“And so it begins.”
“What, exactly?”
“Well the thing that makes everything up and down and all around, or course.”
“And so it seems. Likewise, I found such a thing that turns it all around in a turning of up and down.”
“The definition?”
“Yes.”
“Aha, a quandary to the average mind, and yet here I am stumbling.”
“And the mind stumbles upon such matters, and matters stumble upon changing minds.”
“Quite!”
“Quite.”
Butterflies to shells
Cherry Blossoms ink seeds
If the shoe fits, burn it
If the truth hurts, burn it
A Utopian city, crowds
without faces
Books without story
Words lost of meaning
Is not a hill destroyed
when land around heightens?
Where dost the city go
When the hills are merged in
one.
Its come to what?
My feelings this, my “safety” that?
Work without fun a fallacy
but fun without work, lost
-Kite
I was given a challenge
to write a poem a day
She said, write in midst of
failure, and fail in hopes in
dreams.
She said write when you need
to write, write when you don’t
want to.
Writing poetry doesn’t mean writing
poetically, romantically every word.
I don’t want to be poetic
I wrote, and write alone
Poetry is not defined by style,
but by the impact.
Did anyone feel anything after?
If not, I write, emulate, a
rambling romantic harnessed by
literary elites, the modern day pharisees.
It’s too nice out today
The sun’s rays on my face
the clouds in heavenly chorus
and I sunk in green moss
and lily pads
I beg rain and thunder to
fit my appetite
Droplets on windows a rhythm
for my melancholy
It’s too nice out today
for a poet, little time for joy
Withdraw your glare sun,
let blue have its day
-Kite
April
an era past
met ‘neath cherry blossoms
rapt in love, long hour, fate had changed
I wish.
five centimeters per second
blossom leaves fall to ground
your tranquil fall,
Mine, Yours
-Kite
I was given a goblet of suffering,
a shot glass for love
The gods spat me to dirt
with a burden I cannot carry
There and back
with blood and tears
I crumble
to the dirt of my beginnings
They string puppets
while drunk on thrones
Heavenly realm
while driving a sword into my soul
Come down cowards,
the Most High
Live through my eyes and feel
my barren love
I stretch my hands
to pure clouds high
I grip to pull them
face to face
-Kite
It’s almost springtime, the time we met
my eyes gaze across the courtyard
as I search for you, hoping you might show
The violet lilacs and sentimental Willow
I know you won’t come back
yet, I look anyway
April is just around the corner
The spring where I found love
April rain, I kissed you under destiny
and the bond of our hearts
It was April, that you told one little lie
“I’m not going anywhere”
It was when I asked for you to be mine
The south wind picked up, and you stood
Like a still butterfly in birthing May
the tides of March were riveting my soul
my heart was holding on to you,
but God had taken you away
Now I stand at your grave,
as the Cherry blossoms turn
in hues of orange and red
I hear the bitter voice of reality,
but the voice I wanted to keep hearing
was yours
My ears hear, and they embrace me
Through time we were together,
I’d never trade a day
It’s almost springtime, the time we met
April is just around the corner
I met you under the blooming cherry blossoms
from that moment,
I knew my fate had changed
My heart will never forget those days
thank you
-Kite
The traffic pushed in the back
Honk this, screech that
The people walked their walk
Commotion surrounding, noise and all
he sat there, on the corner of South Grand
Boulevard
A table and a chair, he sat
the eye can only imagine the life that
sits
He a man like me, tired of it all
He sat at the corner
of South Grand Boulevard
His mind was drowning, as his brow against
arms.
Drop.
Smack.
He dropped his drink.
Not a move.
Not a flinch.
He sat there silent on the corner
of South Grand Boulevard
Grace to the ones who ponder, who
think.
Respect to the ones feeling a moment of pain.
Drop your reality off
at the corner of South Grand Boulevard
-Kite
My feet amble, I feel the zephyr
as my face coddles the eve’s raw hand
and my unresting halitus,
crippling my spiteful heart
A benevolent panacea to cede dark hours
I am in hallows, the gravity of guilt
Callow blood of ivory, perfect simplicity
spilt forth the dark endemic, ’tis onyx victory
My heart naught endured, practice in ashes
All is lost, faith shrivels into barren pieces
Deathly solar eclipse, as light is veiled by hate
My fingers numb, minds a blank
Drinking white wine in the sun, they laugh.
The shining day, as evil reigns with malice
Men in dead spirits, glimmering atop breathing graves
-Kite
(PHOTO CREDIT TO BETHANY RUSSELL at https://thesenseofbeing.wordpress.com)When the happiness of life is entangled with a tragic loss
When Kings are showered with the gold,
but are covered with a thick stroke of sadness
When we live in black and white
and are paintings become somber, bland, and prosaic
Just one stroke of ravishing color will enlighten a world
A life is to be a collage of shadows of black and blue,
streaming brushstrokes of red and green.
Shallow tints of gold and purple
Life is full of emotions and feelings, and we live them everyday.
-Kite
Zeno Kite 