Keith Ren

Keith Ren Oct 2011

might?

Might you please be my lever,
If I were too clever?
Might you clean, knock me off of my horse?

Might you promise to tell,
Or simply say, "What the hell?"
If I diverged, as a matter of course?

Might you keep me in check,
If my line loses tack?
And remember the all that I've been?

But still pass me a note,
To keep me afloat,
That reads, "It's ok, luv,
You're still learning to swim"?

Keith Ren Oct 2011

little choice

Of course there are things
Which we can't understand.
We're the blind, matching colors,
To draw in the sand.

We're the fingerless wretch,
In the noise.

By course, we are beings,
Which we can't understand.
At best, we are lightness,
Alone and unplanned.

We are tokens of use.
We are toys.

But, you're dear to me, still,
You're the closeness of nil.
You're the smallness of peace.

You're my joy.

Keith Ren Oct 2011

Turner

I'm just another madman
hopscotching the park,
and frightening away all of the birds.

But instead of those movements
which are frenzied and true,
I scare with warm intention of word.

Keith Ren Oct 2011

her footstep nears my path

Will I see you,
before you are shown?
Will I pull at you,
before you yield?

Have you guarded me
in dreaming,
as the maiden,
on my shield?

Have you spent me
in the meeting?
Have you wrestled me
unknown?
I will pull at your
unyielding,
And sense you,
'fore you're shown.

You'll tick my tock,
and spin my clock.

I'll love you,

in to

my own.

Keith Ren Oct 2011

in-action

be my opposer,
shoulder cricket, you.
show me the deeds
of the now.

instruct me, the good,
and make it in to,
the whistle glad steps
of the how.

I see the grace walking,
but not in things that i do,
I wrestle my name
on the bough.

my understand's lacking
as I shoot for the True,
and sail, through
uncertainty clouds.

Keith Ren Oct 2011

sprout

the derby bots
and rounded slots,
the push,
the time,
the go.

the hold-me-down
of ever knots,
the whistle
I can't
blow.

the feigned impress,
the postured lot,
for selves,
do some,
give show.

pulled head from sand,
that anti root.
my only
hope's
to grow.

Keith Ren Oct 2011

a post from sleeping

And sometimes,
I fall into a plane,
wherein I feel the warmth
in my heart,

that all of you are stars.