The Shape Of Shackles 114p1y

The Shape Of Shackles

––––––––

set-free poetry

––––––––

by kimberly k kelly

All Publication A Gift For The White Bride, 2018, ISBN 978-0-9747363-0-3 Don’t Wait Til I’m Gone, 2018, ISBN 978-0-9747363-1-0 Little Tongues, 2018, ISBN 978-0-9747363-2-7 Twenty One Imperfections, 2018, ISBN 978-0-9747363-3-4 Treat It Like Silence, 2021, ISBN 978-0-9747363-6-5 Answers In The Rafters, 2021, ISBN 978-0-9747363-7-2 Weak Spirits, 2021, ISBN 978-0-9747363-8-9 The Shape Of Shackles, 2021, ISBN 978-0-9747363-9-6 some poems in this collection have been previously published in Instagram, @eagle_poetry, 2020-2021 Printed in the USA All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the written permission of the copyright holder: [email protected]

Table of Contents

Title Page

Copyright Page

The Shape Of Shackles

Further Reading: Answer in the Rafters

About the Author

Prologue

teach me how to pray on prose or worry hassles unhurried patience preserved:

oh wait don’t go please stay

the one with whom i want the word play for those that rhyme like set-free poetry

Irony

i read about you, your flaws too, so

i took your book, then decided it had consequences that would kill me

by awareness overlooked: an art needing overturning

Mountains

the floor’s sawdust crept into my black ballet slippers and i was never cold stoned

maybe, always, alcoholed, even in the shaking earthquake while on the staircase

how those mountains jumped

before i went home it had scared no one in that space, my face

or a terrace of my own view: it was tidy for me on my own

i found a hill, and behind it, i hid

Sin Wisher

why is this so complicated

why make it it’s so, only

to make it until dawn

when it’s only dusk, asking

it be brought on but ask other of it

wanting to be another someone else, where:

not a made dinner not a dog walked

maybe a god waiter maybe a sin wisher

for writers there are too many words, oh and also too few

A Sentiment

seek shelter in a storm

i stray on the street

dancing with you all that’s acceptable

in public places please stay, go

all the way back to you

again, we meet play with me

a sentiment ash, laying

down to the betray station

Eagle

on a black bright finding a flat rock in white sun, looking like he did when angered as i sent him out of our nest

as many times prior, dangling red-eye slits, i watched from a branch a shortening rope, swallowed from not being able to fly away

apart from my past now, where growing up was perceived as golden,

a first one, the last one, the only:

nothing was sweeter, or so it was said

Chisel

chisel out the land-heart set your net

catch my regret catch me down a diamond lure

make an exception for my clarity cure: the one i don’t know

myself: i have you to rescue me from the life i knew

The Sea

under the sea means: a drop pulling in pulling down where we’ve been

under the flow each sand-finger clings remaining clings to letting go of where we’ve been

Running on Glass

she was sickened by the feeling of running on glass barefooted of the edge of the Pacific seemed like the best escape at the time

the coral shards grazed, causing sharp flinching deep-gutted cringing: and blood worth a river or so it felt the larger smooth pieces rhythmically lulled along the water line and black shells

like lava balls, slowed her to an aching walk alone on the beach, she limped from the pain comforted by the curved wave’s rolls returning and then retreating, like mother’s love

Noticing the deep drop off ahead, her fantasy began under the tri-wave white cap rotation the ocean sucking the water back

from shore like an earthly turkey baster

drawing her so far back toward the bottom to finality exposed deep past from turning point the perfect opportunity for suffocating nothingness

she imagined it carrying her away by a magnet, a last half-breath, not moved, her body, toward rescue, or clarification: swapping pity, she tried on hatred

a cruel curse at its best, a not ed life thoughts escape

conflicting notions, opinions, pound salty storm water pulling into the vortex, into the stifling, the muffling bubbles, the gasping for clear air always felt so dense and deep

deathly depths down where bottom and top are the same they feel equal distance apart each equally appeal, toward which to swim

take on the darkness or keep yourself light having sat in the dark morning’s shadow crazy beginning to take its hold and toll she felt god in the hood of the thin white sweatshirt

cupping her ears for while listening wrapping around her like an Anaconda hug luckily, she slept unfailingly last night to the sound of the mourning waves

i do not love you

but i now dream how

we could have done it

better together

For Me

he used to smell his fingers

looked like a marble god; the chipped kind

let me eat crackers on his cotton bed

he said for me he would ‘smoke my battered ashes’

drive a massive desert in an airconditioned

mercedes for me

Unloaded

there is a simpler plan overwhelm’s not done but humble to all except ourselves

who is in darkness the sharpest pit feeling so sick flushing a soul

it is needed to know the clues not things listed in a mind, whose motives are unloaded

