Christine A Kysely Poems

What is a person's value?
What is their worth?
Can it be based solely
On what is found in their empty purse?
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Twenty-two fierce beasts

Strive to control one small ball
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Gladiators of the numbered turf
Helmeted heads and padded limbs
22 soldiers on the field
No more, no less, at any time
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There is a certain magic
To the first frost of the year
When autumn’s golden halo
Has been kissed by Winter’s cheer.
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Armchair quarterback

Television is his game
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As an Artist
I have faced a canvas burning bright
All of it empty
All of it white.
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Time is but a fleeting moment for us...
Brief seconds in the Universe's life
The flash of a Nebula's awakening
The implosion of a high mass star.
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I try to view each and every day
As if I were looking at it
Through Rose Colored Glasses.
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Bite of juicy apple

Tastes of the unforbidden
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Sunday Afternoons

America's beloved game
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