A weaving of words
Part the IV By: Caleb Alan Kestner
A weaving of words
Part the IV By: Caleb Alan Kestner
Copyright © 2009 by Caleb Kestner. All Rights Reserved. (I make no claim to the illustrations; they are in no way my creation, unless otherwise noted. If you happen to know the author of one of the pictures listed, as anonymous, please let me know so I can give them proper credit.)
2nd Story Press Minneapolis, Minnesota Printed in the United States
This book is dedicated to my Mom. Who gave me words. Thank you.
IiiXXXX. I are . . . I am ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~12 iiXXXXI. If ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~14 iiiXXXXII. It’s ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~17 iiXXXXIII. Fallen ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~18 iiXXXXIV. Ode to an Ode ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~21 iiiXXXXV. Once Upon a Time ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~22 iiXXXXVI. What happens once you’ve fallen? ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~24 iXXXXVII. Wall ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~27 XXXXVIII. Mountain ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~28 iiXXXXIX. Who am I? ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~30 iiiiiiiiiiiiiL. Pro Crastinator ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~33 iiiiiiiiiiiiLI. Blessed ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~35 iiiiiiiiiiiLII. Goodnight my Love ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~36
Silence ~ Jarra McGrath Sea of Sorrow ~ Inga Nielsen An Italian Autumn ~ Cole Thomas Fresh Snow ~ Anonymous Broken Mirror ~ Rakesh Ashok Cliff Muses ~ Erik Tiemens 3D Mushrooms ~ Anonymous Scrolls ~ Anonymous Falling Angel ~ Anonymous Stone Wall ~ Anonymous The Sierra Nevada ~ Albert Bierstadt The Thinker ~ Anonymous Procrastination ~ Anonymous Clover ~ Commons A Fairy Tale ~ Arthur Wardle
12 13 15 16 19 20 22 23 25 26 29 31 32 34 37
“If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there.” Lewis Carroll
12 I are shattered I are . . . I am fragment splinter I am the cold frozen winter I are inferno fire ashes I am shackles chains and lashes I are heartache wailing sorrow I am future past and morrow I are hopeless weeping sadness I am passion rage and madness
I are beauty fleeting shallow I am careless stark and callow I are conquered cringing choice-less I am silent mute and voiceless I are teardrops softly crying I am the dead doomed and dying I are human broken grieving I am my own ending weaving
If poems were of poetry as woods were of trees If sound were of music as air is of breeze If joy was of laughter as hurt was of tears If hope were courage as hate is of fear If food was of hunger as thirst was of drink If taught were of learning as thought is of think If life were of living as dead was of death If heart was of blood as lung is of breath If angels were of heaven as demons were of hell If touch were of feeling as taste was of smell If people were of right as humans were of wrong If beauty were of souls as rhyme was of song If give was of giving as took was of take If words were of truth as build was of make If this was of that as that was of this Then the world would be perfect and all of life bliss
Peace isn’t quiet; it’s noise you don’t hear Courage isn’t brave, it’s pain you don’t fear Mercy isn’t weak; it’s the strength to forgive Hope isn’t assurance; it’s the will to live
Good isn’t perfect, it’s striving to rise Honesty isn’t truth; it’s exposing the lies Wisdom isn’t knowledge, it’s understanding why Belief isn‘t comfort; it’s willingness to die
Leading isn’t commanding, it’s serving those you lead Charity isn‘t handouts; it’s helping those in need Faith isn’t knowing, it’s acting when you don’t Love isn’t if they do, it’s even when they won’t
By: Caleb Kestner Falling mirror, slipping through the sky Dead reflections, never think to question why Spilling spirals, shattered glass evokes no tears Greed and hatred, serving banquets of their fears Murder Martyr, fallen people die to live Victim Target, hearts too broken to forgive Once forgotten, memory forgets once more Perceptions clouded, lives wrapped up in pointless war Hate breeds death and death breeds hate Never ending circle, self-fulfilling fate
Ode to an Ode
O ode thou wondrous words amaze And lyrical lines astound From Grecian days long lost in time Resounds your pulsing sound Poetic verse from days of yore A voice that echoes still Crash like waves on histories shore A synthesis of will Melodic beauty sweet and pure The music of the spheres Tragic pain that dares endure The basis of our fears The power of the mind made free Laid out upon a page Vision even blind men see The workings of a sage O ode thy legacy still stands Though years have gone and come The majesty of all that is Existence's very sum
Once upon a time: (Poetry from Photography class)
By: Myself and “mmm…coffee” (Recomposed by: Me) Once upon a time, a time so long ago There lived a thing called pumperfumps that liked to stand in rows These curious things (called pumpfs for short) could come in kinds of every sort Hardly old or softly new polka dotted, pink or blue Turquoise, yellow, short or tubby mauve or mink or tall or stubby Wearing charms or maybe roses on their arms or tween their toeses They paint a quite perplexing picture these pumpfs that come in such a mixture Dancing, bouncing throwing ducks (If you rub them they bring luck!) Falling up and hopping down Making noise (without a sound) See them running up the tree Then right back down (they quickly flee) Watch them roll among the flowers Back and forth for many hours Tossing tulips, squishing daises Chasing stars (they’re very lazy) And of course when days are done to their gumdings they will run What are Gumdings? You may ask Answering that’s mmm…coffee’s task Gumdings are things very hard to explain They’re totally different but all still the same They’re kind of like beds and they smell really sweet They have nice looking hands for the rubbing of feet Gumdings are spun from big sugar canes And they all smell like brownies if ever it rains But enough about Gumdings lets us move on To talk of a frog and a small pumpf named Ron
The frog was tiny (about 50 pounds) The pumpf was squishy (and incredibly round) For something named Ron it made quite a weird sound Ron what a word It’s amazingly flat It sounds like a monkey That looks like a hat Now a Ron that’s named pumpf Or a pumpf that named Ron Are interiorly different (Except for in song) When explaining them both Or explaining them one You must start at the start And go till your done Now the problem with me (As you well may not know) I forgot where I start And don’t know where to go So explaining them both I could never well do And explaining them one Is a big problem too There’s much more to write But I fear I must quit For the rest of this poem Was quite lacking in wit In our rush to waste time We both overextended So the half a page left is too much to be mended So with that and with this I’ll now call it a day I’ve re-said what I said And I’ve naught left to say
What Happens Once You've fallen?
