Kenneth has a taste for abstract/prose poetry as well as the comical side of life. 23-years of writing for a newspaper has served him well.
Down Mattenburg Road, a tale lies dying
Big, small, and breathing.
Untold vows, old truths, dusty lies tying.
The day sends a faceless shadow seething.
Small boy, small girl skip, jump Morning Glory vines
Laughing an innocent laugh.
Reaching into bags of wool, silver, and mother's cries.
Coughing from a dark vale chaff.
Men and women all take the reins of soapy rain
They feel, they drink, and dress like death.
Oh, how they dance. The liar's pain.
See if the women sell brushy breath.
Town clock bogs, winds, and grinds a sudden cry
Little children beg for places to live.
Black hooded hangmen drunk tales tied.
Oh, what crumbs of cake the table to give.
Standing arm-to-arm and tear-to-tear they freeze
Wondering what world is next.
Blood in their hands, poison in their disease.
Mine become my aged text.
June 25, 2021_______________________________
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© 2021 Kenneth Avery