http://slow.writerscafe.org/KeneBujold The original writings of author Ken e Bujold en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775973879 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Twisting rhymes into a locket, a pixie’s mirror to bygone times, poems you could carry around inside your pocket  to be pulled out whenever you found yourself fumbling over the glassy-eyed indifference of a girl begging to be noticed to.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2947691/ The threat of a sea, my seeing more of the world--more than my poor mother’s heart couldendure--tugged until she had no otherrecourse but to untie her apron’s string …  When the news came--I’d gone down to Tír na Mara--I’.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2946168/ Sing swift and savagely! Remember  your day’s atramental muses, imaginesof where life ought to have led,if only hand and feet had been aspitilessly in sync as mind and heart can be…. needs to be spilled when ardorrages.  Chose your words--thes.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2937986/ Betrayed by their youth, the grayingcurrents, old men reluctantly turn back,recall the black and white of sun-floweredkodaks--the poached kiss off of a skittishDolly Varden. How unhappy the poor things are… glaringdown the befuddled barrel of ablack hole; t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2936911/ Immured a starless keep… still andunversed blank abyss… black--asonly black inhered before the proemial dam burst…before the unthinking nought and nilconceived of Chaos--of everything all at once… breathing life into thewordlessness of no.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2936654/ Once the die had been fashioned,fired … Once man could speak of hisdominion … Of fish fowl and flower, heavenand earth … Of one equation … There could be not turning backthe clock, time by nature was irreversible. Having ceded th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2931146/ 'foretelling perhaps ...' http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2931144/ Old men often wake too late torecall their long-sailed dreams. The brevityof youth, that tomorrow that never came,in the fall becomes the sorrow of an age-oldtruth --Death is the constant companionof Life. Time does not excuse the unadventurousfrom the ravages of .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2930800/ Hail Guiseppe, my friends, is aseldom heard greeting between Romans anymore. Alongthe banks of the Tiber, querying the ides,Democracy’s last desperate hours, mostlikely ends in bitterness of intercity rivals jostlingover the Coppa Campioni. Governed by the new alg.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2930798/ Behold, beware, Mycenae, thebefated Orestes, Agamemnon’s cold-shoulderedheir, back from Athens --today’s the day for settlingaccounts. Clytemnestra’s overfed nights ofwine, Aegisthus slurping from the regalcup, are at an end. The ill-advisedHouse of .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2930590/ "same name, same theme as an earlier poem, but this more towards the writer, poem that prompted the thought' http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2929961/  Late in the day you’re likely tofind him stretched between two callousedpalms, drink in hand, looking east, deaf to the sun. Thatold world, the aging whines, rarely worthrecollecting, as far from his thoughts astomorrow’s breakfast, a trivial matte.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2929625/ The last reticent wisp of aRomanbreeze blustering behind me -- sunsetalmost at hand -- the crux of thislong-ago decision clutches the nape of my goldenneck, squeezing what few drops of hesitation I mightstill harbor. If the flesh is weak, memory maylive on indefin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2929137/ Dawn twice betided that doomsdaymorning;conventionally with a c**k’scrow -- thenwithout warning, three hourslater, when Hades unleashed the gates ofTartarus …  Cerberus ran amok through thestreets of Midnight. The bedazzling cloud of John’srevelation suddenly clea.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2929098/ 'companion to Adam" http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2929057/ ‘You come to Rome to look forRome …’ Lowell’s bright-eyed ghost of aline whispers. The eternal city, dressed forwinter, serene and enigmatic softgreens, light blues blurring the edges betweenmyth and realityas if drawn from one ofBotticelli&rs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2928941/ Other, more hazy historianswrite with one eye open, eager to retell what they may have gleamed fromturning over pages, digging through the dust bins ofantiquity. Desirous and keen to knoweverything, they’ll build elaborate houses fromthe bones and skele.