Chris

“THOREAU KNOWS
(The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.)


Making sense of things,
Trying to track

Nine pebbles of sadness
To their source.

Sly crows
Stole them a mile back,

But Thoreau knows
I should walk anyway

Under sun-coined trees
Thick with wood-thrush song

Till I reach undergrowth
Dense and itchy with the past

Till the air cools and I am near
Enough to con crow talk

Mouth fulls, stories dark.”
― Ken Craft, Reincarnation & Other Stimulants: Life, Death, & In-Between Poems

“There were glaciers on the mountains, in my dream. Giant white and blue masses of ice, eons forming, creeping ever so slowly toward the valleys they would never reach. The valleys were filled with flowers, wild and abandoned, twisting, reaching like tallest trees far above my head. Fairies twirled and skimmed. Fairies. Beings that proclaimed that life was fair in this perfect world….”
― William David Hannah, Angels of the Quantum Gate

“To a Depressed Friend

Sometimes, to make sure
You're still here,
Look up for cloud sustenance.

Be sure they are
Different from yesterday,
From an hour ago,

From when you were 15
And sky didn't matter
Because only pretty girls did.

Note how cumulus
Will be looking down
And naming what

Kind of human you're
Shaped like: mailman,
Archaeologist, student of rain.

On clear nights, rely on starlight.
Pentacles. Pulses.
Further proof of existence.”
― Ken Craft, Reincarnation & Other Stimulants: Life, Death, & In-Between Poems

“You see them in the mercury
light of water, the expanding
orbs of silver where trout
breathe. You hear
them in the sleepy kiss
of rainfall on pine
needles, smell them
as if they were snow
to the west.”
― Ken Craft, The Indifferent World