I Love You Empty

i love you empty truly full of depletion far from completion suck the dampening day leave me unable to try the crawl across carpet

watched only to criticize me like a show a gambling mecca review where we once went before a pandemic wolverine was seen

i can’t solve you i can only survive you

Sane, So I’ll Stay

no time to wait, they say we put it off for our stuff not a moment more though we don’t delay for others but for our own comforts

like a dirty chorus of children who become a bullied cliché or to be made into simple poems wishes and lies, dreaming roses, singing a song in order to belong

it all sounds like something insane confusion from the onset, relating as if under water and an anchor in the recovering storm rescue

now: a dry sand

beach between your body, mine you’ll call me sane, so i’ll stay

Truth Be Here

these old years the truth be here

over a drink unslept waking to life on repeat

i was a worried young woman and a pleasing-perfect pet

returned after a divorce returned home from the wild

now, these last fifteen is reaching the icing

head and heart aches what pills to take

something blue for depression something white for sleep

don’t recall my wedding song too much like me to belong

in the night of forgiving see only future new wise old strength self-knowing such a dip’s been jumped galaxy joy fit to think forget vilify forgive to feel

By Blood Or Crayon

i mold my clay hands around your shoulders

i know i wrote an essay about you at age thirteen

one where we know who we are or we need to be

my words were smaller than clarity, not receding

my pages marking out people i wanted to meet

crossing off possibilities of them misunderstanding

as much as i did, vowing to write until they did too

then someday, they’ll consume my books and eat my thoughts

hook, crack, spill out my spine you’ll take the words of mine

expect something to come out and it will, by blood or crayon

Ignite

find the years drag out tears through worry: no result, sorry

spend the day in a watchful way an alone heart burp and fart

Monte Vista

not knowing exactly where the ghost was, i turned toward the tempting distraction can she show me herself, teach me to be?

help me not lose my focus, in order to keep up with this century’s life or enough to prove reasons to stay away?

bring me to the Cavalry Cemetery i heard no one say, “or the House on Leroux a better place, if not along with you”

so, i sang: think about all the things you fear and thought: you were allowed to be free here if only it were this easily stored, until the end

they say her name was ducille, and the rocking of the chair confirmed,

as she woke me with her whiff draft

an oval orb dreamily moved my hair the orange center with smoke darkness a deep cloud like a cigar’s silent soot

ing from circular left, head of the bed grounding again in the green plaster wall disappearing perfectly like fog in freshness

the chair was still, the room carried no noise a stolen glass of Gray Goose and lime, unfinished on a bureau, a charcoal ribbon, left last night

i’ll write you until you’re real

Silver Knight

he sat in the café on that father’s day three children deep around the table, reading, “spending time with your kids” ignoring them, in the silver night, his worn hands rhyming with the high light

they carried you all through sick struggles seeing future troubles he laid alongside her although she didn’t stay with him long never sang his song

the family forgotten and a silver knight

Cat Or Dog

there’s a cat or dog lost as if unrewarded sat near a corner or station doesn’t knew their name no formal relations

someone’s du them as we all have been left: they’ll find nourishment a place to escape, sleep

i see you there, you’re not my prey, just a stray i can protect, not creeping taking time to be relating:

we both honor our instincts

as we cannot leave ourselves

In Poems

she was duchess brown alive where she stood as if turned to ash, heart inside uned breasts

her smile may illuminate by their wanton wit, dark together laughing so gray and unclear, under-ocean

they have a soft fray edge lived by their own as all of us seek to do as gold dull, faded patina

they choose to dance drunk persuade ourselves depressed deliriously satisfied with less

hunting the ever-better premise

it doesn’t matter who you are someone is praying for the gay and those called they, as if god not reachable or a determined

course: many feel sad, sorry, but they do not know themselves as of yet, or they do indeed better than most, in poems

