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Wednesday, November 08, 2023

The Beckoning Sun

  
—Poetry by Scott Kaestner, Los Angeles, CA
—Public Domain Photos Courtesy
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
 
 
 DOWNSTREAM

don’t overthink the sunrise
just get up to witness
its beauty;
have a cup of coffee
and know life is
a river;
feel the current, tune in
know no force can defeat it
downstream is the way home
to a sunset, to another sunrise
to be wise enough to let go.
 
 
 


IF ONLY GUNS FIRED ROSES

If only guns fired roses
and bombs exploded with hope.

If only people prioritized people
our collective here and now
not some mythical afterlife.

If only love was the currency
that drove the economy.

If only we listened to children laughing
thought of them first
our legacy—their future.

If only there were a bed
for every human on the planet.

If only we fell in love with rainbows
saw the inherent beauty
in all of our brothers and sisters.

If only there were no religion
only godly people doing greater goods.

If only the answer to
“hey, did you hear the news?”
didn’t crush souls and break hearts.

If only guns fired roses
and bombs exploded with hope.
 
 
 
 

THE SUNSET STRIP

long live the night of orchestral
shadowplay under
bubbling moon
city of angels ablaze
flowing to the rhythm—to the beat
of firecracker hearts & burning souls
seeking the dawn, peeking at eternity
flames everywhere, everything on fire.
 
 
 
 

CRASH COURSE

As the woman sped
into the gas station
smashing her car
into a concrete
barrier

I thought of the passage
of time and how we can
never go back—even
for a couple of
seconds

What is done is done
and can’t be undone
making awareness
the key defense
against regret

and higher car insurance premiums.
 
 
 
 

JET LAG BLUES

Jet lag a drag, upside down
sunny side up
in a tipsy
turvy
world
seeking
the perfect balancing act
of coffee and sleep.
 
 
 


DAWN

Our worlds inhale the ether
we lock eyes, spin circles

gravity be damned let us float into
the glow of a serenading moon

lips interwoven, lives intersecting
the beckoning sun exhales.

__________________

Today’s LittleNip:

But when fall comes, kicking summer out on its treacherous ass as it always does one day sometime after the midpoint of September, it stays awhile like an old friend that you have missed. It settles in the way an old friend will settle into your favorite chair and take out his pipe and light it and then fill the afternoon with stories of places he has been and things he has done since last he saw you.

―Stephen King,
Salem’s Lot

__________________

Newcomer Scott C. Kaestner is a Los Angeles poet, writer, dad, husband, and man who sees dreams alive and well in reality. Google ‘scott kaestner poetry’ to peruse his musings and maybe even buy a book. Welcome to the Kitchen, Scott, and don’t be a stranger!

__________________

—Medusa
 
 
 
 
Scott Kaestner




 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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LittleSnake’s Glimmer of Hope
(A cookie from the Kitchen for today):

here comes
the mailman~
Hermes
in a little
white
truck