tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-38780488146181064912010-01-13T00:28:01.319-05:00Poetry, art, views, life and more... Poésie, arts, opinions, vie et d'autres choses...Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.comBlogger108125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-89783799630291735602009-12-31T14:11:00.003-05:002009-12-31T14:14:51.274-05:00

I wish you all my dear Friends a Happy and Wonderful New Year 2010!Khaled KEM

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-41642434809107283852009-12-24T07:24:00.000-05:002009-12-24T07:24:24.665-05:00

My dear friends, bloggers, writers, poets, and dreamers:Many thanks for your friendship, support, comments and ideas. It has been already more than a Year since I created Khaled KEM. I know that I have been inactive in the last few months but I am still here and there. I am impressed by the progress and creativity I touch in many of my friends blogs. I will be back to the world of blogging very

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-31626980856783770192009-10-27T11:33:00.010-04:002009-10-27T15:58:30.168-04:00

I am very happy and delighted to announce that two of my poems (My kitchen and Delivery) have been awarded Honorable Mention in the category (non-rhyming poetry # 28 and 29) at the 78th annual Writer's Digest writing competition. This year there were 13557 participants in 10 different writing categories. Nice news in such a busy and stressful time I am going through trying to finish my graduate

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-41429458418434178802009-08-18T17:28:00.004-04:002009-08-19T11:24:33.554-04:00

I would like to thank all of my dear friends that kept visiting my blog and leaving comments on my posts these last two months. It has been a long time since I had a post but I knew that you, my friends, would forgive me. In the process I lost a few of you because I was unable to visit their blogs regularly and share my thoughts with them. I hope that they will understand that it was not by any

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-32440053127495916902009-07-12T09:35:00.007-04:002009-08-19T11:23:17.842-04:00

The PortraitMy mother never forgave my fatherfor killing himself,especially at such an awkward timeand in a public park,that springwhen I was waiting to be born.She locked his namein her deepest cabinetand would not let him out,through I could hear him thumping.When I came down from the atticwith the pastel portrait in my handof a long-lipped strangerwith a brave moustacheand deep brown level

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-51242380843473717012009-06-28T12:34:00.005-04:002009-08-19T11:24:57.064-04:00

Evasive Action..the clip ped possessive moment, the barber on his porchcutting his son's hair, who looks for a second straight into the sunand then back at his son's head now a golden, nodulous remnant,a flower if he likes or Lenin's bumpy skull, he puts his scissors downand goes inside and apologizes to his wife, who doesn't understand,but who accepts his words like a private harvest she's

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-16792229906330338992009-06-06T23:47:00.017-04:002009-10-30T12:42:22.647-04:00

Heart(less) in the City of WorriesI tear off the high pocket caressing the folded 3’’ x 4’’ black and white picture(stamped January 197 ),unbutton the red silk shirt ®,plunge a cutter (lost and found) deep into the flesh (∼ 4.7 cm),outline an isosceles triangle (72°, 54°, 54°) over the engulfed chest (tattoo of a baby dragon),press a couple of ribs once fractured (teenage fight),reach through

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-83067808427145774082009-05-31T07:30:00.003-04:002009-08-19T11:27:10.837-04:00

Passing Scenes (While Reading Basho) Copyright: ImageBankI am traveling by trainto the city, I am travelingin brilliant sleepinto the pastMeantime composinga letterto my inner no one There were hives at theedge of a woodThe mind shines in the windowThe most beautiful house I ever died inEverything's imaginaryWhen I hear the dawn gulls cryeven in New

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-66060357686992288932009-05-24T13:00:00.003-04:002009-08-19T13:14:31.650-04:00

Phenomenology, Or Later, that Same Day...The cat comes back, the doctor calls,things happen in ways you can onlybegin to imagine. The storycomes after, remember? You turnthe strange into familiar with what isat hand. Most of your life is like this:memory, mercy, the ballastof desire, heavier for the wordsyou've wrapped around them,and lighter too.Lorri Neilsen Glenn (Combustion, 2007)

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-40004458451307817872009-05-17T07:21:00.005-04:002009-10-27T13:45:45.699-04:00

A Taste of OurselvesAvocado firmStubbornAvocado softResponsibleBlue berriesWe keep our distanceRaspberriesWe kissPineappleRough and tender timesGuava in frosted JanuaryWhen we careCherriesCheersA misconceptionGreen olives or PistachiosI couldn’t decideShe left© 2009 Khaled KE Mahmoud

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-81692995456511850172009-05-10T13:00:00.001-04:002009-08-19T13:15:34.056-04:00

Every Sunday I am posting a poem written by another friend/blogger. I start this Sunday with a poem written by Noelle at A Portrait of the Human Heart. Noelle writes sensentional poetry that I always enjoy.The CityPicture: Lori NixThe city swallowsthe stories of thosethat scurry the streetsday after dayI watch and I wonderif I stopped themwhat would they sayand if they stopped mewhat would I

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-9711553139300617582009-05-10T11:21:00.011-04:002009-08-19T13:20:33.546-04:00

Isabelo M Quilles, 1992For those whose mothers are in heaven.To my MotherBecause I feel that, in the Heavens above,The angels, whispering to one another,Can find, among their burning terms of love,None so devotional as that of "Mother,"Therefore by that dear name I long have called you—You who are more than mother unto me,And fill my heart of hearts, where Death installed youIn setting my

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-25997910619810939082009-05-01T09:44:00.007-04:002009-08-19T13:19:50.843-04:00