Oh, Your World

it is blinders or a muzzle self-loaded

that selfishness crawls up from doesn’t send you home

you can’t be alone with children or dishes they’re wild, unwashed

don’t you send them to a sickness, just because you’ve paid for your plans

quietly deny and justify the reasons you have to,

yourself, life with it

Blessed

bombarded with sorrow still alive and higher than many others: i’m blesses

crazy from emotions only to wrestle lower to remind myself: i’m blessed

ordinary beautiful bliss can come to all of us and i’ll : we’re blessed

Boy

this boy you’re so tall now kind as a preschooler smart as a toddler

i see you my idol chill, calm unspillable

working hard equally relaxed like water pulsating apart

he either came from me or the me

i want to be

Why Worry

why is it worry is one of us could fly and the other cannot

or if so, would one be dangling and another sending:

stop listening start ing start forgetting

ask ourselves what we need in hours or more until someone feels better

or we both leave on a black backroad

with reasons to escape

People With New Ways

this is how they live this and we old can learn from them

late in here, their twenties, they have it: grounded themselves

saving moneys savoring simplicities set well down and soundless

a few things occur slow banter happily nothing shifted

moved about basics

they’ll take themselves fastly farther for it know what was long ago learned and make sure it’s done so much better

A Letter

i want to write a letter to the sister i’ve never had

she’s out there maybe has an inkling that our father

flew away, got away to his creative place, like an egret caged

for me to do on a secret day and see if she’s she

she may ignore me get away with it

because ‘not ready’

Hitting Drama

all that’s felt is the pain, like arms or shoulder blades, as this is written at three

frustration and anger are hitting from the drama, starting over from it, stop it here even though the fan is still blowing, water is cooling, dogs are sleeping, arms, and shoulders are subsiding

the bones make cornflake sounds the firepain is a train all too close to

a sweated wrong move, in trees, bringing down trees, trying too hard to be a bright star

there is no sleep without aides there are no smiles without pills are involved

now: all those days of not wanting or no time

have given up on me, but i look like myself in the mirror, or at least my kind

let me go as someone to blame

place my best in the hands that bleed

how can a sun not be welcome

it is not a prison nor a new pope

its contents are gold disguised as my soul

eager eyes shut-out shut his tiger breath whiskers whispering pinning fear to my face

agate eyes among stones thrown my stare stares wanting whimpering asking to let me go

the last time he was seen i was between hate and something purely unclean

you did not steal what was given

it was held but not taken

emptied your hands filled them again

your heart cupped then, it came apart

clouds deep chance close happenstance

heavy air heavier grief art’s nature belief

numbered stars a galaxy intact the universe relaxed

Heat

the blowing heat: my heart in my feet

the wind in the windows a dread disguised within

unable to shake the worry on repeat

some to avoid, a goal determined to let me know

heading toward a retreat to relieve as if to weep

run it all out exhale it to hell

the wolves in the mind the doves there to divide

growl me awake coo me to sleep

Something New

there’s something new among the untangled few for us who have had a bad week and must unravel the view:

like a penchant to spring clean, stop rolling the shit around my mouth, silently screaming in a stained chair yelling the hell of a gull

instead of hearing myself, i shall be healing my heart: start thinking something new

Killing Us Down

no more trying to figure why it brings freedom in eyes and wishes of dreams and things known to me

like an old saying in a timed state the style of the day of love and hate how to know how they live without us

how we can’t live without agony

no more vying for what we pretend to love the exchanges between hearing and saying

no more trying to fly away the struggle to understand the exposure to what is killing us down

Tire Swing

when i see a tree songs come from its rings and i know the lyrics are reliable

when i hear a voice i feel like it’s a lie like inconvenient gravity

i can swinging in trees like these, deep memories, which was better than the definition of it

drop you crack ice you smack against your rough cut against glass trash scab, a bin of gin, drown me up, i float, colder than my clothes, will not separate myself from you no matter what is written

Her Story

when she’s gone, my mother, i mean, what will have to be said?

