Poemist Poems
the silence between lines
by Rikske Kessner
Unread poems
are unwritten poetry —
ink still dreaming in the vein,
pages breathing in the dark,
their margins uncreased
by any gaze.
They live in the quiet tide
before the pen descends,
......
Poems for money and no kicks for free
by Rikske Kessner
Poems for Money, and No Kicks for Free
Verse 1
The air smells of printer’s ink and cold coffee,
and the page stares back like a shopfront window
where the mannequins wear my metaphors,
price tags swinging from their wrists.
I used to think the words were a kind of weather —
blowing in from nowhere,
......
over-shoulder weather
by Rikske Kessner
Over‑Shoulder Weather
I have walked the length of my sentence
long after the gates unlatched,
counting the gravel underfoot
as if each stone might still accuse.
The years have grown moss over my name,
but transgression carved into memory’s vestibule
means there is always one chair turned away,
......
foment in the firmament
by Rikske Kessner
Foment in the Firmament
There is a stirring above the stillness,
a slow‑brewed unrest
braiding itself into the blue.
Cloud‑veins thicken,
their edges bruised with light,
and the air tastes of iron and distance.
......
between the hours
by Rikske Kessner
The plaza holds its breath.
A wind gathers,
but only enough to lift
the corners of yesterday’s paper.
I walk the edge—
stone to shadow,
shadow to stone—
smiling the smile
I made a couple of hours ago,
......
between hours
by Rikske Kessner
The plaza holds its breath.
A wind gathers,
but only enough to lift
the corners of yesterday’s paper.
I walk the edge —
stone to shadow,
shadow to stone —
smiling the smile
I made a couple of hours ago,
......
between the hours
by Rikske Kessner
The plaza holds its breath.
A wind gathers,
but only enough to lift
the corners of yesterday’s paper.
I walk the edge—
stone to shadow,
shadow to stone—
smiling the smile
I made a couple of hours ago,
......
the silence between lines
by Rikske Kessner
Unread poems
are unwritten poetry —
ink still dreaming in the vein,
pages breathing in the dark,
their margins uncreased
by any gaze.
They live in the quiet tide
before the pen descends,
......
over-shoulder weather
by Rikske Kessner
Over‑Shoulder Weather
I have walked the length of my sentence
long after the gates unlatched,
counting the gravel underfoot
as if each stone might still accuse.
The years have grown moss over my name,
but transgression carved into memory’s vestibule
means there is always one chair turned away,
......
Poems for money and no kicks for free
by Rikske Kessner
Poems for Money, and No Kicks for Free
Verse 1
The air smells of printer’s ink and cold coffee,
and the page stares back like a shopfront window
where the mannequins wear my metaphors,
price tags swinging from their wrists.
I used to think the words were a kind of weather —
blowing in from nowhere,
......