I would like to thank everyone visited my blog and left comments during the month of April. Your words, encouragements and opinions are very well appreciated. Today I am posting the last poem for the series of National Poetry Month. It's written by Kay. Check more of her poems at Loud Silence. I know that we are May 1st but I get used to post a poem every day and now I could not stop!!I will be

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-84945239143552589182009-04-30T07:59:00.000-04:002009-04-30T07:59:02.226-04:00

FormIs OneThen Two ThreeContent Is AnotherMatter AltogetherNo?*I Go HomeSo TiredNowSlumpInto MySlumber Once AgainWakeTo WhatI Almost Forgot*No One WaitsTime FailsAgain*StillThe QuietSucks Me DryABone SolitaryAgainst the Wind*Trust No OneGets YouNowhereCharles Bernstein (Barrow Street, 2008)

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-86294493241857797682009-04-29T09:52:00.002-04:002009-04-29T10:04:36.253-04:00

In the silence of snowfar from the city lights,a baker is baking breadunder the stars.He wears a long white smock,his hat tall as a loafthat rose too high.There is flouron his face and hands,flour in his mouth and eyes.You can't see himfor all that whiteeven if you walk past the housesinto the snowy dark,into the smells of your childhood.But he is baking,pounding and shaping the dough.On every

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-23283480188764577532009-04-28T09:37:00.003-04:002009-04-28T13:46:22.506-04:00

the other brandysweetenednight, eye dreamed wewas kissing so hard & good, yousucked my tongue right on outmy trembling mouth& eye had to sew it back inin order to tell you about itQuincy Troupe

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-28451295264624819042009-04-27T09:28:00.003-04:002009-04-27T09:38:46.870-04:00

Today I post this song (Change) of my dear friend Ajey. Although it was written as a song I find it poetic. Check more of Ajey's provoking songs at The odds are good, but the goods are odd.She stares at the blindsIn images in her mindShe finds herself helplessShe can do nothing but sighShe excuses herself and he leaves her to be on her ownWhere she hides and she thinks about the lastHer past

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-32644678790056301562009-04-26T10:14:00.006-04:002009-04-26T11:48:09.966-04:00

If a man lives with two poems/ he shall be faithful to one-Mark StrandAdding mirrors to the ceilingis not a good idea in a master bedroom. In Vegas, you'll pay extrafor any mirror at all. No one wants to see you like this.In grad seven, Danny and Markused their fingers like penises to push at the seams in your pants.You ran home. Bought a diary with a key.Condoms are not balloons.Don't try to be

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-21774583710199971822009-04-25T09:28:00.002-04:002009-04-25T09:42:31.723-04:00

With crayons and pieces of paper, I entered the empty room.I set on the floor and drew pictures all day.One day I held a picture against the bare wall:it was a window. Climbing through,I stood in a sloping fieldat dusk. As I began walking, night settled.Far ahead in the valley, I saw the lightsof a village, and always at my back, I feltthe white room swallowing what was passed.Gregory Orr

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-79114782258940294282009-04-24T08:15:00.002-04:002009-04-24T08:23:25.977-04:00

You come back into the roomwhere you've been livingall along. You say:What's been going onwhile I was away? Whogot those sheets dirty, and whyare there no more grapefruit?Setting foot on the middle groundbetween body and word, which contains,or is supposed to, otherpeople. You know it was youwho slept, who ate here, though you don'tbelieve it. I must have takentime off, you think, for the

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-27984902455686051002009-04-23T09:46:00.002-04:002009-04-23T09:52:22.851-04:00

They say the ice will holdso there I go,forced to believe them by my act of trusting people,stepping out on it,and naturally it gaps openand I, forced to carry on coollyby my act of being imperturbable,slide erectly into the water wearing my captain's helmet,waving to the shore with a sad smile,"Goodbye my darlings, goodbye dear one,"as the ice meets again over my head with a click.Edward Field

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-59903322873642346082009-04-22T08:27:00.004-04:002009-04-22T08:32:21.313-04:00

When the fox died,The whole forest died.What was it about the fox?Clever, for sure; wit enoughTo hole all of his wrecked bodyIn dirt. Every now and then, that tail-Spuriously red, flashing through the trees.Damn pretty shameOf it all.Laura Lush (Arc Poetry Magazine 61)

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-82718341060238828382009-04-21T07:26:00.002-04:002009-04-21T07:33:42.820-04:00

If you want my apartment, sleep in itbut let's have a clear understanding:the books are still free agents.If the rocking chair's arms surround youthey can also let you go,they can shape the air like a boy.I don't want your rent, I wanta radiance of attentionlike the candle's flame when we eat,I mean a kind of aweattending the spaces between us-Not a roof but a field of stars.Jane Cooper

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-40161701583413066392009-04-20T06:18:00.003-04:002009-04-20T06:31:21.355-04:00

Picture: Chris HillockThere is a placewhere doctorsremove people's shadowsfrom their bodies for free.A friend of mine went there.I never saw him again.But he told me about itlast night in a dream."The shadows are keptin jars," he said."The jars are so dark.They all look the same.And no one knows whoseis whose."Jason Heroux (Breathing Fire, 2004)

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3878048814618106491.post-75054440703591562482009-04-19T06:00:00.000-04:002009-04-19T06:31:53.804-04:00

With its foot in the door of your headWith its drop of lightWith its bunch of flowers of grass of sea-sprayWith its oil of sexual fishWith its beginnings of corruption with shameless laughterWith its blast of desireWith its taste of your salt-lipped beautyWith its silenceWith its window that says CasaWith its buds opening like Chinese flowersaround ancient citiesWith its

Khaled KEMhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16056388277824598564khaledkem@gmail.com4