what may have been learned, when later, i came to know her

when she was finally open, a page or a phrase: the way it always should have been

her knowing i took her story to heart with more value than she placed upon it

i lay you face down on your stomach not to seduce you like an animal, but to relieve myself from your response:

time and light have me noticing what’s not good for me: what’s not been needed years before this

the time before when there was an edge that was faced: not satellites, but simplicities

Quick Trick Fix

it will take you time to see me

before the eyes can be opened before we leave the sleep-place

we take the awake escape from the legends of dreams, into the spreading of gold

so, glide gentle gel write what i need to hear and if i drink enough, let the thoughts lift to the surface

all my scars may be purple, but they bloom into strength: like a headache that tells me to rest like a stab that tells me to leave

She Feels Fine

as a child, she could say, no: she may have been naughty, but was just trying it on for size

at twenty, she said, no, but no one listened if it was under a minute

at thirty, no brought her marriage to its end

at forty, no brought her loneliness to her:

no end

in her fifties, she’s liberated: she needs no no’s OR yes’s no questions, no compliments

and she feels fine

Cycles

the sounds of the tree’s tears

the ribs and throats of awakened toads

end song of birds that had never begun

the creek who decided that all will be washed

among rocks, hidden in centuries, cycles

sadder than anyone would even notice

Dad

dad: who is forgotten

he saw me and said yes

he saw a baby and said, fine

brought us to the life that he was already wise to,

and his main love was too beautiful

she had twelve things to tell him:

one was me and she left the other eleven

for later on in the evening

In Love With Words

such a reprieve is a clean page slate aspiring a pretentious peak

smoke stacked down a falling water wall or rock, polished cool and unsunned

and i’ll run into it to exhale the ink sand the slippery walk stay silent, trying to talk

when eyes are closed bird songs will hang too much in love

with words to speak

What Is Not Needed

no need for tv or bing, daily, only a diary a black and white pen: that’s the end

the charming utensils and trinkets on a base can be returned to outer space: just a character of a tree on my wrist without a sleeve is all i need

things i’m unable to carry: the paid-for comforts unrequited and materials from my precious vices are not at all needed, nor the things not from my worldly devices

she turned from her friend

led her chest into his arm

watched him bump another

thought she’s pause for extra long

she does not feel safe talking and puts her face in her hands

shields herself from who he wants her to be

aware that others hide their faces in their hair

The Florida Cardinal

like you, i see only red surrounded half black eye to see the view of the sky

unlike you, i see blood anger in species, the chance to assassinate, but not solve

Black Mask

are you smiling flipping me off with your tongue

raddling me around your female fuzz or monster moustache

the strength of a chin is hidden no visual

truth can’t tell if i’m liked or if i should be killed

Kentucky

on one short road, i write my way through hanging-head trees, birds in bathed sun songs, movements without sound all will be sent home with my heart from here

Smaller Than Him

taken for granted that a waist should be smaller than his

raised in a stone knowing that me alone should be petite

held up, raised over his head able to wrap

his torso like a tornado, not too much for him, to like me that way

Zoologist

at the edge bar blue and black sandy gown satin eyes

she had a pet then ten more landed a man then a dream

worked harder than all others saved for travel and bold tattoos

kept holes and tears rips and stains to obtain her goal

never asking time

to give her a hand: she did it alone and is true to whom she well reveres

Three

three paddle fingers on a wind turbine

in northern illinois the shadows, long ghosts

no chance for a camera between power lines

like a spirit moving, then lonely and still

Socks

i wear the sort of socks that are to go unseen

like these feelings i no longer need end up tossed

rolled in a ball not staying on in a grocery bag

with strings, fuzzies, a crushed tin can map corner ends

Meth

when she dug into her head at a dollar store blood trailed

the skin on her forehead outward directions unwashed slick hair such a sweet smile

her holed jeans uncleaned, as she pulled down hard on her tight tank

over lost bones underneath: dying while he sat in the car

window opened junker

dropped his cigarette out the door, black top picked it up sucked it in

grubby backseat dog loved or unloved stared and waited for her to finally return to hell

she did and he sped away as she held her forehead and they returned to were they had come from

she was not afraid of the leather water bird on the post, squirming looking for mother, but not moving, misconstruing

