This Is Truly A Bad Poem

How can anyone love me,
If I don’t love myself?
Why must my heart be,
Breaking, crumbling in on itself?

Is it simply the way the cookie crumbles?
With hatred welling in my innermost depths,
Tis an experience which truly humbles,
All done in twelve easy steps.

Melancholy, it is my life,
I carry an umbrella when the sun shines,
I cry blood tears, brought by a knife,
I’m trapped, afraid to go outside the lines.

This is truly a bad poem, khajiit says it is so,
Now the argonian wants me to go.


Tag along and join my mailing list.RSK

Now I Sit in My Dark Corner


Deviant Art black-sheep88

Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all.
–Alfred Lord Tennyson

Or so renaissance poets say,
Claiming to not love is like a winter frost,
Their poets though, don’t they truly know the way,
Have you ever loved and lost?

I have, and it cuts me deep,
Like a knife slicing down to bone,
It left me piled up in a heap,
Lost, bleeding, and all alone.

Now I sit in my dark corner,
Trying to remember the feeling of life,
I cry like I’m a lost lonely mourner,
Wishing I could sing to my darling wife on a fife.

The horizon lies so far in the distance,
Does anyone truly rely on my existence?RSK

Poem a Day: Waiting + Announcement


Is it going to be today?
What about tomorrow?
God, I need the pay,
So I do not have to borrow.

Cold Lunch is coming,
Long have I waited.
Lucien’s ever cunning,
Renfield’s thirst is sated.

Nervousness surrounds me,
Choking with anticipation,
Will they even like thee,
Can this be my occupation.

None can quench my thirst,
Cold Lunch comes on May first.


***Author’s Note***

So, my debut novel Cold Lunch is going to be released on May 1st and I am so on edge right now. XD

I’m filled with such a wild mix of emotions right now, and I don’t know which direction I should be going.

And, part of me is depressed, because I know this isn’t going to be a miracle moment. This release is going to change things for me, forever, but it’s not the miracle cure I’ve been dying for. I’ll still have to have a day job after the 1st. I have a long uphill battle with marketing coming up on the second. I put the book out there. I built it, now I need to let people know about it so they can come.

That being said, if you would be so kind, I’ve just started setting up a mailing list of like minded individuals. I thought I’d call you all my Kinsgrovians, and my newsletter will be the Kinsgrovian Press. Now, if you would, I’d like you to click right here, and sign up on my mailing list. That way you won’t miss an ounce of Kinsgrove.

Poem A Day: I Want To Go Home


I want to go home,
I will curl up and cry,
Finding myself buried in a tome,
The pages wet, tears fallen from the eye.


I want to go home,
I say that at home,
What does that mean?
Is something unseen?


Is home a place?
A time?
Somewhere in space?
A cloud of rime?


What does it mean?
To say, honey I’m home.
What factors are seen,
Are they nothing more than a roaming gnome?


I feel then, it’s lost for all time,
What it means to go home.
I sit here and cry as I rhyme,
There’s no place like…



Poem a Day: Beside the Door

I’ve held you in my arms before
Long did we sit beside that door
Plastic pipes, artificial air
Tragic cuts to skin and hair


I’ve held you in my arms before
Your heart was beating, bleeding, broken and sore
Yet clung do life you did so
And told me how I ought to go


I’ve held you in my arms before
Long did we sit beside that door
Sirens blaring through the night
Boxes beeping with bright light


I’ve held you in my arms before
My arms held tight, you wanted to soar
With angels wings high in the air
The devil lost sight, you did not care


I’ve held you in my arms before
Then I let you go to see you soar
Now I’m waiting beside the door
For you’re not free of me evermore


We all must sit beside the door
I must sit and wait for you
Beyond the door lies heaven and hell
Beyond the door where your soul sets sail


***Author’s Note***

I wrote this one around the same time I wrote For My Grandma. The inspiration had been a friend who had been through a bad car wreck, and spent several days on life support. The speaker in the poem is supposed to be representative of death, and the door is naturally a metaphor for the thin line between our world and the next. And, something more along those lines XD I’ll let ya’ll decide how you read it.

Poem a Day: For My Grandma

Death sat beside her bed,
His hand resting upon her head,
Yet her heart did not fill with dread,
She found joy and happiness instead.


For she had a life well lived,
For ninety-two years she survived,
With six children who grew and thrived,
And many grand children who were pint-sized.


They were pint-sized all those years ago,
But now stand round, their eyes a glow,
As they watch the curtains end the show,
Mourn their hearts did on this day though.


Mourn they should not,
Tis part of God’s great plot,
They may all be distraught,
But the angel’s songs ease their thought.


For up their high above,
Her beauty is eternal and radiant as a dove,
She suffers no more wrapped in God’s silk glove.


***Author’s Note***

I wrote this when my Grandma passed away. March 18, 1923 to March 18, 2015. I miss you Grandma. Oh God, Grandma, I miss you so much.

Poem a Day: My Poem of the Day

Now I sit to write,
My poem of the day,
Writing it at night,
So the lantern makes it pay.


My pen scratches against the page,
Music to my ears,
I find it has no age,
I could listen to it for years.


Now the day is done,
The time for bed grows nigh,
Gone has the sun,
In my dreams I will fly high.


Today the worst occurred,
I wish it had deferred.

Poem a Day: I Don’t Know

I don’t know what to do,
I don’t know what to say,
I don’t know where to go,
I don’t know how it got this way.


Where did I go wrong,
Is it something I missed,
I’m sorry I’m not strong,
I guess I can’t fix it by getting kissed.


I don’t know what you want me to be,
All you do is have to say the word,
And, you can have whatever you want of me,
I’ll give you my first and second and third.


I don’t know why this poem was so easy to write,
I don’t know if I can win this fight.

Poem a Day: Margaret or Margarine?


Butter, butter, margarine, butter,
How you set my heart a flutter,
You make my lips stumble and stutter,
Even when clearing out the kitchen clutter.


Glasses shatter,
There is a great clatter,
Leaving the room all in a tatter,
Now you’re confused because of the latter.


Jumping and twisting and turning around,
Until we fall upon the ground,
Once there we make a great sound,
Lying atop the burial mound.


If this is morbid I don’t give one wit,
My love for you will never quit.


***Author’s Note***

I think this is easily the most entertaining poem I’ve written so far. Well, with the exception of An Ode to Star Trek (that one was pure nonsense). But, this one seems to strike so much deeper. At the surface it looks like a happy little ditty. Looking past the first few passages though, it becomes rather dark. Of course, I’m not going to tell you how to read the poem. I want to see if you came to the same conclusions I did.