We can't have a poet's site without poetry, can we?

The Celtic Queen is an excellent start since she is here with me any time I work in my den...   She's quite real!

The Celtic Queen

No pallid bust of pallas, but a bronzed Celtic Queen,

Her helm is on and her sword is drawn,

Her darkly bronzed skin shimmers with a metallic sheen.

A bearskin cape is loosely draped over her shoulders,

Exposing her chest and beautiful breasts,

Petulant breasts that hang like pendulous boulders.

Achilleos' art, rendered by an unknown sculptor,

Beautifully done, she is the one

Watching me as I write, like a keen eyed raptor.

She keeps company with the Angel on my shoulder...

If they approve or they are moved,

They can only share their feelings with each other.

Sometimes wakeful or writing what comes to me in my sleep,

With my scarred heart that's been torn apart,

I record tales that will make Angels and statues weep...

Karl Stuart Kline, 2003

As I said, this bronze bust is quite real.  When I found it, I wrote and sent photos to Christos Achilleos to ask where his signature might be found upon it.  I had recognized the image from his painting of the same name.  However, when he wrote back and we spoke by telephone, he told me that the sculpture was unauthorized and that he would like to know who the sculptor was...   Both because it was unauthorized reproduction of his painting and because he admired the quality of the work!  Anybody interested in seeing more of his work or even commissioning pieces can go to www.chrisachilleos.co.uk

Another one of my works, included in my book POISON PEARLS, is The Skeleton, which should be of special interest since everything  in it is related directly from my own experiences as I traveled around the country, mostly as a hitch hiker during the late 60's and early 70's.  My disability prevented me from driving until I was 27, but that didn't stop me from leaving home and becoming my own man.  The skeletal remains that I describe were found by me in 1996 when I was hiking alone through the woods on the Olympic Peninsula in Washington and I describe them exactly as I found them. 

The Skeleton

The thought occurs again...

That those skeletal remains

Could have been my good friend Lynn,

If she had been with me

Like she wanted to be...

Then again they could be mine,

Lost in the woods without a sign,

If I hadn't turned about and spurned

That Redneck's crude advance,

Telling him he had no chance,

Backing my statement with my fist

So that he understood the gist

That there was no doubt he would let me out...

I was the one that got away,

Sadly, that's all I can say,

For he was a predator

And he probably found more

Acquiescent prey on another day,

Who allowed him to have his way,

Though it led to an early grave...

Lynn knew of my adventuring

And all the interesting things

That I had seen and places I had been.

She wanted badly to come along,

Not knowing how it could go wrong...

For there were other things I had seen,

That told me of what could've been

And this skeleton was only one

Of the ways our trip could have ended

For the girl who I had befriended.

As a hitch hiker I had found

That the roadside abounds

With sad stories and mute testimony

To tales of Tragedy

Ending in Brutality...

These bones were with a bloody t-shirt,

lying near them in the dirt...

Of other clothing there was nothing...

Then there were the cords that bind...

Recognizable...  From Venetian blinds...

Beautiful, bouncy, buxom and blonde,

Lynn would've been great to have along!

Until some trucker wanted to fuck her

And he had a gun or a knife...

To fight could be worth your life...

I'd seen sad things by the roadside,

But this time someone had died.

The bones weren't complete - they had no feet...

The head and hands were also missing

And no trace of them was to be seen.

By roadsides other than here,

Torn clothing and a child's brassiere

That I had found lying on the ground

Were an open book that spoke volumes

Of how something wicked this way comes,

But never of Death and Mutilation,

Following naked Humiliation...

Forced to endure cruel torture,

Leaving only bones to tell the tale

Of a twisted mind from beyond the pale.

I've lost touch with Lynn...

It's been years since when

She tried eagerly to accompany me,

Those times that I ventured out

And managed to travel about.

With my duffel and my thumb,

I went out and saw the nation,

The Grand Canyon and Apollo Eleven,

But now that's long over

And these bones are a sober

Reminder of days long past,

When we thought youth would last

Forever and we never

Thought that we could possibly

Meet Death and die horribly

Much as I'd have liked her to come,

I'm glad that she stayed at home.

I said, "NO!", she couldn't go and so

Scattered amongst these stones

Are someone else's bones...

                Karl Stuart Kline,

                   Approx 3AM, 10/11/01

Reading 10 stanzas from this poem in direct competition with approximately 1,000 other poets at a convention in 2003 was sufficient to win me a recording contract!  Later that year my book that includes this poem, Poison Pearls, was accepted for publication.

Both of my books are currently available through most online book outlets or they can be ordered directly from my publisher at a discount.  The links are:

Poison Pearls... www.publishamerica.com/books/4092

Going Without Peggy... www.publishamerica.com/books/8958