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2928931/ Ignorance inferred innocence. A gleefulGod, nose in air, pottering about thegarden, yawningover supine stones, blotting up meaninglessspace.A daze of empty-headed days stretchingbeyond the rock’s capacity to comprehend… The serpent offered a cosmos, lifeo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2928899/ The sons of David much like theArabs, not of us, but awfully close -- akinto being at the tail end of anethereal gameof telephone. Transmission received,information scrambled, open to misguided interpretation. Raised in the hothouse of afervent faith, my Nan&.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2928776/ Ah, Thebes, the city ofcountless contradictions. Amun-Ra’s Glass & Goldconfectionary, temple of light, perpetuallyunder siege, be-choked by its drear and gloomy cast ofshadows --so many sharp-elbowed swindlers,beggars and brigands looking to emptypockets … the incessant .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2928597/ Those early poets scribblinglines in blood on rock and leaf -- left nothing to doubt or interpretation. The gods, they knew, werefickle, quick to seethe but, easilysoothed.  In their wake other minds woke -- found meaning in the well of obfuscation -- ared ba.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2927172/ Dante’s shade cast an uneasyshadow over these immutable hills lastnight.Everywhere we meandered, pausedto dally, Hades’ hounds snapped andsnarled about our heels. Portinari’s daughter, Venuswhispered, no longer enamored by thepoisonous yew, has t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2926153/ The dead are never done with theliving --their ancient grievances constantlyrevived, reseeded, for future generations to rowand rally over -- are life’sperennial crops.  Why Abel slew Cain, Absalom Amnon… Each night new animositiesappear to cast .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2917595/ Imagine Odysseus staggering home,returning from his night out, stillflushed with excitement, reekingof adventure, a little too much revelry, overindulgence, the bonhemeur of other lads, miscreants,rattling about his head …  Penelope waiting by the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2911787/ When you are old and gray,sounding out Yeats --if life’s last late adventure,Byzantium still awaits or … the lightthrough autumn’s atrium might be his cold-heartedcensure ‘too late, too late …’  should you slip peacefully intot.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2911620/                         1Byzantium  Woke, afloat, awkwardly discomfited by the barking boil, red rage, bubbling up from the depths of the low-cost class, I&rs.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2910897/ Other, more approximate,histories appear less susceptible to mythology. Theirtall ships, constructed from sturdier woods,brass tacks, with tedium and attention to thenitty-gritty, nuts and bolts of everyday co-existence,will still sail through the most inclement ofwea.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2910606/ Far more than any robin’sarrival the spring summons for bats andboys was always the scent of Uncle Charlie’s oldDeere mowing over the reseeded carpet of our lastsummer’s dreams.  The red clay, winter-washed, sundried, raked and limed,foretelli.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2910493/ Older sister to After Vevey http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2910272/ I’d read Voltaire in a differentlight. Candide’s single-mindedpleasure less and less of a Baedeker’s guide tohow a lad coped through the fool’s folly of anight’s sweat about the nether regions. Thenever-ending quest to have a Jenny pin his.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2910160/ Dante’s shade cast its uneasyshadow over the heart’s weald last night. Everywherewe turned, Hades’ torches flickered andpawed round memory’s door.  Our old enchantress, Venus, whispered‘All’s not well along the Arno …’.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2909153/ ‘Go find yourself anothercountry, far away city shore … Memphis, Thebes, Timbuktu --God knows where … Anywhere buthere!’ Someplace free from the stodgy squabs,old men, the never-ending counterrevolutions … Go, find yourself a purpose,som.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2908792/ Dreams, like this river, bend throughtime. And tears. The relentless bore of a ruthlessstream’s urge to carry on to the sea, to seewhat lies lay beyond the next horizon’s dustydawn, is eternal. The mind will never find what ithungers for.  No matter.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2908632/ We were schooled to think like angels:demons Lay in wait around every corner.Our faith, Forever in jeopardy, foreverdependent on The choices we chose, had to be Unconditional. Left or right, hardor Damn near next to impossible, itdidn’t matter --Once you cross.