What happens once you've fallen? What happens once you fail? Success no longer possible your heart in shame is veiled What happens when you've given up and ceded to your fears? When hope fades like the morning mist and pain transforms to tears. What happens when you lose the fight and know you've lost much more? When the battle finally gets you in this never ending war. And how are you supposed to cope when you know it's all been lost? When you pay the price for what you want and it isn't worth the cost. Where do you go or turn to when the world has turned on you? When all you've givens not enough and there's nothing more to do. You recognize that all will fall though each in their own way. You stand with calm assurance that they've not yet won the day. And though it seems that all is lost and hope itself has fled. As long as you've the strength to rise redemption isn't dead.
Once upon a midnight dreary Came a traveler wet and weary His cloak was sodden through and through Upon his feet more holes then shoe The road was rough the ground was stony The man was thin and rather bony Then all at once the road just ended His journey stopped his quest suspended A giant wall stood in his way As tall as night as long as day So there he sat to ponder and wonder what to do To pass this insurmountable obstruction of his view There was no wood within this wall, nor brick or rock or steel For it was made of stronger things then those material This wall was made of all in life that strives to make you fail Of pain and lies and hardship of dead and rot and stale At first the man was locked with fear immobilized by shame A thousand things that he’d done wrong all rushed to fill his brain Then as he sat there shaking a shudder shook the wall Its surface started cracking and chunks began to fall Then with a sigh of effort the man rose to his feet He’d come too far and worked to long to let himself be beat So with a mighty crash the wall did rend its self-apart And the man strode once more onward through the walls now broken heart
Wrinkled stone sags gently down the mountain's aged face, tufts of snowy hair stream down his craggy chin and pool softly at his feet Cavernous lungs pull moist air in through limestone teeth and moss-lined nostrils to feed his golden veins All across the mountain a cloak of life blooms and flourishes, entire lifetimes cascading in and out of existence between the beats of his heart The mountain sleeps; a giant who dreams of far off places and tells himself that in a moment he'll rise from the cradle of his birth, stretching out the ridges of his skin and the granite peaks of his spine In a moment his eyelids will crack open with a rumble, pine tree lashes fluttering as he looks with sliver eyes at the world for the first time In a moment he'll shake off the residue of his creation and with thundering steps go explore this place that gave him life just moments before In a moment he thinks to himself as his heart continues its steady beat In a moment he thinks as he slips slowly back into his dreams In a moment, as all around him life rushes on In a moment…
Who am I?
Who am I? I wonder. and whence from have I come? What is it I’m doing? and when will I be done? Where to am I going? and when will I arrive? What for am I living? and what for should I strive? What is it I’m writing? and have yet still to write? What is it I’m fighting? and have yet still to fight? When will true love find me? and how then will I know? Where is love to lead me? and will I dare to go? Who am I affecting? and who’s affecting me? What then is my blindness? and what is it I see? What have I to finish? and what have I to start What was it that made me? And brought to life my heart? Who am I? I wonder. and what will be the sum? of all that I’ve accomplished, when at last my time has come.
Yet again behind I scramble Even my mad dash an amble Moments left I still waste time Spinning pointless bits of rhyme Always later I endeavor Striving then, achieving never Running just to keep from moving Maintenance consumes improving All again commitments making Ever then again them flaking Of the future ever dreaming Time betwixt my fingers streaming Late and lacking deadline looming Me myself I'm quickly dooming Always just a moment more Till the effort I endure Until there is no time to waste My hands lethargic move to haste Wishing that I could better be and cure these faults that lie in me Hoping that I might find someway to work before the final day But as I wish and hope such things time flits away on gilded wings
I pray for Gods blessing on all that you do Clear sight for your eyes and a path ever true I pray you accomplish each task your soul gets Content with your work when the sun finally sets I hope for your dreams that you’ll always aspire That you still feel Gods presence though the times may be dire That you live every moment and spend every day That you hoard up life’s treasures then give them away I pray for you safety until you return That you grow from life’s lessens and teach what you learn Remember that while you may be far from here Through the memories you leave you will always be near And as time marches on of this always be sure The love that you give will forever endure
Goodnight my love
Goodnight my love it’s time to sleep and leave the world behind To free yourself from all life’s pain and clear your burdened mind Goodnight my love it’s time to sleep and rest forevermore To fly beyond the gleaming stars and dance on heaven’s floor Goodnight my love it’s time to sleep the angels wait for you You’ll never be forgotten for the life you lived was true Goodnight my love it’s time to sleep your work at last is done And though the day is finished the dream is just begun
Continued in . . .
A weaving of words
Part the V By: Caleb Alan Kestner