Happiness is Poetry: Rev Kane

Good writing is supposed to evoke sensation in the reader – not the fact that it is raining, but the feeling of being rained upon. ~ E. L. Doctorow

Tonight for our weekly poetry post some of my own poetry.  Always a nerve wracking thing to put your own stuff out there and feedback and comments are always appreciated.  The pieces tonight were all written this year, enjoy and have a happy day my friends                   ~ Rev Kane

Unspoken                                                              01/17/15

All of the unspoken things
exist in the space between us
or are the space between us
or is what connects
and ties us together

I wonder
if we give voice
to the things unsaid
does that give them power
would saying you love me
sweep us both away

Would telling you
you are the love of my life
drive us to madness
or badness
leading to an entanglement
of more than or minds

We are special friends
in the same way
Einstein’s theory
is called special relativity
in which he threw upside down all the rules
for space and time, sound familiar?

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Reconstructed Heart                               06/21/15

How does it pump?
How does it work?
How, does it even fit
in the cavity of my chest?

Blown apart
stepped on
cut
ripped
torn
utterly obliterated
yet.

Here I stand
well, sitting actually
a reconstructed man
with a reconstructed
and still beating heart

So many times
so intricately
have I rebuilt this muscle
the parts, now
are like Lego bricks
with worn and broken connectors
such that reassembly
must include
the use of bubble gum and rubber bands

You know who you are
you vandals and frauds
you, who have been inconsiderate
with the handling of my heart

The only question that remains
does this reconstructed heart
this reassembled and ragtag organ
still possess the qualities
of the pure and original whole
forgiveness
compassion
love
I don’t know
It’s late at night
I’ve had far too little sleep
and not nearly enough to drink
to have such answers

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The Ghost of my Heart                             12/02/15

Thoughts and words
coming in conversation
with the best of friends
the ghost of my heart
a genius wild pony
my mirror
my muse
how you haunt me
passing through the walls
of my heart
my mind
my soul
my defenses
passing with ease
impossible to grasp and hold
a momentary ethereal visage
in my mind’s eye

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Shadow Boxing                                      05/5/15

I grow tired
of shadow boxing with your heart
the ethereal nature
to elusive for my hands
I reach out
only to find
darkness
instead of purchase

But like the madman I am
I keep swinging
somehow
still under the illusion
that I can make contact
trap,
that which I once thought I had
convinced,
that shadows
only exist in the presence of light

So, here I am
shadow boxing again
a old tired man
with nothing left
but a shadow of you
to occupy my time

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Roots                                                  12/10/15

We come
from carny folk
Irish drunks
hillbilly stock
mobsters
and a wife of Jesus
these are our roots
damn miracle
the bush even grew

My grandmother
was exiled by my grandfather
never returned
my aunt Jane
tossed the women
out on the lawn
when she said, get out
you listened
she’d burned down
a house or two
in her time
unconcerned
with occupancy status

You hope for better
as you grow older
a tall, wide bush
soft leaves and shade
plenty of water, sun
but it seems
the leaves
just turn colors
get brittle
fall off

The best you can do
some days
is to huddle by the trunk
hold the other seedlings
pray it doesn’t rain
hope like hell
that if you make another branch
it’s a hybrid

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Orphan                                   01/22/15

Sometimes
I really wish I had a parent
you know
someone you could turn to
for advice
or comfort
I’ve never really had one

Ok,
that last line
probably isn’t true
but it’s been so long
I no longer remember the feeling
hell, I was even over Santa Claus
by the age of 4

It’s not all bad
you get strong, real fast
you learn now to be in charge
people come to look to you
for answers
decisions
guidance

But you can never be weak
you can never cry
not in front of others
their world construct depends too much
on you holding it together
and all your tears would do
is start a flood

So you shed your tears in private
and scream at the world alone
in the dark and quiet of the night
you become more than a bit cynical
and of course, you motor on
you understand, better than most
there is no other option

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Some Other Poetry You Might Enjoy!

Ashe Vernon

Charles Bukowski

Doug Draime

Pablo Neruda

Hosho McCreesh

Langston Hughes