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Kairos

by

Jason Sturner

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2004 Jason Sturner

This book is available in print; see Sturner’s website for details.

Discover other titles by Jason Sturner at Smashwords.com:

10 Love Poems

Selected Poems 2004-2007

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Poetaster

Before the Storm Wet the Earth

Twelve and 12

The Existence of You

About Love

When I am Loved by You

I Love You

Fresh Morning

My Love, My Dream

Words are All I Have

Since You Went Away

Below Zero

Imperfection

Spring

Kiss Me Hello

Her Day

A Tree

Dryad Weeping on a Fallen Tree

Swimming Towards the Surface

Somewhere

the End

The Bleak Hour

Me?

Beer Can Hands

Glass Hope

The Impatient

A Lament for Sylvia

The Symptoms of My Envy (are clear)

Identity

Hubristic

Look at a Photograph

The Hawk

Little Girl

White Truth

7 New Stars

To You

By Way of Your Misleadings

In This Fragile Time Between Heartbeats

Where She Sleeps

Where He Sleeps

Love Will Glue These Br-oken Pi–ece-s

Beneath the Waves

The Hearts’ Embrace

A Moment is Riding Time

Love and Words

The Key to a Woman’s Heart is Within the Man

Sentimental Blue

Kaleidoscope

Holding Hands (a simple pleasure)

Crestfallen

Denied

This is Your New Life (w/PIN #)

Kicking Sand in the Face of Indolence

The Life Granted

It’s All Good (after the rain falls)

My Unread Poetry

A Glimpse of Where I’m Going

Note to reader: Due to the nature of digital formatting, some of the following poems may have lost their original structure. If you would like to see the poems in their intended design, please visit my website for reading options or consider purchasing a hard copy of the book. Thank you.

Poetaster

I feel like a stranger

to myself. Passionate for answers—

ones I may never know:

The bee gathers nectar, he knows!

The bird flies south, he knows!

The poet documents his soul, he knows!

that he knows nothing.

Before the Storm Wet the Earth

A ladybug landed on my knee

as I sat alone in a meadow

awaiting the rain.

With its tiny head cocked

and a trust in my silence

it seemed to ask,

“Do you think I am beautiful?”

But all I could do

was look away

and wonder what stories

my face was telling.

Twelve and 12

Becoming twilight softens another midsummer day:

stars spark up, the moon pulsates, oceans flinch,

day aborts, night reclaims dignity;

everything sleeps and everything awakens—

the sun has pulled away my shadow.

Blushing dawn ascends the misty green hillside:

stars flicker out, the moon hides away,

night departs, day reclaims strategy;

everything awakens and everything sleeps—

the sun has tossed back my shadow.

The Existence of You

Morning—delicate

thirsty

the sky yawns

earth stretches…

You near the ending of a peaceful, romantic dream.

The silence of night subsides, you open your eyes—

two emeralds shine beneath the sun.

Another day is born,

another morning blessed.

Such simple truths are easily told

by the existence of you.

Night—romantic

alive

the stars shine

earth sighs…

You smile and all things are curious—

a shooting star passes over your essence.

Another twilight has come,

another night takes the stage.

Standing ovations are easily understood

by the existence of you.

I hear them…

I hear them whenever I’m around you—

the subtle, graceful heartbeats of angels.

They surround you like butterflies gone mad.

And all my love for this world,

all my love for beauty, for nature;

all my love for life was awakened

by the existence of you.

About Love

We do not need thoroughfares

when love seeks the heart

Such is the way of love—

always destined, never sought

We do not need gold coins

when love comes without cost

Such is the value of love—

always priceless, never bought

We do not need a wise man

when love speaks through art

Such is the beauty of love—

always instilled, never taught

And we do not need a ruse

when love surrenders to us all

Such is the enigma of love—

always mysterious, never caught

When I am Loved by You

A silky aura

surrounds me

when I…

Lavender dreams

visit me sleeping

when I…

Golden extravagance

fills my every moment

when I am loved by you.

My nerves

come to ease

My tensions

are of no attention

My heart beats

with subtle integrity

when I am loved by you.

I Love You

I see more than you know

about all you are,

and through my observations

and from my analysis

I’ve concluded that

I love you.

Not a theory

quite simply a fact—

I love you,

and that’s that.

Fresh Morning

Talk to me in the comfort of fresh morning

when a bird’s song I may enjoy

as the cold of night surrenders to the warmth of dawn

and there comes no sound from the telephone or door.

Hold me close as the sun plays with shadows

when the curtains of our room blow wide

as our hearts beat ever so quietly to the pulse of day

and seagulls scavenge across the falling tide.

