poetry and more from Kenneth W Arthur

Category Small Stone Hearts

An Evening at Home in an Alien World

An Evening at Home in an Alien World I. Sent forth with hope from a world in peril, the Traveler flees masses destitute, their leaders immoral, their lands sterile, nations embroiled in violent dispute. In a last gasp to save… Continue Reading →


Winter comforts meant to mollify tomato soup grilled cheese fuzzy throw wear thin turn trapped gazes within hungry for hibernation deep sleep of serenity eludes stares into crackling fire of mind-space scorching veneer exposing courting disaster alices into wonderland where… Continue Reading →

In Celebration of the Versatility of the Human Tongue

In Celebration of the Versatility of the Human Tongue Oh, let us wallow in the joys of the multi-talented tongue! How wondrous and magical this pink fleshy lump, this protruding pleasure center, pulling us like an overloaded wagon of sensory… Continue Reading →

No Escape

No Escape Fleeting scent of rotting flora haunts forest of stripped skeletons, appendages sway in bitter breeze while, sentinel of arboreal graveyard, I keep vigil in the bowels of these bones, waiting for death to ferment. Woodland spirits disturb my… Continue Reading →

False Spring

False Spring Malady unvaried in monotonous rhythm, my love retires annually to her bed, pushing away all who seek embrace. Pallid and shivering, she slumbers for months until, recovered, she returns to her responsibilities as if nothing had been amiss…. Continue Reading →

Acadian Ontology

Acadian Ontology Printed memories preserve the cool, sprinkling summer morning as I descend the framework of wooden steps to the small deserted bay on the Maine coast. Searching for adventure, I crave profundity in nature’s beauty. An otherworldliness that I… Continue Reading →

American Sentences

American Sentences Apartment, Kalamazoo, MI, 2018         Buried in dirty laundry, the treadmill whispers lies of pulchritude.         Living alone, the dining table becomes a dump for day’s debris.         I… Continue Reading →


Bifurcation (After the image “Chickens!” by Marion Clarke) Two doors by which to enter, the path into myself splits before it reaches the heart. My lies strut, peck the packed dirt clean of tell-tale infestations and kernels that might root…. Continue Reading →

Photograph, 80 years later

Photograph, 80 years later Photography takes an instant out of time, altering life by holding it still. – Dorothea Lange Three children, hands in laps, pose on a log cabin porch behind their young father cradling a newborn babe while… Continue Reading →

Dear Dad

Dear Dad We were never intimates. Men in our family never talked much. Vulnerability is weakness so we stuck to safe topics. Don’t get me wrong, there’s no animosity either. If there was a need, we did our best, but… Continue Reading →

« Older posts

© 2024 The Timid Poet — Powered by WordPress

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