Tag: poetry

so far from there

Jim KempsterLeave a comment

A well-crafted cradle awaited at home:
masterful hands turned each wood post with care,
expectant love sewn into bedding and quilt.
But the night he arrived, they were so far from there.

Summoned to journey to prove their allegiance 
amidst rumors of vengeful tyrant kings, 
they cleared dung from hay for a bed in a trough
and shelter from what the encroaching night brings.

Family back home would have gathered to welcome
with kettles and blankets of comfort to spare.
But here, only strangers followed cries in the fields 
to a drafty hay barn, oh, so far from there.

This winter my heart is heavy and broken
amidst news of a vengeful tyrant king,
can’t rise to the joy on my twinkling bower
or wish for a chorus of angels to sing.

If I’m wanting for hope or assurance tonight
that the world turns towards peace and all that is fair,
I remember the family huddled in the hay
and all that they’d hoped for, so far from there.

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something real

Jim KempsterLeave a comment
An imageless black square, often used to indicate the subject is somber or not for interpretation.

Airbrushed Ashley’s puffed lips 
ask to be my Meta-friend, daily.
Josh-bot phones me on the hour
about my Medicare A and B.
A.I.’s six-digit hands scramble history 
in Pixar-colored newsfeeds
where my friends used to be.
And, junk pollsters survey if I’m mad
enough to donate more and more.

This old historian 
and humanitarian 
vacillates 
between setting the record, 
comment-by-comment, 
or retreating 
to a good book and 
the dog on my knee.

But I know isolation,
like soulless contact, 
breeds despair, 
and Nero fiddles 
with tariffs
while America burns 
out.

So, I join the struggle,
to write 
something real,
wondering
if the algorithms
will expose 
or bury me.

city leaves

Jim KempsterLeave a comment

City leaves, keep their color 
long into Novembers, 
chartreuse and saffron hues 
still aflutter on the avenues
while country cousins 
dour and rust back home.

City leaves hold on 
into their Decembers,
clinging to brittle leases 
on reaches intended 
for short-term stays
well after they’ve 
crinkled brown 
trying not to 
snap
and
fall. 

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bridalwreath

Jim KempsterLeave a comment

IMG_1195antique lace
skirts garden steps
the train of a gown
still brightly bleached
and pressed
despite palpable dust
on fingertips
and faint fragrance
of ancient talcum

on swayed branches
catching my eye
each year
an unassuming
mid-May surprise
halfway between
the giddy parade of
spring’s confetti blossoms
and summer’s sizzling
thick green canopy
marking the memorial
of my first breath Continue reading “bridalwreath” →

symphony

Jim KempsterLeave a comment

 

city dawn sq

It starts with a soft hiss
in the dark
that percolates into a jangle
like chains
being pulled through pipes
which, in turn,
complain
of growing pains
with loud clanks and bangs
as they learn
again
to radiate heat.

The sheets
and the dog are warm.
The bathroom tiles will take
a little longer to comply.
I lie awake and watch
the dark blue silhouetted peeks
wink open
as windows light
one-by-one
to the rhythm
of my radiator
symphony.

marcello’s lullaby

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img_1529

Oh, how I love my sweet ‘Cello bello boy!
I love him right up!
Did you meet my sweet ‘Cello bello boy?
That rascally pup!
How I love Marcello.
How I love Marcello.
How I love my sweet ‘Cello boy.

On the street, my sweet ‘Cello bello boy
is growly and gruff.
If you greet my sweet ‘Cello bello boy,
he’s rowdy and rough.
But at home, Marcello
is my sweet Marcello.
How I love my sweet ‘Cello boy.

Watch him run, with his feet flying, ‘Cello boy,
a wag in his tail,
and the wind ‘neith the ears of my ‘Cello boy,
like flags on a sail!
On the run, Marcello.
(Cutest bun, Marcello!)
How I love my sweet ‘Cello boy.

Go to sleep, my sweet ‘Cello bello boy,
and dream of a day
when the squirrels and the wheels, ‘Cello bello boy,
have all spun away.
Go to sleep, Marcello.
Dream sweet dreams, Marcello..
How I love my sweet ‘Cello boy.

—

Lyrics by Jim Kempster, based on the melody of a waltz by Vince Guaraldi.

Continue reading “marcello’s lullaby” →