Know me when the day is newly born, my love

when the spirit within this aging body is content

as I steal gentle kisses from your soft lips

and inhale the subtle fragrance of this moment.

My Love, My Dream

It was surreal, now that I think back,

as if a dream had wandered over the boundaries

to deliver forth the shimmering light

that was you.

And for a time, time was lost.

A halcyon river became our guide.

Its tranquil flow, a symbol of perfection,

its reflection

casting wildly off our eyes.

Love sprang to life, life became love.

Every hue within this plane began to lighten.

Our hearts chased, our meaning held no lies;

our souls tingled with gentle electricity

beneath harlequin skies.

But we awoke one morning, heartsick to find,

pink mist off the river had turned gray.

Suddenly our angels were selectively blind—

Was divinity so busy that it left us behind?

I screamed into a shower of diamonds.

I’d lost you inside this sudden despair.

Through the downpour I heard no reply,

and soon discovered myself alone there.

No one ever told us

that the weather changes in paradise

or that the flowers can cry.

The voice in the clouds never confessed

that true love could die.

And so troubled waters made their way down the river;

somewhere far off the ocean tide had raged.

The dream cracked, then fell to pieces—

leaving us broken

and forever changed.

Words are All I Have

Words I’m frightened to say

dangle off deep breaths

and gentle voice.

I listen to every syllable I speak to you,

making sure no bad judgment in word

or accent escapes.

And they fumble from my thoughts

as the thoughts rumble:

I want you back

I can be different

better

this time

Why I think my carefully selected

phrases might persuade you I don’t know.

But if to get you back were possible

with my arrangement of speech,

Then I wish to be king of words,

or poet of my time.

Since You Went Away

Since you went away,

I’ve been exploding

all through my body.

I’m a catastrophe.

Since you went away,

I’ve only got the world to blame.

Isn’t it a shame?

It’s such a shame.

Since you went away,

life is dizzy and earth is spinning.

Electricity fills my alcohol,

but it never jolts me happy.

Since you went away,

I’ve been bitter and complex.

A mind drifting through space

unable to face its artistry.

Since you went away,

I have lost me.

Below Zero

A dimness has poured over the bright of her day,

where dirty light tightens around the body, squeezing

bitter truth from lemon-flavored karma.

An infant’s voice bounces and plays inside her head,

where love is a pale, frozen rainbow; shining

just faintly above an empty playground.

The choice came with the crystal air of a cruel winter.

The day was cold – unforgivably cold – but heat danced through it.

No one would come close to understanding this.

Now, she is rigid; severely pensive beneath falling white.

Acrobatic thoughts dissolve within her stillness

as winter coils around her, ready to strike:

And in the icy wind, a baby cries.

Tiny footprints in the snow fade away.

Where once was a life is now empty space—

empty space with a fading lullaby.

Imperfection

Tonight, wanton moonlight.

Stars cold and listless.

Angels take human form

to vent their sorrows—

Imperfection.

Stillness, bowed head of a goddess.

Gold sobriety stained with sour wine.

Sugar-coated flawlessness now

full of cavities—

Imperfection.

Fervent dreams trapped in a subconscious box.

Shiny green lizards dancing

on clouds full of rain:

Imperfection rears its beautiful, exotic head—

and we are all sublime again.

Spring

When storms unleash a thunderous might

across the urban scenes of busy life

and our neighbor cleans his grill;

when warblers pass

and the air smells like grass

I know it is spring again.

When leaves shine healthy green

across woodlands where robins sing

and the flowers return to glory;

when the sun warms our cheeks

and the chipmunk peeks

I know it is spring again.

When lovers create sparks

across blooming city parks

and we run through fields simply to run;

when bitter cold has gone away

and warm days resume our play

I know it is spring again:

And all of nature rubs its eyes,

stretching an eager frame.

Kiss Me Hello

Send me up, to the clouds;

bring me there, hold me there,

tell me not to go. Keep me,

if you love me—kiss me hello.

If, upon her wandering,

she befell upon such a sight

as the burning of pale blue stars

over the soft skin of twilight;

And fancied sleep, at meadow’s edge,

of proud and myriad flower,

where quetzals dazzled forth

in displays of regal, enchanted power—

Would she…

If, within her dreaming,

she inhaled magic and exhaled strife,

where a celestial voice whispered hope

of a loving, happy life;

And saw many wonders

cascading softly in ballet,

while stardust and moonbeams

entered her soul to play—

Would she…

And if, upon her awakening,

standing near her grassy cheek,

was a fawn drinking quietly

from a silver-pebbled creek;

With sonnets coming ashore

as fish bubbled the words,

while a new life walked towards her

from beneath a rainbow of birds—

Would she still want to die?

