands movin’ restlessly thru her hair
they maul her breasts & belly
beneath the full moon’s glare

joyously she gives him everything
her heart & soul welcome the ache
she’s young, alive & loved
on the banks of Shaker Lake

copyright © 2010-2014 KPM

shaker lake pic

16 dreams

I dreamt I was 16 again
unburdened by weighty thoughts of sin
heart light as a feather
free from care
‘n brave enough
to accept any dare

I dreamt that I was 16 still
with many goals I’d yet to fulfill
idealistic
believing all mankind was good
a day-dreaming dweller
in my own Norwegian Wood

I dreamt I was 16 once more
when the whole world was an open door
caves ‘n mountains
secret spaces
a curious child
exploring other places

now over 50, my heart remains 16
‘n there is much I’ve learned ‘n seen
life ‘n death
some loss ‘n love
bathed in blessings
from high above

copyright © 2014 KPM

16 dreams pic