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2907055/ True inspiration, I sense,almost feel, cannot be bottled like the wind or spunas if everyday run-of-the-mill cloth --imagination requires a quick andsteady mind to keep the twistingfibers roving about the spindle -- free of the hallucinatory entanglementsof unba.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2906681/ The sun goes, but leaves itsshadows behind; The majestic oak denuded, glowering Towards the half-armed moon, seemedmore vulnerable,  Susceptible to the advancing tideof age.When I bent in to dig, score thenoble Bark to commemorate my own riteof passage, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2906246/ Fantasy, folly, black black-rain -- Muses  Grant their gifts tentatively, rarelyFree or unencumbered, withoutexpectations Of a quid pro quo. For everyrhyme, Reason extracts a toll, lays siegeuntil That mind, too dull, toohesitant, uncertain Of which way to turn, hoists thewhite flag.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2906115/ Doris’s daughter was an unhappymate. Last night loose winds, rain, heavy black curlersrolled upand over the eiderdown dunes,all along our bare back coast in search of adallying husband. Fortunately, forewarned, we’d managedto battenthe hatches, lay in enough ofthe devil&rsquo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2905233/ If you were here, found  the hearth cold and breathless,would you draw the shades, or summon the sun to revive what little remains of the heart youonce loved --might you find forgiveness amid the ruins of our ancient grievances,waive those long overdue taxes I always refused to remit --or.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2904462/ I was taught the weight of theworld was but a feather in the hands of anangel. Heaven and Hell and everywhere betweenrested upon the cornerstones oflove and empathy, for which one man,one life, the sacrifice of materiality became the guiding spark to amortal c.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2904153/ NEW TITLE, LAST REVISIONS OF I'LL SLEEP LATER http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2899207/ In the dream I am sitting myfinal exam. All around me, other monkeys,unfazed by the invisibility of ink, appear to be scratching answers to questionsI sense but fear may be unanswerable.  Were you loved or did you sow acres of aches  Have you a.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2899069/ Should you feel an urge to drop a vowel or two in thepool -- please do. I assure you I’m not that sort of poet, one so easily offended by honestcriticismto take my ink and slink off into a vat of bitterness.  Knowing you were moved by my words in s.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2899061/ Two men and a woman dead  One, a suicide  left a note behind  explaining why he couldn’t go on  why they had to go with him  Beyond the yellow tape, a consensusbuilds  Triangles can’t be squared &.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2895181/ Clocking off at first light, thenightwatchman Bids a gooday, howzit to theblurry eyed binmenBefore heading home. He does notenvy them. The endless thanklessness of invisibilityHis routine reminder of how thenight’s anonymity Accords a dignity sunup denies. Amon-Ra.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2885960/ When I was a child, I fearedspoons More than tigers. In myimagination I could always outrun the appetentcat, Find an elephant to shinny.  Or if cornered, you simplytugged a whisker --Or farted -- as every boy knew --A kitty’s olfactory receptors wereh.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2885287/ Sun soaked. Clay laved. Buoyed bythe light of a diamond’s indefatigableverve --I hear the boys of summerechoing through the encroaching dusk,late innings of that never-ending game, whatwe imagined would be our dispensation fromthe ineludible slue of time&rsq.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2883847/ That twelve-stair descent, theunaired apprehension for the black hole my bucoliccousins claimed a portal to Mephistopheles’ danklair, would haunt me until mygrandfather took matters in hand -- pulled me down, bucket in tow, togather a pot’s fill.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2883089/ "what I've been up to for the past month" http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2883016/ Half a foot, too short … the objection to the shearing direction‘above the collar …’ overruled.My father’s sense of contemporaryfashion a few reflections behind thetimes, still that other side of thecontinental divide, considered hair.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/KeneBujold/2877604/