Joel Kemp's Recent Articles

Sulci

Tue, 02 Mar 2010 00:00:00 +0100

The voices
in my head
crave:
love,
attention;
they crave cravings.

Strange?
But everyone has voices:
that age with
battered brains.
Harsh words
penetrate bone:
through teeth and skulls.

Sulci:
these grooves
from abuse.

Author's Note:
What if years of verbal abuse made you insane? As if the very grooves (sulci) in your brain were remnants of those traumatic experiences...

Childish

Sun, 28 Feb 2010 00:00:00 +0100

Children:
talking about children,
talking about condoms,
and cunnilingus.

Children:
strongly opinionated
with no strong opinions.

Chinchilla

Mon, 22 Feb 2010 00:00:00 +0100

Chinchilla killas
sitting atop a world
of animals.
Life-size target
of mammalian wrath �
you wear.

For whom
shall the rodents kill
with the coming onslaught
of revenge?

An Exploration of the Word

Tue, 09 Feb 2010 00:00:00 +0100

Ugly women in Starbucks
with ugly smiles:
perfectly symmetrical teeth
with perky bones under cheeks.

Ugly children in trains
with ugly innocence:
laughter shattering
brittle outer shells of neighbors.

For I am an ugly man
with an appreciation
for ugly things;
might that be beautiful?

Sinai

Thu, 04 Feb 2010 00:00:00 +0100

They lay me here
in bed �
waiting;
to enjoy pain's song:
the voice's translation
of chaotic nerve signals.

Each verse,
sung by someone new.
Might they know
that I am only here
to listen.

Change to Spare

Thu, 04 Feb 2010 00:00:00 +0100

I saw
a homeless person
today �
precisely my age.

It made me wonder
if that could�ve been me;
"not a bad person �
just in a bad situation."

Thoughts overwhelming
like change �
in a growingly
sympathetic hat.

Kahlua Dreams

Tue, 05 Jan 2010 00:00:00 +0100

I am afraid to sleep;
afraid to not wake.
For the movement
of cells and
firing of neurons
cannot be forced.

This is our fate:
to be frail;
perishable parts �
at the will of
non-pliant processes.

Lottery

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 00:00:00 +0100

To win
and lose
at the same time;
a paradox
for the penniless
and proud.

Elderly

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 00:00:00 +0100

The elderly �
coughing the finest
of colds:
aged for tens
of years.

Air Zero

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 00:00:00 +0100

In contemplation of the year 2001. In anticipation of the future.

Exhaust-filled skies:
dark clouds
hover over
cranes:
once replaced
by the beauty
of buildings.

Shrapnel skies
are scars;
for some:
a bone-struck cicatrix
that never closes.