fresh salted wounds and cherry wine

Fingertips

Busy minds

You're one of my kind

How do you negotiate

Your way through a world

Where many would rather

Kill than vote

Rather dominate

Than negotiate

Rather force retreat

Than compete

I'd love to hear your thoughts

Pass the salt

Pour me a glass of cherry wine

I'm a zombie

Waiting for you

To feed me your mind

Comments

Reasonable Words

Photo by Brooke Cagle on Unsplash I married my small town There was no shotgun I had a way out & My youngest son was set When faced with a choice of flight & hoping to find you While hoping you would find me I chose love & sacrifice over poetry Truth is though poetry never left Never will leave Moves as I move But I may have sacrificed Any chance with you I was not afraid to risk All my coin on a pitch & toss Then write 10,000 words That makes a gain of loss I just couldn’t tell what was true You seemed to prefer your solitude Aside from that There was a need A weight that fell Upon some I love There was no providence coming Other than what these hands With what I had in my hands In my heart In my mind With my choice This is not to say no one cared It’s just that it’s ruggedly Individualist out here & the trickles Never get anything close to Raising our boats Some wo

The 5 People Who Make Life Heaven

They listen when you need to talk Talk when you need to listen They know your darkness Let you know theirs Without judgement and expectation You can talk to them about how you see things They don't get angry or anxious when you disagree Trust you enough to say what they really think Read tweets and novels Never make you beg or grovel Won't allow it Remind you that you're better than that Lay some of their burden on you Let you behind their wall Feel welcome behind yours You feel each other with heart and mind Even if you don't explain yourself They get you You get them These are the ones that make life worth living Make you love to be alive Reflect you to you Teach and learn Some days the lead singer Some days the band These are the ones You can count on one hand (c) Ron Kennedy

Poetry Tree

I saw no birds grieve No fallen leaves No branches on the ground None made a sound It wasn’t rotten It didn’t die in a storm Capitalism came In its progress form To take one of my last Best refuges from me I may be the only one who noticed The death of my poetry tree.

Between The Rhymes

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