Poetry by Bess Kemp
Bess Kemp lives and writes north of San Francisco in the beautiful Napa Valley
Ca. Her work has appeared in a variety of on-line and print places such as
Mind Fire Poetry Journal, Thunder Sandwich, The Poetry repair Shop,
Neiderngasse, Cerberus, Papyrus, Medicinal Purposes, The Plowman, ZZZ Zyne,
Soul to Soul, Napkin Notes, Disquieting Muses, and Gray Matter Tapestry
among others. She has also published B&W line art and is also the
editor of
the award winning on-line poetry publication Some Words Poetry at :
www.somewords.winisp
the paint is blurred
but you can almost see
a woman seated by
the edge of tomorrow
she glances to the left
of what is not there
and riddles and chants
her way to immortality
then
she places a small stone
on the ledge
and as she leaves
she takes the sunset
with her
another
she says
and wordlessly
a second martini
with three olives
is served by
the bartender
in a few minutes
she repeats
her order
and then later
hit me again
she demands
and so the evening goes
until finally
she and the bottle
are completely drained
without mercy
muddy dreams stand stagnant
in the bayou
swirls of mosquitoes
have had their fill
of the night air
their final restitution
dances in moonlight
above the bog
as transparent wings
sound out
cautionary tales
but i walk alone at night
not heeding to the demons
not noticing
the way moonlight spills like
a fountain untamed
i follow those paths spread out
before i was born
melting lemon rainbows
on the ground
sound and fury guiding my soul
to take the high road out
while time stands still
like the moon
signifying the end of
my journey
with a sigh
we are a confused
tangle of days
a grapevine of emotions
hanging on with
brittle grasp
at the end of the harvest
we wither in our solitude
against the climate
and simply refuse
to give up
hope and pride flourish
when all else
has failed
making us cling
and cling
to what is already
long gone
Lineage
linked by virtue
of greed
they crawl from woodwork
grasping at
material nothingness
uttering incantations
to keep the fates at bay
pity them
for they never knew
where to cultivate
the true pearls
of this life
Shower in Suburbia
Whispering rains in
tamborine dreams
jingle through the
tree limbs
a chorus of the
unexpected
life flows through paths cut
in the predictable though
some small rivulets claim victory
as they seek
artistic outlet in
in the impending
downpour
Tumbleweeds
A full vase sits on the table
and an empty sky waits outside
my thoughts drift and drift
like heroes from the old west
refusing to settle down
for long
so I let them go like
children off to school
out into the world to
make their way
and I stay behind
not expecting much
but content all the same
Bess Kemp
Tending