K.C. Ford

My life is a mess,
I've done everything wrong,
on the urge of a moment
I sing the wrong song.
...

A wise word expressed
when a hard hand expected,
ensures the child chastised
and repetition corrected.
...

It all comes down to this,
a stone above my head
declaring birth and date of death.
It all comes down to a mound of earth
...

If one day you recall my name,
And if by chance this page revealed,
then read these thoughts, walk through words
lightly, as we through summer strolled,
...

Out of the sands the stones gathered,
block on block rose a celestial stair
that centuries of desert winds
did not destroy the mausoleum of kings.
...

Drug induced sleep
Deceives watching eyes
Gathered around the dying bed
that you pass peacefully into oblivion.
...

Under oak and elm and ash,
Spring green grows over grass.
The stem, the bough, the branch, the leaf
restricts the sun as bars a thief.
...

The rim of the curved earth anchors my feet.
and the business of men occupies my hands,

But something beyond daily trivia
...

There is no time today to do
what can be done tomorrow too,
but as tomorrow never comes,
perhaps I'll rearange my sums.
...

The face is gnarled and full of wear,
The eyes are pools of gathered time,
as frail the body forward leans
extending arm and hand to task,
...

In this endless cycle of fashion,
the poets rise in praise
of whatever is the moments craze,
chanting words with pompous passion.
...