The Timid Poet

poetry and more from Kenneth W Arthur

Page 4 of 12

Music Box

Music Box The delicate ballerina’s twirl mesmerized as it un-wound, leaving only the ghost of music shimmering, a remnant in the stillness of memory, stillness of moments pregnant with possibility, as if another turn could somehow sound my desolate depths…. Continue Reading →

Your sons and daughters will prophesy (Acts 2:17)

Your sons and daughters will prophesy (Acts 2:17) (After the image “Humid” by Joshua Eric Williams) Every so often the trees call, needing to impart wisdom. When their mystical chant beckons, I hasten to walk their forest abbeys, silent, listening,… Continue Reading →

Birds in a Mirror

Birds in a Mirror (After the image “Cloud Dance” by Claire Ibarra) Eyes locked with the old man, I’m reminded of stark trees naked in winter branches devoid of color, only a remembrance of beauty. Mottled with imperfection, his body… Continue Reading →

What the world needs

What the world needs Guiding taillights abruptly invisible, I gently step on the brake. Even the centerline fades as thick ground-fog hangs over the highway, camouflages oncoming traffic and the next bend. As I white knuckle my way forward, I… Continue Reading →

The Brazen Bard

The Brazen Bard Expeditions are risky. Moonflowers unfold beauty into darkness from which stanzas of our lives flow down the page. Or not. Much too can be said in a short haiku. Or what follows may hollow that first line… Continue Reading →

A Lament for Truth

A Lament for Truth I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word. – Martin Luther King, Jr. Tears caress cheeks as we gather to mourn: Truth is dead. It may have won some day but… Continue Reading →

Sacraments

Sacraments An unintentional baptism, canoe livery advised follow river center when we come to whitewater remains of demolished dam. The precipitous plunge briefly thins rushing water, removes its depth, draws bedrock closer. Froth of river’s fury warns of peril while… Continue Reading →

Is this poem real?

Is this poem real? Foucault claimed we are all inventions of ourselves, defined into bondage by those who would control us. Scientists classify genus and species to separate, organize but we’re still cousins to great apes. You can see it… Continue Reading →

Not Yet

Not Yet I. Empty jars, egg cartons, decades-old magazines, bins of yarn purchased and unused await someday in mom’s garage like scraps of phrases I once wrote and rejected mingle in digital purgatory, vague ideas of significant insignificance yearning for… Continue Reading →

Cracked

Cracked You might not believe but I used to walk with senses spread, ears perked for robins rejoicing over unusually warm March days, eyes attentive to shirtless frat boys jogging away winter hibernation. That was before a bit of pavement… Continue Reading →

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