Ken Nye

Ken Nye Poems

As the years go by and passions cool,
we make love in places that
twenty-five year olds only dream about.
...

Storybook fables give gold a rich luster
that loses its brilliance with closer inspection.

Colors of leaves in autumn’s bright showcase
...

Don’t go, little one.
Continue to believe that every smile you see
is from a heart that loves you.
Hold your little doll
...

If I should die,
(and I will some day) ,
I won’t be far away.
You will see me.
...

I wish I could sleep late.
But I feel the sun
pulling me into the day
even when it’s still well below the horizon
...

We go through the motions when the children leave,
buy special dresses or rent tuxedos for the wedding,
find a special Maine gift to celebrate the move to California,
write reminder notes for the bachelor son heading off
...

I love the way a dog smells.

Ever since I was a boy,
I have loved the smell of a dog's paws,
...

MY MOM HAS GONE

Christmas Day,
driving my mother
...

I heard a whippoorwill last night
sing his wonder of the world.
The forest hushed,
caught in the spell
...

I don’t ever remember wondering if a voice
I faintly heard was my mother’s voice or not.
I always knew.
Just as the fledgling albatross can pick out its
...

Coming out of the pond, no need to towel off
in this warm afternoon sun.
I'll hike up through the orchard
on Grandpa’s favorite trail.
...

Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendor in the grass,
Of glory in the flower,
We will grieve not;
...

My mother is 89.
She has Alzheimer's.

She lives in an assisted living
...

They have kissed their parents goodbye,
moms wiping tears,
dads trying to hold it together.
Alone in the hotel room,
...

Even in the hushed silence
of this road through thick woods
the bike's' rubber tires
are almost soundless.
...

A knock at the door, late morning.
The dog makes a racket, but the two stand their ground.
They are on God’s business.
...

I get the same response that I’ve always gotten:
a look of excitement and joy,
immediate effort to rise and head for the car.
But rising is now a major project,
...

No matter where I find it,
clear water flowing over pristine sand and gravel
always stirs in me a longing for wilderness,
empty forests, dark and wonderfully forboding,
...

Millions lie before her.
She overlooks most, but here is one
that warrants inspection.
Something in the smooth roundness of the glistening wet stone
...

Crossing America,
I see small nations within its cities,
neighborhoods of people
who dream of happiness in myriad languages, and
...

Ken Nye Biography

I am 65 years old. I just retired from 42 years in the field of public education, first as a high school English teacher, then as a high school principal (for 23 of those 42 years) , and finishing up my career with 12 years as a university professor of educational leadership. I loved what I did, but I was ready to retire. Four years ago I started writing poetry. I began with a poem for my wife, Ann, my life partner for 45 years. We are quite close, have known each other since we were twelve, were high school sweethearts, yaddi yaddi, yadda, and are still in love. For the most part, my poetry is very personal. I write from my own experience, about my own relationships, do some philosophizing, express some disappointments, but am generally pretty up-beat about life and the world around us. I have Parkinson's disease (been diagnosed 11 years) which is beginning to complicate our lives, but we are working around it. We have two children, three and a half grandchildren (#4 due in a few months) , two dogs, a lovely home, wonderful friends. I have lived (still am living) an idyllic, fairy tale life that probably makes some people sick. Whenever I needed a break in life, I got it. I am a lover of the natrual world, have lived my adult life in Maine and taken advantage of all Maine has to offer in terms of outdoor recreation and spirit building. My poetry is about my life, the people around me and the beautiful and wondrous natural world that surrounds us here in Maine.)

The Best Poem Of Ken Nye

Making Love

As the years go by and passions cool,
we make love in places that
twenty-five year olds only dream about.

We make love in the kitchen,
right at the table,
with a Scrabble board the mattress
and hints to help the other
our passionate kisses.

We make love in the car,
thrilling to beautiful scenery
or a rarely seen wild animal.

We make love in front of the fireplace,
watching a game show
while we share our latest craft creations.

We make love on the middle school hockey field,
proudly watching our granddaughter
dribble the ball down the field
with half the opposing team
in hot pursuit.

We make love in the bathroom,
where I marvel at the beauty of my
companion and friend of so many years
and tell her as she lathers all over
that she is the prettiest girl I know.

We make love in bed with our pajamas on,
she curled up against me, spoon on spoon,
feeling each other’s warmth and whispering before
falling into sleep, 'I love you.'

We are so shamelessly promiscuous,
we make love in church, for god’s sake,
sharing the hymnal hand on hand,
touching during prayers to say to the other
without words or looks,
'You are the rock of my happiness.'

Wonderfully, heavy breathing is still in our repertoire.
But the bond between us that challenges even death
is the love made here and there,
time and time again,
side by side.

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