Dear Friends,

I have gathered a selection of my poetry from the last twenty-five years into a book called THE SEASONS. (You can preview or order the book here.)

I am grateful to everyone who has read and responded to the poems over the years. I will continue posting my new work here and in twenty-five years (or less) I will have book number two ready for you.

Warmly,

Kevin











thirty birds



                                       for jenny







so grateful
to feel
these waves
of love
along 
the shores
of time

while our 
tiny days 
are caught
in the wind
and
 slowly
   float
a

    w       


             a
                         
                                                   
             
                                        y















































































.

Rough





The Little One 
with open 
hearted violence
punches and kicks
and sighs and grunts
and arches and rails
as the dark unwinds
its final strands.
In the tangled nest of bed
the mother and father 
and dog and child 
attend the wild fray
of night into the day.

On this rough 
morning along
the narrow
road of infinity
let us fight
with every 
exhausted breath
the razor wire 
of Standards
as light 
comes in a crash 
helmut flying
over the dome 
of the earth
through the furnace
forged glass
through our eyes
which do not see
and into the silent
storm which does.
























































Shining




The infant stares out the window
as her diaper is changed
              golden liquid 
              gently wiped 
              from her tiny butt
entranced by the Birch leaves
lost in the flicker and spin 
of greens and blues.
Quietly looking 
without the idea 
of leaves
or trees 
windows
sky 
light
mother 
dark
house
father
humans
dogs
time
fire
earth
stars.

Little daughter smiles 
every morning
as brightly as 
a miniature sun.
Her eyes 
are filled
with joy.





















































































.

Poem in Two Lines




                   Has the moon returned
                         or have I returned to the moon?
















































.

The Cardinal







The Cardinal whistles
at the bitter coffee
leavened with thick cream
and brown cane sugar.

The breeze runs and stumbles
through the planted grasses
and blooming flowers
above the hidden prairie.

Slicing through the morning
the bike descends the bluffs 
to the wide flood plain
with its tilting houses.

The sweet green air
is rising with the sun
from warming lambsquarters
pushing up through cracks.

The old water tower
on rusting legs
turns its bird-filled body
toward the fiery east.

And here we sit
in this tumbling day
parsing out the wild joy 
of the ever unfolding.

























































.

ten thousand





for Tim




warm evenings
with doors wide
open
  cigarette rolling
    slivo laden
golden evenings
of sweat
       after the rush.




ten thousand
   plates later
there is so much
       wild earth coaxed 
           and turned
chopped and ladled
     fired into
    waves of life
that roll
ever onward.










































.

loss and night








the darkness 

lightens

as it sets in.


the red curtain

shimmers

with wind.




















































































.


the poetry of Kevin Lawler

The gift economy . . .
from Wiki - In anthropology and the social sciences, a gift economy is a mode of exchange where valuable goods and services are regularly given without any explicit agreement for immediate or future rewards. Ideally, voluntary and recurring gift exchange circulates and redistributes wealth throughout a community, and serves to build societal ties and obligations.


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