Poems of a Young Man: “Why the Sea is Salty”


Deadlines close in on me,

like hostile natives

who see me as some grand buffet.

November lies down over me,

draping me

in chilling frost and foggy mist.

These formidable foes

lurk unseen before me,

draped in a fuzzy haze-

but I can hear them

rustle and grunt

inching closer as the autumn wind

frees the leaves of the calendar

and November solidifies into December.

Dark skies open

and winter rains descend.

Will I stand-

bare-assed, in a fashion,

my open mouth slack

gaping up at the dark thunderclouds

and drowning in rain like a stupid chicken,

or will I summon the sense to seek shelter?

A silent tear speaks,

falls from my eye

and blends into the running stream of Time.

The teardrop is totally assimilated,

salt molecules commingling

with the world of spent tears,

trickling into rivulets, creeks, streams, and rivers

making its way to the sea,

turning it ever saltier.

Can my foundations survive the rising tide,

or is it time to build a houseboat

to keep me afloat?

Zen monk,


and farmer-

sliding into

a new winter.


 (11- 10- 79)



About KPKeelan

Fool, Philosopher, Lover & Dreamer, Benign TROUBLEMAKER, King and Jester of KPKworld, an online portal to visual and linguistic mystery, befuddlement and delight.
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