Would she weep and send away

those painful days into the earth,

and walk down new paths of sunlight

holding the jewel of her worth?

Send me back, to the world;

bring me there, hold me there,

keep me from the sky. Leave me,

if you love me—and kiss me goodbye!

Her Day

She knelt down by the creek

cupped her hands and began to drink

the fish gave her a wink

and she began to think:

Oh lover, off running from the sun

let me be your reason again

your reason to hold a hand

let me show you the strength of a friend.

And she stayed for many hours of the day

collecting flowers and giving tears away

all the while mother nature would say

Your heart needs soothing, my dear

This is the only way!

So she pulled away those burrs of denial

tossed them aside, rank and file

inhaled the breath of life all the while

and soon her heart began to smile.

Then with rejoice she thanked the fish

danced around butterflies, blew them a kiss

felt her heart had gotten its wish

and picked a mushroom to make a dish.

Sunset came and soon it was twilight

so she hurried on home like a wren in flight

thinking to find her lover that night

hoping that he just might…

And whether it was feather or song

flower or fragrance

the earth or its sky

she doesn’t know

she can’t decide.

But during that day

more had become clear:

Your heart is soothed, my dear.

A Tree

A tree

is a treasure burst forth into the sky;

a fissured relic covered in emeralds

that change with the voice of equinox.

A tree

is a benevolent caretaker for the wild;

a framework of weathered arms

holding nests, refuge, and insect treats.

A tree

is a teacher of patience and endurance;

a primeval soul bearing the fruit and labor

of the illusion we call Time.

A tree

is our third parent of unconditional love;

a haven of cool shade and wonderment

beneath a sentry of leaves.

Dryad Weeping on a Fallen Tree

Sitting under the spell of living oaks,

dryad sits on a tree fallen and dead.

Through the canopy falls the sun’s gold;

empathetic warmth and just so bright.

She is dressed in a splendid mourning gown,

sewn with chlorophyll and splendors’ fingers.

Her large green eyes are crystal-like;

scenes of a tree’s life play within.

Mist rises like fairy soldiers’ ghosts

beneath her dainty and barefooted feet.

Tears merge into silent waterfalls

and her heart beats low like owl wings.

A rustling puts a crack in the silence

and dryad looks down at the petite sound:

Leaves covered a seed, covered a growing tree;

nature is cycles, is fairy spuds to winter snow.

And young tree sprouts where mother spring

and father sun foster new life.

Such lessons come to each dryad in youth;

they have come to her in this ephemeral light.

A nearby butterfly takes to air,

its dazzle and frailty the wink of beauty’s eye.

With compassion it alights upon dryad’s shoulder;

a gesture of fresh happiness to a broken heart.

Dryad slides from the lifeless oak,

aglow in the hue of newest wisdom.

She dances off to darker wood, and butterfly ascends;

reverie folds up and fades from her brightest eyes.

Swimming Towards the Surface

Falling-away darkness—a curtain

screaming with silence, pulled

off a globe where thoughts are

blind fish swimming inside light.

Across the finish line: a revelation:

rain is creek, is river, is ocean, is rain.

Gone is the concrete mask, chipped

away with keys that would fit:

The hurricane’s eye sees the sun.

The window of tomorrow is open.

These invisible gifts are wrapped in experience.

Denial like dust kicked up

and blown away by integrity—and finally, too:

in these stone eyes is a beating heart.

I could swim out of that subterranean light.

I could walk on land.

Somewhere

Somewhere,

hooks and chains

hang amid

peeling

olive wallpaper

on

rusty nails

once hanging

pictures

of

other times—

(before

the walls

shrank

and took

all the

air away).

Somewhere,

the

gentle

tapping

of fingers

on the

sharp

edge

of a

machete

leads

up to the

shadowed body

of a man

whose

head

is a

broken

light bulb.

the End

Charcoal spines burning,

men dethroned of valor,

a raven-dropping thunderstorm.

Mold on fruit,

decay on bones—

lifeless life.

Pale sunlight,

tired universe,

hope stuck in quicksand.

Humanity scorned by God:

disappointed Father.

Now, as we prepare to be forgotten,

dressing formal for the End

will be

unnecessary.

The Bleak Hour

The

bleak hour

when uninvited

shadows

gather

over one

to pick up the

fallen hand

that lay

still.

Two worlds

touching—

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