Archive for the ‘Poetry’ Category

On Someone Else’s Island, 

A picture for his eyes

to rest upon, Face, tilted up

and to the left, smile meeting

the light. Dark Hair, Golden

Glowing in the sun.

A pen for his hands,

paper to hold stories

or poetry, lines

to contain thought.

A toolbox with saw

and lathe; trees to work

into useful things; practical

on deserted planes.

Seed, a seed to sow

his seeds, to grow his fruit

into dripping delicious


No company; for we know

that his best work comes

when he longs for contact,

is lost in the reality

of human shortcomings.

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I have another idea for a response to this daily post, and if I have time today I will get back to write it. But the instrument response also put me in mind of this piece I wrote, sometime in 2011.

Tempo Rubato


The sun dripped spots across my skin,

far-flung freckles in browns,

perfect pencil-tipped rounded map.

With fingertips, teneramente,

you trace them into outlines.

This shape, looped up and back around;

It is a treble clef, and this other-

up, across, back down –

whole note quavers.




We wait, each year, for a few days

of gilded sunlight and whispered song.

This is how a decade passes;

moments bound in rosewood boxes,

no strings attached to frets,

no chords for strumming.

Still we anticipate the sun’s return

for months we measure,

count time in beats,

so we can sing.



copyright Victoria Kelsey

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The Daily Post‘s Prompt is Leaving.






I loved him where my breath was caged,

between the space where truth and desire dwell.

The cell tightened by dimensions,

each inhalation grew my shoulders,

brushed against the cold walls,

knees clasped tight to chest

scraped and bled against concrete,

the unlocked door drew shadow bars

upon my face.

VKF 2014


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I realized that I haven’t published much of my poetry on my own Blog.  Here is a piece of my own work. 



When Conceit Dies

Victoria Kelsey




When conceit dies

I will kneel on her doorstep

grass in my mouth

and beg forgiveness.



This is how battles end,

one adversary walks

trudging weakness

with offerings of plated humility.



Wounds of war are long-lived,

as long as wars themselves

plus decades more;

scars old and whited-over lie

sidelong with seeping fresh cuts.

There is always fighting the day before surrender.



There are feasts for flies

among the dying yellow grasses.

Wives and mothers wend

from blood-mud to blood-mud

searching freckles and moles

to trace with fingertips.

By these marks they know him.



Faithful lovers,

having no place beside biers,

must lay themselves out on fields

of scarlet poppies, must prostrate

out of earshot of villages and clergy.

Their tears must water blossoms

still living; that their loves may die,

still holding honor,

in absence of the dying blooms

on their graves.



When conceit dies,

I will wipe my tears

with handfuls of dirt,

I will gather up the reeds

among the blooms,

I will crush them in my palms

until a ball of pain

becomes my breakfast.



I will kneel upon her step

in silence, unworthy of the knock,

and wait until the breath

of the opening door blows

the pollen from my hair.


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Temperate words build
crenelated barriers;
a fortress of reeds.

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For today’s Haiku challenge on the Daily Post:




Wind blowing past graves
Stones leaning in twilight depths

One day for Goodbye

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The poem, as published on The Open Mouse, along with one other poem.

Victoria Kelsey: Two poems.

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