M.W. Ketchel Poems

Standing on weary legs,
the pugilist,
with fists raised
moves into the battle
...

The old man stops and exhales life,
sitting down on a park bench, if but for a moment to rest.
He ponders the decades, his many years of strife,
and his heart grows weary in his chest.
...

Barbed wire fences,
Rusted and forgotten,
Wrought of winters’ winds
Abandoned by Providence,
...

Extremities of virtues lost
protrude from wounds
ripped open by winter's frost.
We cast aside heaven's gates
...

Sun's bright rays gently envelope me
as soft tropical breezes roll toward shore.
My mainsail is set for the unknown sea,
and I grow restless, my soul a storm.
...

bright neon light
pierces the dark grey shroud
the will of the gods are flashed
from the pinnacles of dark monoliths
...

Cracked flesh and broken fingernails
strumming slow and easy
a voice as hard as steel rails
from a soul that needs the rain
...

In an old forgotten suitcase, I stumbled on your picture.
And seeing you made me wish for yesterdays,
For we once rode together,
Like cowboy in the movies,
...

Gaping mouth
without remorse or regret
waiting without feeling
sensing
...

What tales could these deep rooms hold?
Each slab and plot a story untold,
Of children laughing and crying,
Of families and lovers living and dying.
...