kevin-kurt-nepomuceno
A hopeless romantic, an off color comic, a hopeful humorist, a wishful writer, and a kid with a dream. Has a pocket full of spare change, a warm jacket for the winter, a tie-dye T-shirt for the summer, enough food on the table, a roof over his head, and loving friends and family. Has a God to thank, a healthy body to move, and good hands to work with. Thankful. Proud. Humble, and far from perfect, which is perfectly fine. Loves dark coffee, holidays, time to himself, quiet moments, hugs and kisses, food for thought, and out of women, he prefers ladies. His friends are all sorts; ranging from drug addicts to holy men and women. He is somewhere in between. A convenience, not a right. His name is Kevin Kurt Nepomuceno. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."
By the highway oasis,
where an Acacia once stood,
is a Willow
that doesn’t belong.
Don’t ask Why.
Oct 13, 2017
Oct 13, 2017 at 8:31 PM UTC
Someday,
my hands will be full
of callouses,
old
with wrinkles,
like ripples
in time.
The skin
will flake and dry,
and I
will give thanks
as I sleep.
Someday.
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 8:58 PM UTC
21 years and 9 months;
that's how long it took
for me to realize
that every morning
we all have 2 choices:
Open our eyes slowly
or open them quickly,
and it was always about attitude.
The first
is a drug.
Sheets pull us in
as if they were
an injection,
an infection,
holding us captive
in a warmth
that can only be temporary.
The second
is freedom.
A quick flash of light
sings our eyes awake,
like a shout,
like a shake,
letting go of the night
in a shotgun moment
as the first breath of air.
Of the two,
I wish to be the latter.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 7:53 AM UTC
It's a nuisance to leave dancing to chance
and to sit by and sigh a sigh of mild high relief.
It's brief, but for a moment there's courage
and the courage builds a bridge.
But "look out," comes a shout
from seemingly miles away
and your gaze blazes below.
There's a troll beneath you.
It wields a shield made of lies
and a club made of fear and dead wishes.
Make it swim with the fishes.
Silent let it be, and cross the bridge.
Beyond the concrete dance floor,
ignore the three harpies' bait.
Don't wait. It's not too late
to quicken your pace.
Tread carefully. Don't be lured
by the drunken eyes,
or the devilishly devilish propaganda
for *** on their clothing and skin,
because it will hurt in the long run.
Head towards the sundress,
and the toga dancing next to it.
They're friends of yours,
but not yet.
So don't repress your desire to dance.
Take your chances.
Apr 6, 2015
Apr 6, 2015 at 5:46 AM UTC
Hey there, little light bulb.
Look beneath your sunny glow.
There lie a dozen empty flower pots
filled with seeds waiting to grow.
Hey there, little light bulb.
Stay lit, please don't turn off.
You're the life of the empty flower pots
and for their seeds you're warm enough.
Hey there little light bulb.
You've got quite a job to do.
Give those seedlings energy
and bring plants to life anew.
Hey there, little light bulb,
did you see that little sprout?
It's because of your great energy
that this sprout could come on out.
Hey there, little light bulb,
be proud of what you've done.
You've made the first sprouts rise
and their journey's just begun.
Hey there, little light bulb.
I know you're getting tired,
but look at all the growing plants!
It's something to be admired.
Hey there, little light bulb.
I'm sad you died today,
but in place of your sweet energy
are a thousand trees to stay.
By: Kevin Kurt Nepomuceno
Jan 6, 2015
Jan 6, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
The spirals swirl
not one the same
for every finger
and every name.
Identity
in skin and lines
on appendages
that reach and pine
to belong
in a crowded world
where hands break
and fingers curl.
Deliver me
from this rusted space.
Take my soul,
leave not a trace.
Purgatory?
Heaven? Hell?
They're all the same.
Can't you tell?
The world will turn
even when we're gone.
The moon will rise
just as the sun.
Our fingerprints
will disappear.
Flesh and blood
crimson to clear,
just as this
the world will fade
from dust to dust,
the one fair trade.
Take not then
this life for death
take instead
my gentle breath.
Teach me then
to breath deep and long
to fill my lungs
and make them strong,
to brush my fingers
on another's tips
and learn to love
by touching lips;
for when I die
and lifeless lay
upon the ground,
no words to say,
at least then
I'll have lived a life.
I'd have learned to love
through pain and strife.
Oct 13, 2014
Oct 13, 2014 at 1:31 AM UTC
Give me rest.
The kind of slumber
that toddlers protest during naptime
but succumb to with a stream of drool
on their rested faces;
the kind of slumber
that enables my grandmother
to nap in a rocking chair
with a book teetering on the edge of her lap,
the sort of sleep
that wakes me up
an hour before the morning trumpets blast;
give me that,
because I'm tired
of the sheets clutching on to me
like handcuffs
engraved on criminal wrists.
Sep 29, 2014
Sep 29, 2014 at 5:53 PM UTC
Tell me that you love me and that you'll stay,
because time takes passion slowly away,
and I don't care if you forget my name,
but all the same,
remember how I made you Feel.
See, love is just a word with no meaning
and more than once I've been left dreaming.
Hopeless romantics can't compete
with how much I succumb to cold feet.
But, all the same,
remember how you made me Listen.
Smell the dead roses scattered about.
The petals die amongst new sprouts,
just as this, you spoke my name,
but all the same,
remember please, our Taste of freedom.
My Senses spin with unfulfilled desire,
and upon silent lips, the coldest fire.
Yet still, I wish to hear that phrase,
"I love you," more than ever these days,
but all the same,
and upon my name,
what you couldn't say
I cannot blame.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
Be as a kaleidoscope
and fractalize the mind.
Embrace the dichroic glass,
and break what limits bind.
Smoother than a marble egg,
yet tempered more than brass,
bemuse yourself entirely
with Millefiori glass.
For in its mystic ampule
birefringent voices dance,
and visions come together
should time befit the chance.
No turn, nor shake, nor twist
can break its hallowed grace.
Acknowledge its diversity
and revel in azoth space.
Its symmetry is blithe at times,
yet stunning through and through,
and dashing through its mirrored hall,
the light shall come to you.
There is beauty in a beam of light.
Caress its warmth and hope.
How wondrous still that beauty grows
with a simple kaleidoscope.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 1:44 AM UTC
Time;
I remember
a time when
cities were made
of nothing but Legos
and one's imagination.
Still,
even now
I can't help
but wish harder
that the cities we walk
were still made of that stuff.
Cardboard,
took us miles,
and paper planes
really did bring us flight.
So,
I ask;
Please,
don't let
your imagination
fall into stagnation,
like a Lego block
that gathers
dust.
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 5:25 PM UTC