trying to figure me out not on her post beside standing taller, moving won’t land on me, as if i don’t make sense either

son, so calm: how does he shut out the things that haunt me

only one thing at a time the best for him, he feels no need for theatrics

extravagances, not five things at once like known me

When Travelling

i think i will run, but i won’t or use many camera lenses go onto a laptop to write long

i will not break a phone charger or read more than one book look at more than one map

wear high heeled shoes use more than one coat not four lip moisturizers

only fill one water bottle outwear one pair of jeans or adorn any hats

no need even for responses just wait for the birds to come

or the notification to be

The Spa

ready to be seen the calm can be kept the fair oil soaked in like a leaf now turned

of knowing myself as it is today there is a cutting out declining drama ahead

effortless hiding in skin flailing heart, drowning breath, on shore, or beach, on the holy mend

What I Love About Me

funny is when it happens responses larger than thought strength when called for goals finished when sought

motherly love for daughter and son, consumed with joy trying to manage the others when i don’t achieve, but try

and for me alone, i’m tired from questions and chores letting the world, unchanged, beat me up, alias no more

Against The Page

it is good when it returns a memory felt or a line reminded facing the page black against a palm

a naughty child a corner facing wall doing only these two of nature and love writing with cool wine is like a hand in a glove

One Journal

going on one trip so, bring one journal

and breath knows how the thing is important

the belongings brought along: a special ring, but not a guy

run away escape a life out on a wing

never coming down

What Is The Water, White

trinkle water gravity pulls the fountain down, spirits back to tile

to the pool pale pebbles sadness blue ruses careless against glass

to make the color of white that water of white

What To Do

it can’t be true about her and you now, what to do

i sacked the maid while you got laid through shit, we wade

the, found a flight told myself, hold tight, get well out of sight

take a year to heal the future is the deal return to some appeal

oh, twenty years on the end’s been a long run,

but my strength goes far beyond

Trying

reach that trying find me within you arm’s length, but so far up in silent stars

catch me up to pull me down vow to hold me there in your happy eyes

will it work heart of a hand homeless queen or privileged woman kind

to go, then home, is bright, fresh version of self wishing it sticks or i won’t survive

Heart Pieces

toned poems stoned topics lay on paper a grained table hurting too

interrupted by scratch, a pen, a missed missile satisfaction and failure, this sepia life alone the price of heart pieces

Half Anchor

what choice was there: like a love poem, decayed only one direction to go

the future feeling unknown as our boats near shore on a dock named lockdown, but only half hearted

to have no choice to be protected these solitary ports appeared debated, translated, then mandated

then, our news loosened or lessened no attention on each other meltdowns, hopelessly undefined all is only half known

left now with a shame choice between larger or smaller towns, we wear our halfhearted crowns

there’s a mindset that should be here for some, there for others: the opposite always feels untrue nothing’s more than half understood

for me, the proud choice comes to , know better next time: note it as experience without furtherance half unfounded, half profound

you’ll find me in my hiding place

The Best Of Bad

falling apart, falling asleep, i hear it but, it does not sink: and it’s on repeat, like a secret slurred

a screeching bird, a boar’s roar, we can survive this, we’re told: we’re promised for only another year

this pandemic crumbling cliff an up-the-ante threat: we’re all wishing that it be deferred

with nowhere to go, i tore a goal got my head out of lockdown mode: listen and you’ll hear the silence concur

away from lithesome lore, accomplish the filling of bags with needless things:

what was once valued and preferred

clarify from when i was someone else, clear out from somewhere smaller: downsize from emotions blurred

using confinement time to break free, something so powered and productive: because loneliness is such a ghostly word

Love

pull the rock off my chin

the last skin lifted, tapped in, listened to,

bury my dugout eyes into your smokey beard

climb behind your ears wrestle the hand free

leave myself with no way out:

artifacts found will be remnants of me

Repeat Plague

it came again: a plague from a grain or great complaint perhaps from a biblical age or town

the lyrical chain is delayed if we stay out of each other’s way just ask them how they made it around

a hundred years ago, it happened without the thought of no clean hands, just poems with answers will still stand after lockdown

no underground, all this is above, for the victims and the victors who look right and look left

without sound

it’s spreading without a guide, we’ve forgotten this is a repeat and all those we’ve lost, deep now under ground

