Dan Layman-KennedyA folksinger, musician, writer, storyteller, and performing artist, Dan Layman-Kennedy is capable of many methods of expression. His performance style is self assured, with his low, calm voice lifting effortlessly out to his audience. One cannot help but listen to the beauty and intricacy of his words.AcquaintanceA scholar and professor, greatly loved, A foreign man, gray-bearded, in who's eyes Shone intellect and joy and love of life. I met him only briefly, spoke few words; I smiled and was warm, but soon moved on. My mind had plans and business elsewhere then. Not one bare year from then, nor far from there, And underneath a still library's roof A student, young, but no less mad for that, Walked in and, giving license to his rage, Fired a gun into that sanctuary's calm. This man, this teacher, kind and gentle soul, Was there, and caught a bullet, and went down. I knew him briefly, hardly any time, A few spare moments and a gentle smile, A word or two in his uncertain lilt, A handshake's time to savor, know his warmth. When introduced to him I did not know He was almost a specter even then. I never knew him well enough to grieve Or do him any justice if I tried To grace him with the briefest epithaph; My friend who shed brave tears could tell you more. But I can only shake my head and frown And offer what condolences I can. The truth that I must grapple with is this: However long or brief my book of years, A man I met once can never be More than a footnote in that chronicle; Had I but known, I might have turned around And looked at him a moment or two more, If but to see the shadow that at length Crept up to him and opened up its wings, So that I might know better when they come Those soft foot-falls that still are strange to me. Wasps, Which Do Not Love Their DeadCome round; and heedless of the corpses of their kind Which I have left on windowsills, as warnings Make so bold as to share my space. What use they have For the places that I make my home I cannot tell; These airborne alien things, lean and vicious, Somehow find some comfort in like things as me, In common corners, common spaces, common light, In the sudden heat of spring. But the world's big, and the woods are wide, And their interest in my quarters baffles me. We do not get along, my rommates and I; They startle me with lurking in doorways, Their aimless busyness intrudes, and their relentless wheeling. And they make me cower like a child. Their ways are not my ways; They and I are at odds in philosophy, And I confess I kill them when I can. It's all one to them, it seems, And still they come round, not in vengance or remorse, Just mindlessly at work. Wasps are heedless of their dead. Their interest in my spaces baffles me. The End of DaysWe stand here at the end of days We stand here, our little company In the purple twilight In the mist We stand here, tired and teary-eyed To sing our parting songs We have come to this shore Across strange lands Through long and sometimes dark or merry nights Taking the moonlit roads And the strange and secret paths And we are weary, who have come this way To only start our journey on this night This chilly night This sad and quiet night at the end of days II. We heard long since the call,the call to go To all who knew to hear The call to shut the doors and lock the rooms And weep if we could, embrace and say farewell And set off in the morning, through the mist Down the long road to melancholy We knew well enough To settle the affairs and part To lay down arms and make our peace With the turmoil and the ravagers The brutal and the doomed The ones who dream in chrimson and in black We knew to turn away from them and go And leave behind the trappings The promise of a red and naked reckoning The gruesom and the uncouth instruments There would be no more use for them at all III. We have come to this shore, we who have come And shivered in the forest Wept through our laughter We have come because we knew We who have learned to think in mirrors We knew the meaning of the pipes and bells the mad and frantic laughter that howled into the yawning night We have been acquainted with grotesqueries And walked with them in starlight, in the mist We knew we need not be afraid We had visited the tombs and labyrinths The catacombs The places where the doomed and useless go We knew the shadows And the formless things Had breakfasted among the monoliths We knew the language of the nebulous and damned The forgotten The mad We had already known the roads to take The twilight ways The unknown and untraveled secret paths Across the wastes Across the wilderness Although we had not followed them before IV. We have fit a ship to sail From this, the end of days Across the mist Through a shroud of tears And we will sail From the melancholy evening As the last of all things Stand to speak the epilogue We will not hear the apology We will not wave good-bye As we set out We will not turn our heads To watch it fall This collection was posted here in April 2000. "Acquaintance", "Wasps, Which Do Not Love Their Dead", and "The End of Days" are taken from The End of Days and Others, by Dan O'Kennedy (Dan Layman-Kennedy). To see poetry, lyrics, fiction & more by Dan Layman-Kennedy, go tohttp://users.starpower.net/otterinmotley. All poetry and other artistic writings are © their authors and reproduced here with their permission. All contents © unless otherwise noted. Back to the Fireside or Click to return to the main page of |