Timbered Thoughts | Weathered Veins of Gold
BY KHENEIL BLACK
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Kheneil Black hails from Jamaica, by way of the city of Oshawa, in Ontario, Canada. North of the border, he thrives in his multiple roles that he has chosen. Kheneil is a father, husband, brother, lover, fighter and poet. As a poet, he writes to express himself and connect with those who enjoy dabbling with the English language and written word. He is a cofounder of The 6ix Poets Society, a platform for connection and collaboration with other poets, writers and the people who love them.
The two poems that Kheneil shares in this issue create beautiful spaces of connection with self, emotional pain and healing, in communion with Nature through the soil and wind. The peaceful tone that these selections evoke express the poet’s motto that “the world is too small to make enemies.”
Timbered Thoughts
© 2023
I've caught myself lumberjacking my way through life at times.
Which forces me to split the bark of my reflection,
Revealing planks of self-respect
Speckled
with knots
of forgiveness.
AXing myself sharp questions—
You know the ones that
cut deep
into the marrow
Of the problem?
Counting my rings
That tell the tale of my lifetimes,
I garner nutrients from my roots.
Sharing the sap of lessons learned.
My Saplings thirst for nothing.
Sometimes, I think that might be a mistake.
Sometimes, I find myself
stumped by life
and the beauty of its growth.
Winding vines of promise
Encompassed meandering branches
Across whatever I saw in three directions.
Right, wrong,
And the infinite buds of gray foliage
Along a path unseen in the distance
I work this all out
by chopping it up
with friends and family.
But if I'm being honest with myself,
I'm no woodsman.
Just a Black man in the woods
Seeing himself in the soil.
Weathered Veins of Gold
© 2024
I just couldn’t take THE SPINNING.
The gale forces of pain,
I can hide beneath a smile.
The littering debris of loneliness
Can be swept under a rug of laughter.
The blackened skies of prospects,
I can hide behind a good time.
But THE SPINNING … it places cracks in my already
shaken core.
My kintsugi heart has been through
so much.
I’m not sure if it can take
much more.
I can’t seem to glean a glimpse of the storm’s eye
for respite.
The hurricane stains of disdain …
married to the rain.
An unholy matrimony
fabricated in hell.
The gold lines begin to shine and break through the clouds.
Like a beacon, my once-damaged hopes
Illuminate the way to a place I stopped searching for.
Weathervanes of epiphany point me in her direction.
As the pressures dropped and the systemic sadness subsided
The wreckage began to clear.
The sun began to shine,
And the warmth of her glow encompassed me.
I was once caught in the whirlwind
of despair.
…Until she rescued me …