Visiting Phoenix

the plane's landing is insight phoenix is all blistering sand today's solstice happily bright

a taxi drive to the compound killing time at the blue-pool a hidden house key is found

my oldest friend’s a spirit sister seen through the gate, eager to greet a smile is all that's expected of her

we were children forty years ago a second soul in a rosette shape until i was left (my rebellion) alone

we were young: she fled the yukon i begged that she stay to live with us

her parents took her, without a reason

at dawn, i wake to her coffee wafting i ask for answers, to questions unknown her response, this time, was shocking

'your home had no place for me there' she said, 'my mom could see no guidance and it, without distraction, needed repair'

my soft day’s start began otherwise couth the strings tightened: a pain epiphany: my heart dripped out from her mouth

'it wasn't in their best interest to let me stay,' as her parents had shared with her later: i grasp my chin, as my face melted away

Dove

a dove and an angel

trap me: an eagle whines within

a feather brough around or a song played by a swan

but black can’t take it back

if you’re the river and you blend in with the killers,

does this mean you win?

Down And Locked

dive deeper into the promise search for what’ll steer us in spring a temperate com of things: gracing good solid trust, because tomorrow matters

risks are greater each day while yearning for summer paths not going out with people, only places: and pages, telling of the world changes, each day it is all courage faced

then we refolded into more fear, as we are all tired from falling down it’s the natural rhythm of rebounding: for this time more than most, expected changes, unexpected challenges

approaching the door’s lock all this can cause stress, depressed, then on to calm winter’s rest: let your mind free, unlock the light, face what’s to come after lockdown

Larger In Reflection

this is not a road not worth dying on

after years of driving it after being driven away

ing the houses watched, when no one watches mine

the air holding itself the colorless nothing sky

the right foot hits as sure as cement

the left foot slides as if being eaten

black birds, white birds scatter, wood-dark dog nearby

the caramel ribbon of surf sticky-candy rusted heaven

something seen, but indescribable

a wave worth dying under

Sister

i wish for a sister

thin and pale like a paper plate

who is willing to hold my secrets while we wait

God’s Reach

start ourselves in the middle of a steep climb risking a painful trip

silence and banter from authorities higher than our glorious reach risking our own necks

setting straight what the earth doesn’t just touching our feet lower than god’s reach

sitting on laps the warmth fading accidently gone:

the grip letting go

a poet is (just so you know)

searching your eyes for lies, for alibis

training the reader (are you reading)

come up for breath or a bountiful bite

they understand all (you know they do)

dilutes the truth: polluted, but smooth

Paper Heart

some things stay inside of us a paper heart a stranded spot

there is a mindless parked inside of us not letting others in not letting ourselves out

twin mind resides deep inside of us for those we want to love for those we have to love

there is pain inside all of us a desperation to uncage

as fluid as silenced rage

Saved

in a white box in a pink suede bag there were two loops on a necklace of gentle gold

given to me on mothering Sunday your mother has ed but it was given to me

The Love Of Self

the pillow calms my tired thoughts winter wash is clean and ready the turn off sounds deflects from drama the world is a space like no one is safe,

but if i love myself well i will no longer require an escape expressions of scratches and ink do not speak or hear what you don’t need to

a proper cup and handle of warm amber tea our lips through which we breathe and all over again we remind ourselves

to give ourselves the love

we need

The Male Pheasant

he prances, fluffs boo bops, pop-ups runs amok through ditch and dirt into grasses upon his female

he shakes threatens to save her to meet her or not let her speak the feather band brown and spotted

redheaded flounced and breaded torture the dog race the car

take it all back or really be ready

Sleep

to be prolific at some sleep the unload relief to start again

no dreams even as dramatic as awake give me a lien on a ledge or a spider crawling pit

give me fire over family devastation over social drama hating what most bring spending time and reason

