#kent
Long since hence these stones be here,
We know not who, what, when or why,
But ancient they sure be,
with their
Power, symbolism and magic
For offer
to all those
with gift to see.
Ignore the disrespect
from the treasure seekers and tourists,
Instead sit,
And stare,
And soak up the
ancient magic and wisdom
From this mystical place.
Rising up from the ground
Wrapping you lovingly in its sweet embrace.
Note the brightly coloured tree in pride of place.
Tie a coloured ribbon round your body ill,
Then round the branch of the hornbeam tree,
For it will disappear before the next full moon,
Many a truth be told.
Gaze out at North Downs view,
Reminiscent of pilgrims past,
For many a footprint upon footprint lay there,
With many a tale told,
And yet to be told.
Aug 10, 2020
Aug 10, 2020 at 4:59 PM UTC
There is always warmth in the house I call home.
If you look close enough, there are children running around, wide-eyed, and free.
If you look close enough, there’s a glimpse of a boy idolizing his family, sitting in a tree.
Someday, I’ll create my own warmth and call it home…
Apr 26, 2020
Apr 26, 2020 at 3:05 PM UTC
The chimneys sighed;
A silent suicide
Nearby cemetery - familiar
To villagers
Enslaved to the wage
Engraved to the plague
Green, green grass of home
Rolling Downs goes on and on
Behind the place, I call home.
Home knows nothing
Rotting 4th July bunting
Is so grostesque
A papermill not that picturesque
Distant ships
Dockyard mist
Churchyard steeples
Choir of the working people
Amongst tenements, needles
Clocking their hours
Drinking their giro
A class of our own
A class we were born
For a future by the clocktower.
Apr 25, 2020
Apr 25, 2020 at 12:59 PM UTC
Custom cannot wither, nor age enslave
My infinite array of memories.
I came of age upon a wave
Of ideals that anchored
Changes and elders outraged,
Appalling them into rage.
They often responded
With violence, yet we endured.
Even when comrades were shot down,
And protesters run to ground,
The promise of a new world grew in secret,
In the impromptu families in hill towns,
Or the remnants of Haight-Ashbury
And the minds of Lost Boys and Girls unbound,
In the survivors of Kent and Jackson State;
Our dream died not but elected to wait,
And In the choices of all
Not to succumb to servility
Nor women to proscribed maternity.
Equality stayed the rule instead of resignation.
Now, age has slowed but not stopped us
And we reach out across the air,
Teaching young ones, as passionate as we,
To distrust despots, ever serve the cause of liberty.
Mar 3, 2019
Mar 3, 2019 at 9:56 AM UTC
I woke up to the falling snow
it is gentle and quiet
as if it holds the breath of the world
hostage with heavy silence
twirling and swaying, so
trance-like in the dance
unsure of whether to
rest crystal droplets upon
the branches or
to settle and expand into a sea
of glistening winter white—
reflecting ribbons of early light that
crash through the pale branches
of the still sleeping trees
in the distance
I can see the sparkle of
their halos standing out against
a wisp of clouds.
Feb 24, 2018
Feb 24, 2018 at 10:16 PM UTC
The sunrise burns the sky
A carefully coloured explosion
Blooded light flooding the low Kent fields that lie
Before Maidstone, excreting soundless motion:
Yellow carnation shards sway
With this violent advent of day.
In Hucking Estate diaphanous bluebells nestle
Beneath the groping canopy
Of Ash. Oak; the encroaching stinging nettle
Shields the frequent woodland scree
Covering with a verdant flush
Brooks that through the stones invisibly rush.
Within the hour, the Gorgon-headed sun
Sweeps aside the cloud-
The red into blue and orange has run
And in Lower Fullingpits Wood the increasingly loud
Shuffling of badger attacking vole, fox strangling rabbit,
All compounded into daily habit.
The Kent Downs rise and fall
Like resurrected earth-bound music from a time
When hill, wood and pool
Emerged from unfettered chalk and lime.
Before the Cantii hunted in ancient Wents Wood,
For deer and boar, spurred not by hunger but for the love of blood.
Above the sparrow-hawk attacks the sparrows
Claw enmeshed in feather,
Beak unravelling neck. The unalterable sorrows
Of nature and weather.
Cruelty never ceases, but just gets more efficient-
Kindness remains deficient.
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 3:41 PM UTC
You're a budding star
And all I could do is watch you from afar
Jul 27, 2015
Jul 27, 2015 at 8:48 PM UTC
You rappins the equivalent to a fish out of water.. that **** doesn't work
like a girl using welfare checks to feed her daughter
tryin to level up to me? nah man you shouldn't even bother
you're Kent and im the kryptonite your greatest weakness
face it... deep down you're really weak *****
May 28, 2014
May 28, 2014 at 5:23 PM UTC
I hear a voice of a guitar -
the cords to an Irish jig -
Whisky in the Jar.
I stand there a moment
listening hard and rocking softly.
I am not sure if it’s just the weight of winter
finally melting off my shoulders,
or if there's something deeper,
something spiritual happening here.
I take a nice long breath of the Ohio air,
feeling relief, release, and repair.
Apr 12, 2014
Apr 12, 2014 at 12:59 PM UTC