Tim Kinsella

"I'm an an American Sign Language interpreter who lives on a small pond in Natick, MA, and Laura O'Callahan's husband. I've been interested in writing poetry since I was young. And I still can't get over how lucky I am to join the Tuesday night Spoken Voices group."


                                                      "B is for door." --Ben Bahan

Whether brazen or beautiful 
or something between 
will lie in the grasp of beholder.  
And quickly we notice 
with nary a doubt
that this is how better begins.

No need to be first, no!
no need at all, it knows 
that it's bound to come next. 
What follows beyond 
is anyone's guess, 
more letters you're meaning to send.


Is it arms wrapped 'round shopping bags, 
two jewels for a chain,
or eyeglasses left by the window? 
Or instead you imagine
a woman unknown
who slowly is coming your way.


With ease it starts buzzing, 
or perhaps it may sting, 
with one alone simply will be.
But then at the end 
it has nothing to add, 
Stands quietly, finally, numb.

                    Carnations!                1/13


Touch & Color (Yellow Carnation)

Hold me upside-down, 
nearly all of me spills skyward,
this taut spine of heaven 
rises from a fully pleated skirt 
that shines.

Turn me upright again,
can you hear that clarion call?
Everything you see me proclaim
rushes past you in all directions;
is sweet, and true, enthralling.



What we haven't said
answers questions read
in water, sun, in sky.
What makes your day?
The way any day is made?
Perhaps it's all rise, 
crest, and slow diminishing
where heart knows as heart does,
no matter its command.
The long tones of afternoon
walk together along the trace
made by the pond's rough edge.
It's hand-to-hand, and soon
the dark comes whispering in.
"Hold me," it just might say
as I hold you, enough
until another day is made.


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