Six Friends

my friends are in my heart that are part of my life inside of me

the bird plenty of scenes and relief from thinking about me curious of me repeat

travel brings a smile deep satisfaction, saturation to be away from the place of my home pain

perhaps a life giver a father once, a mother now lingering one behind and one in front always between me

trailblazer spirit knowing who i am resting, reflecting not fighting what others are bothered by

sleep saver, renewer of the thought train trying to restrain the enemies that reside deeper than despair

a pen in hand toes on land the surface as a pad

to unleash what can’t be held in

Questioning

i have been here so many times, before: an expense that’s been paid

so, under my cover seeing blue lights: arresting the culprits

it’s not far to where i should be, she thinks, and i guess i agree

now the closest to being the me that’s questioning no matter: hurt still knows

this is the way to write it

infinity is the way to see it

A Glance

there’s something to hear myself not ignore the roars: pessimism, conspiracy to unhear inflexibility rigorous superiority, but that’s me, i guess

an unreached specimen of those dangling things the laws below me not being without you and in my hand, fresh curls around another chance cupping it like a glance

Poured

it’s heavy carrying to scribble a song with softness, bring time for the work

how many falls before we become who we thought we were unknowing where to turn

to kindness poured down sweet, silent, and sublime

you may eventually hate me for how much i love you

Beside Them

so, i know i once loved you as much as i love him,

but there were some i didn’t love although i told them just to see

their eyes melt and knew what they’d become if i lied

i lie to them while lying

beside them

Sweetness

they face one another their child married off seeing what they forgot

the bald head the toupee eyebrows wires to unlock a lock a gift left unwrapped

they silently count the bags and boozy eyes they’ve seen the beauty before, their child

or when they first met raw: they pulled forces then and now today

reminded of the sweetness

Sapling Leaves

the sapling leaves are shivering things

balsams bend in the intended wind

pines tiptoe away as if ice will stay

the storm oaks straight-up sway

they grow taller as it gets colder

shows like standing soldiers

outside my shut door winter’s final horror

Swallow

each swallow a story concluded or answer revealed

the stage strong constructed readied lines to portray

each sway the madness, brains to leave, stay away

the song that pretends it’s ok cuz we know nothing lasts long

Leave Your Gun

a wooden sliver dug deep in

go back to were it is from

flames down a street unable to stay asleep

until four thirty then pulled out

hairs tangled among the sweater’s weave

disagree, then leave your gun, at any cost

Rosary

in brown and pink, it’s lois from livonia:

she saved the best for her last years of life

her first calling an interrupted rosary

hymns in back calling children heaven

with gleam and glee, she’s grateful for where she’s been

sharing a good life’s wish and prayer for me

swing around to me see my premonition

of how i’ll help, and it’ll go wrong

you’ll see there’s nothing left of me, but a sunset

a left, inkless pen a broken rubber band

rewinding from hands that mold you into me

What Do I Look Like

what do i look like for today for anyway

like a poppy or rose held at its spine with twine

paper scraps fresh polish a green pen what it writes

this last day another first today, tomorrow

to gather and bleed

Waves

if you say i’ve taken your food and water, there’s a problem

so, i hear your weight on that matted stale chair for your ass

get off of it take a bag and fill it with cigarettes, magazines

clamshells, half reasonings open the crusted curtains that drip, molded, unkempt

and your exploded ink

grubby sink, grab the black waves in back tie the dog with a frayed strap and get out there

go as far as you can love yourself: you’re human and it will love you back

Keep Away

she, thirteen he, a year younger

and the father who didn’t know

where to turn place his hands

when the knife entered his hand

it drew the line

on their throats through the bed linens

dripped down the satin into the berber nap

looking out the glass knowing he’s gone

too many winds none of them tornados

some like elephants emerging from brush

others are calm like hallmark movies

going for vogue hopes

lives with less jokes

Fly

how seldom do we wish for something better enough or not, it’s nothing to neglect

hope can be a friendship rarely visited, treated with a heart like a romance

nothing telling tales of how they’re treated an ecstasy or just a good turn

lest we become a bedlam lacking nourishment in this ugly gray sweater, worn everyday

filling us with hate, the knitted stiches not even pleasing and color envies the dreary

speckled yarn like eye colors, bringing out the hotel green in mine

there is no reason to love it, like a battered animal, it will always love us back

