The Cherubs fell to cracked stone floor
In a billion shards of splendor.
The Willows wept in decrepit yard
Courted by stormy winds and yet still tender.

Splintered pews in ruined rank
Stand guard for the heavens.

The walls cast shadows of blinding light
And the lost souls they beckon.

Kneel and pray at altar charred
To any force you choose.
Whisper words of guilt and shame
And all that you may lose.

The idols rot and pray,
Looking unto the skies.
They sing these silent hymns
And wait until faith dies...


Now dusk has fallen over Earth, I sit 
And try to count my worldly gains again. 
So while my stocks are full and free from blight 
In twisted thoughts I can delight
To think of potions, balms, but not to cure –  
To give them pains and alms and shakes! 
This realm is mine, here to stay - forever. 
To reject requests … ‘Why, me? Not ever!’ 
I crush and mix and boil and stir, I grind 
And toss and hand-tools whirr. The clash of dish 
And cup and tool – a din to lure and bait -  
And fool. 
The ladies grin and sing my praise, they know 
I know their needs and more. But when they tire 
Of their spouse, they plead, they beg, they say ‘Do more.’ 
But when a price becomes too dear, this weight, 
This guilt becomes too hard to lug alone -  
They turn in spite and clean their hands in fear, 
They make their hatred very clear. To be a fixer, 
To be an aide, to be an old crone, or hidden maid, 
To have the whole wide world suspecting you -  
What, pray tell, are you to do? 

Why bother sharing mediocre poetry?

“I’m a great believer in poetry out of the classroom, in public places, on subways, trains, on cocktail napkins. I’d rather have my poems on the subway than around the seminar table at an MFA program.”

Billy Collins

Hi, I’m a garden variety poet – an armchair poet, if you will. I’m a graduate from the Uni of Leicester with a background in English, currently training to be a teacher, but enough about me!

In response to the question, well, why not? Practice makes perfect, or so they say. I’ve always thought that anything can be poetry, no matter its literary merit, so why not write about anything that takes my fancy?

I don’t take myself seriously, especially not when it comes to writing poetry. Perhaps I’ll never measure up to my historical peers, but that doesn’t matter. Poetry, and especially the writing of poetry, should be something that allows you to explore topics important to you!

In any case, this blog will be my record of the poetry I choose to write, be it simple or complex. Perhaps you or I will never compare to the likes of Browning or Blake, but we can sure try our hand at poetry and get better through our trying!

Let’s make poetry an everyday thing, not just the stuff of academic scrutiny.

– KK