Poetry

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

 

The tedium of waiting
Fizzles into nothing
No consequence, no concern
When I am waiting in Mexico
Among easy-going bone-tired women

Who wait in a broken line
Stand on one foot then the other
Shift parcels, clutch pesos
Balance stacks of steaming tortillas
Mind children while watching for the bus

Waiting here fulfills its purpose
I observe and reflect, smile and connect
Utter small words in español
I notice a patience within, a peace
Unlike waiting at home

—Annis Cassells

i meant to say…
you told me we were through,
(“let’s be friends,” you said.)
that line again.

i meant to say…
that day we explored the museum in LA
left me in awe of you, my private docent amid the masters,
vibrant colors, muted whispers and you,
so at home amid a world I’d never imagined.

i meant to say…
i remember the touch of your hand in mine,
melodic laughter at little things.
you left the convent, I left the seminary,
our common experience in different lights.

i meant to say…
i was in love with you
but you were not with me–
a replay of the past.

i meant to say…
your kindness, your goodness, your gift
of letting go i still carry.
you freed me to meet
the one I love and who loves me.
so…

i meant to say…
thank you
for our time together
and life after that.

—Terry Redman, ©2015

My Bones Hurt
They must be yearning for the dirt
I can’t complain
The years have been kind
Yet still I struggle
I have Much on my mind
I’m bereft with regrets
Chief amongst many
Is that I wasted precious time
I’ve squandered it plenty
My final breath is nigh
how can this be
It seems only yesterday
When I knelt on one knee
Promises and hearts were broken
Those who mattered know my plea
Now My time draws near.
My life’s wrung out
Just when I’m about to find
What it was all about

—Reggie Ridgway