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. . .Remembering John

Kenneth, loves satire and writings to spotlight others, but he also has an "addiction" so to speak, to dramatic and abstract/prose poetry.

JFK in Yellow Oval Room in White House.

JFK in Yellow Oval Room in White House.

Nine days. That's not a long time. There and gone. Didn't anyone see the dark, violent storm clouds forming in the west?

Oh, yeah. November 22, just another dreadsome school day for me

Hating bullies, skating by grades, and getting by.

But I am the fool at so young--stumbling, scratching and God help me to see

Who in God's name would I ever have thought that our friend, John, had to die?

A tall, picturesque swagger when he walked--the rooms lit up with his smile

And we all in some obscure place far from you just stood and stood.

Who in God's name would tell us it was you to ride that last deadly mile?


It was us just trying to know, trying to go, and reclaim the rest of your good.

But in moments quick, a rifle's click and three glimpses that took you away

Some say three. We read two. But death like air, is gone in a baby's sigh.

Your sweet wife and children bent with pain taking you from them on this hellish day.

But who in God's place would be so heartless to form you to die?


An unknowing day, an innocence of joy on your faces shine

A murderer's eye and dark heart above saw your life pass.

And why a thousand times, did one alien find such a deadly line?

Why in God's will could dream of tears, blood rolled in endless mass?


Your last ride was christened in peace, no ill hands did you raise

Your friends, the black, the white, and young and old

Why in God's vision see such a waste of your prudent days?

Now the blood runs old and your blood ran cold.


So long, John, never knowing who took your name

To sit with Judges who know the end

Seen it all, touched it all and now it seems as the same.

No words to say and no roads to bend.


She walked so stately, graceful and strong

Hiding her tears--no long faces

Your blood on her hands to you always belong.

No calm breezes blowing--no murderig winds


No walking down, no bowing down your race is run.

The deed is done. The killers room like free jungle tigers

Some are gone. Some are just ashes. Life was designed like this.

Only one will say where and not complain.


Only those who bow to one Word while fearing the flame.

We here may never know.

I may not wan to ever know.

But I would want to meet you one time.


And tell you what I thought you who could

be a dear friend of mine.

Oh, cry loudly, cold handful of ashes

Your spirit still sings in the pines.

You walk slowly and smile in foggy dawn


You went painful, and cloaked with pride.

No river or Bluebird ever soared

None of your enemies dared to roar.

You sat strongly and sword still intact

Your measured steps through the ancient door.


One small breath and three sounds out of order

Kept grimaces faces with tears of sand.

Walked humbly with children, warriors and wealthy men.

Yet now you stand just one shadow, a man, a very gallant man.

© 2017 Kenneth Avery

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