She who has no name 

Wife, 1920. 


Reminds me of a doctor I used to work with in a teaching hospital. A resident would put their hand on the patients bed. He would snap at the resident to stand back. If he had a ruler he would have likely snapped it upon the residents wrist. Years later I saw this doctor with his wife outside of the hospital at the airport. Naturally I said hello. His wife smiled sweetly. I extended my hand, she accepted. He said smugly, “This is wife.” 

Was he rude? Was he on the spectrum of autism? Was he socially awkward? Who knows? I was not fulfilled with this answer. I said, my name is Keri… I’m sorry I didn’t quite get your name? She replied… but now the name is lost in my memory. 
This is wife. 

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James Douglas Morrison

A musician, and a poet who was never taken as serious as he wanted to be. I would have loved to explore this man’s brain. Born in the wrong era. Pam and Jim were the perfect storm. Messy chaotic… but the sun still shined, and flowers still bloomed. Till death. 💛

Willie Nelson

Willie Nelson is a jack of all trades. He even writes a poem from time to time. Getting older can be downright depressing. The golden years aren’t so golden. They can be the coolest, most uncomfortable winter you’ve ever experienced. But you can also stop to look at the beauty in the snow.

 

Anyhow…

Willie Nelson, I love you!!

Happy 84th birthday to one of the coolest men out there!!

….and thank you Both Kinds of Music in LA on KCHUNG radio for providing lots of Willie Nelson for our listening pleasure this morning.

Now for a poem from Willie himself-

 

“I have outlived my pecker.”

The Penis Poem–by Willie Nelson

My nookie days are over,

My pilot light is out.

What used to be my sex appeal,

Is now my water spout.

Time was when, on its own accord,

From my trousers it would spring.

But now I’ve got a full time job,

To find the f***in’ thing.

It used to be embarrassing,

The way it would behave.

For every single morning,

It would stand and watch me shave.

Now as old age approaches,

It sure gives me the blues.

To see it hang its little head,

And watch me tie my shoes!!

Stolen work

Well as hard as the truth hurts A LOT, I recently found on Instagram today that my work had been stolen by a more popular poet who has been published. It’s my own fault. I never did any copywriting. Still it stings like a bitch! So this website will only be for my own thoughts on others work, posts of work I like, and thoughts on other things. No more of my poetry, nor stories until they have been published though for my own protection.

and lastly…

Fuck you to the guy who blazingly stole my work. I never realized you took pieces of my poem and posted it on your Facebook claiming it to be your own. Especially since a woman had what was “your words” tattooed on her. You’re a phony…and those were actually a woman’s words to begin with… not a mans.

Nobody likes a thief.

Just goes to show. Protect your work people.

I apologize to any follows who liked my poetry and/or stories in the past. I will keep you all updated on any published work in the future.

With love,

-K.K.Powell

Grocery Grandeur

The wind howls in the cool wet darkness

The rains ease graciously

The heavy truck door is forced shut by the storm’s breeze

Only to be stopped from latching shut

 by my knee…

ACK!

Synapses

send sparks

and flames

to my brain

The knee burns

and throbs

Maybe it bleeds

Not enough to soak through my jeans

Hey, you got any cash??

I need a hotel room tonight, and I ain’t got no money. 

Sorry, man.

No cash here.

Fluorescent lights

Pupils constrict

Coffee beans

Organic

dark blend

Chocolate, Citris, Almonds.

White wine

Chardonnay

Vanilla, Oak, and Apples.

An overly talkative checker

You two find everything okay?

Oh wait, you aren’t together…

Well, that’s awkward…!!

Now is your chance….

You can crack open your breath mints before you talk to her if you want.

The poor twenty something froze.

His tennis shoes probably a gift from mom,

shortly before she became an empty nester.

All he wanted was his nutella snack,

and his ice breakers mints.

He fumbles to get through the line.

Still he does not turn back.

Back to the cool dank night

Dog kibble scattered on the ground.

Her pupils

pin point

dark to light

light to dark

pin

point.

Well, NOW can I have money.

Sores cover her pale face

Short hair knotted sporadically atop her head

No, you cannot have money.

I am not your ATM.

The dog eats her kibble

off the concrete.

A sense of entitlement

used by instability.

Drunk off the overindulgence of humanity.

-K. K. Powell