Poetry

It is so evident at evening
our time is dwindling.

So put aside the trivial chatter
of incessant interruption of reasoning
twittering all the day long
with an absence of audience.

Think about the laughing times
and the loving times
long before electronics.

A man is an island now;
connections are not real.

Breath, warmth, touch are absent
in the waves of light
mocking reality.

—Kathleen Ellis Faulkner

It stands there oblivious to its mystic powers.

Brilliant stars crown this stately majesty;
The clouds provide its velvet cloak;
a towering rock its scepter;
the winds its towering voice.

Many are driven to conquer the mountain.
Ancient spirits embodied within the rock
lament the victims who dared
to challenge its luring magnificence.

What does the mountain represent?
Challenge or obstacle, beauty or fear,
Grandeur or danger?

To us poor souls, the mountain defies our mortality.

—Kathleen Ellis Faulkner

Would we love a baby’s laugh
if we never heard it scream?

Would we grasp reality
without the vision or the dream?

Would the brightness of the sunrise
mean as much without the night?

Would the trophy from the victory
mean as much without the fight?

Do we appreciate the inside
after being locked without?

Does the shadow of the unknown
help us grasp what life’s about?

Had we ever felt the joy
if we never felt the pain?

Loved the warmth of sunshine
if it wasn’t for the rain?

When the darkest times of sorrow
on our path came bearing down

Did it not define the joyfulness
that later we have found?

If never were we down
would we then not know what’s up?

If once we tasted dregs
would we lift another cup?

If never did we die
then never would we live

Most likely would we miss
what life would like to give

So one defines the other
on this path that we will go

Life is all about…
the twin scenario

—David Kettler

I will not swim
In shallow water
I will not ride
A smoother road

The downhill path
Is fine for others
Who choose to carry
A lighter load

I’m a free spirit
A loner
A solo sailor
The winding road
The open sea

A constant vision
In the distance
The lens of life
Through which I see

Please don’t cage me
Un-tie the tether
Remove the chains
And set me free

Let me wander
Through distant lands
Tell the world
To let me be

I care, I love
I search for meaning
The path of life
For which to take

Just don’t tell me
What I must do
Where I must go
For pity’s sake

I risk the depths
To swim the deep
Shallow waters
I refuse

The prize is mine
Lifted at last
I will win
I will not lose

—David Kettler
(I wrote this about my nephew Jake Nelson. A true free spirit.)

 

I’m a poet locked in a time-clock jail, just yearning to be free
A jailbird stuck with no money for bail, scheming of ways I could flee

Day after day in a dead-end gig, and the years are passing me by
Will I ever say good-bye to this brig, or am I just too weary to try?

Doing my time in a uniform stripe, we all look alike, you would know
I listen to all the prisoners gripe or spin their sad tales of woe

“They’re guilty!” those who look on will say, and often they’re right on the mark
We all have done deeds for which we must pay, locked up in a room that is dark

A small window above I see in my cell, and the sun will sometimes shine through
Its comfort and warmth I know oh so well, though the moments are fleeting and few

The poet wakes up- his cell mates all stir… parole is a possible thing!
In those moments of hope the mind is a blur, with a future that freedom could bring

All in a line we march on in time, to punch our own time-clock in jail
With final resign, we know we won’t climb, to the heights or the oceans will sail

Cons all around me will die behind bars, their dreams all un-realized
With no more chance to reach for the stars, their fate sadly is finalized

I as a poet, write from my cell, some classics they get snuck outside
I know this fact, and yes, oh-so-well… that some won’t be read till I’ve died!

My tune is well known, the inmate’s lament, it is sung time and time and again
The past is all past, as though set in cement, the future “oh what might have been”

So thank you for reading this writing of mine,
on your 10 minute break or at lunch
And now I must close with this last little line…
I do have a time-clock to punch!

—David Kettler