while we are tending to hate first before the gale or ripped sail

that can take us further from our shore

if you don’t give yourself a subtle ash slipping, then go all the way

if you are a cast away, a cutdown, who may die: go all the way

on blue sunday, a holy day straight slip into the blue come on, go all the way

are you gently fraying or need to pray for yourself then go all the way

The Kind Of Kings

once, i lusted for a king not the hugging kind but a devoted one

like a rehearsal of loss that was the one that was the real one

the kind of kings leaving more entirely not interchanged

just a boy who wanted to hear what i would say in exchange for hearing his

stuck in a daydream is a friend’s foil: they’re

dapper and determined

even saying, hello, or, in cruel revenge, causing even the enemies to be lost

when they take themselves up to the flat top of a mountain and shoot themselves dead

so, i ask the universe every day, may i please stop loving them, but let the richness linger

switching, clicking, for a distant duration, this is the case, i think, in all universes

A Sonnet

stuff your mouth with a template told of your heaven, at times an untrimmed line

what kind of eyes will see in the end: what icicle teeth will touch like nails

and when the tongue sleeps a stressful clench, the tips of which, brood and wear down from your mere look

then, from an unlit heart, i will sing the flames of a sonnet that’s silent

to cool your warm moon

Triggers

for what creativity triggers, it does strangely configure

withdraws before we attack: the aftermath we’ve met before

to know the torture of blue, green, and feelings in between

of what is known to be miraculously in store

look in on your day

look up to the bed frame

his leg hangs like a cut

he’ll straighten it and stand so alone

stir the day’s voices until one floats up

Strangers

how can strangers hope that we enjoy ourselves?

the smarter the longer we unknow them?

the more wishes we get wished: sentiments granted

until they must be wanting us to be what we ought to be

Valentine’s House

your shadow hard edges silhouette can be seen in a bright beige sun around the window’s corner view

your call dead lonely, nightly can be heard through the dark through the ash, through black glass

your owl glide, pretentious silence precedence setting to your fresh-lumber house

Loving You

i loving you

how i ran, drive away

you didn’t want me

we didn’t need to talk i wasn’t wounded in the woods,

you don’t need to know that

i don’t loving you, but i must have

in a tapestry chair, the past erases out

without care over-starting today

with a slate clean drama in the attic back

and wonder about when i’ll be long gone

The Shape of Shackles

come down harder to the bone protecting or caring those sneaky shackles last day heart race

no one’s worth relapse drama doesn’t land: complaining, declining don’t bother to care about bad days, the dips

filled in, at every depth, having inherited it an open door with no lock a month of cigarettes no one’s standing there

the expectations are as loud as stress unexpected noise, a bomb, an edge knowing history to predict this: shaping to find what’s great when even joy is a mess

Did you love The Shape Of Shackles? Then you should read Answer in the Rafters by Kimberly K Kelly!

Answers in the Rafters is easy poetry that gives you a world that you'll swear is yours, when you thought you were without understanding: it will acknowledge you like a friend when a lust for connection and desperate ruminations are taking you over. This poetry collection is a gentle balance between the playfulness of life's surprises, struggles with elements that pull us in, nature both inside and outside, escape when we can't bear any more, love when we can't get enough, and the answers that we all seek to the things we can barely repeat: unexpected answers are sometimes found in the most unexpected places. This was written for you. This was meant for us.

About the Author

Kimberly K. Kelly is a poet who has written four collections of poetry, three novels in verse, and various collaborative works of historical poetry, fiction, and non-fiction. Themes that encom these works include soulful survival, elusive emotions, unexpected enlightenments, and shared experiences: all of which endeavor to provide the reader with a sense of comfort and connection. Her work has been described as having a stand-out strength in its capacity to surprise through strangeness, wildness, associative leaps, and imaginative syntax. Ms. Kelly was born in Minnesota and raised in Alaska. She received a B.S. in Creative Writing, an M.A. in Communications, and has worked as an Academic Success Coach and At-Risk Student Program Director at a University in Wisconsin. She has been writing since she was twelve, travels widely, enjoys outdoors and avian photography, and considers herself a problem solver through plain poetry and mindful musing. She has lived throughout the world and now resides near Lake Superior with her longtime partner Reed. Her work can be found on most bookstore sites and instagram @eagle_poetry.