Saturday, May 31, 2014

Words Won't Hurt

Too many times
my heart has been
my spirit left
in tattered disarray.

All too often
I've responded
through the only method
I know.


Words written on
tear stained paper,
baring my soul
to anyone who cares.

Do you care?

I sometimes wonder
if anything I say
holds meaning
for anyone.

A question…
why should this

My broken heart reflects
to be dealt with

As I write my hurt,
I stop feeling.
My face smiles again,
a hint of a song
shines from my eyes.

Through every bit
of pain,
I learn to


And finally I resolve
that words
won’t hurt.

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Kiss in a Storm

Puddles form
around our feet,
rain falls relentlessly.

Water drums
a staccato rhythm,
keeping a beat
of its own accord.

Streetlights bravely fight
against the deluge,
mustering a translucent glow.

Alone we stand,
laughing at our
No umbrella, no coats...
no reprieve.

The torrent washes
over us.
Soaked to the skin,
warmth is shared
by a kiss
in the storm.

Sunday, May 25, 2014

Off My Feet

Hello dear reader

I know I posted a link to this piece before, but I wanted to have it on my site as well. This is the final piece for the Anxiety / Release collaboration between Heather Burns (artist in the UK) and myself. This was originally posted on the Artipeeps website. The artwork that Heather created based on my words follows the poem. Here is the introduction I wrote on the original post last month.

'Off My Feet' is the 8th attempt on the given theme, and in my humble opinion, it is the strongest. I believe that the words are the culmination of the previous 7 attempts. Out of all the poems and words I wrote for this collaboration, this one is the most personal. I can honestly say that there are many things in this piece that reflect me. Maybe you didn't know that about me. Maybe you can't see which parts I am referring to. Do you see me as confident, as being able to stand against the wind? Yes dear reader, this poem is deeply reflective.

It took 7 attempts to come up with what I wanted to present to the world. It took 7 attempts to write about me. Although the previous pieces have elements of myself, none so much as this one is like looking in the mirror. 

This is another poem that reduced me to tears. The weight of emotion and self-reflection was simply unbearable at that particular moment. I know that a good number of you will not be able to understand this, and I am very cognizant of that. But I needed to reveal is the first time I have bared myself in this manner. 

Please, dear reader...don't judge me. If you don't get it, read the Anxiety series of poems (and the introductions) and try to understand. At the very least (and this I have asked before), please try to appreciate the words. Appreciate the emotional journey the poems take you on, acknowledge the power and passion of the message that I am trying to convey, and please be sensitive to the fact that people we know exist in the world I have written. 

As always, dear reader, I encourage interaction. I love feedback, positive or negative. I am deeply grateful for the time you have taken to read my work, and I encourage you to read this series of poems (starting with ''Thanks for the Ride'') and ending in this piece.

Thank you, dear reader. Thanks for the Ride. 
The Anxiety / Release collaboration is finished. Immediately following this text you will find the link to the Artipeeps website where my poem, and Heather's interpretation of 'Off my Feet' can be found. 

Rod E. Kok
April 15, 2014

May 25, 2014


I am perceived as being
unbowed by the winds
that besiege me from
every direction.

Yet branches in
my mind are buffeted
by fears of inadequacy.

Nobody sees my tears,
or feels my pain
as the roots which hold me
weaken under stress.

I fear judgement from my peers,
so I hide.

What truly exists inside
gets painted with
an opaque veneer,
a disguise made up of
words, smiles and laughter.

I try reach out,
offering a glimpse into
my tortured soul...
fear draws me back,
back to the shame I feel,
to the disappointment I have created.

Failure is mine.

You tried to help,
crawling to me, your own tears
laving my feet...
I pushed you away
out of despair.

I pray
for a gentle breeze
to caress me,
but the answer comes
in a gale.

And knocks me
off my feet.

Spring Park Bench 
by Heather Burns

Friday, May 23, 2014


Everybody hides behind
Hidden agendas,
covert thoughts.
Secretly we love
or hate.

Deep in our heart
lies the essence of what
we believe, yet we fear...
we fear to speak

I am no different.

My mask is confidence.
Hurt is cocooned inside.

I am hypocrite,  for what you see
is not who I am.

What I say is not always what
I think.
Therefore I am
able to see beyond
what is presented.

Trust is rarely given,
for our lies...
no, our lack of
saying truth
holds me back.

Hearts don't belong
on sleeves.
Choice to speak is
freely taken.
Decisions to hurt
are not accidents.

We are alike,
you and I.
You spoke, I wrote.
Our words were equal,
painting the same picture.

We both hide behind
a facade.

Monday, May 12, 2014

Maja Painting

Here is a picture of Maja, adding the finishing touches on her latest masterpiece.

(click on the image for full size)

Monday, May 5, 2014


I wrote this one quite a while ago, and it got lost in the myriad of unpublished completed works. It's not a happy piece. I am guessing I was not in a good place when I wrote it.

Rod E. Kok
May 2014

You’ve said all along
my unfounded fear
in my own ability
was exactly that.


Not true.

I’ve tried to be
to do
to want
to desire.
But yet…

I fail.
I fall.


Your love props me up
changes my
self deprecation,
loathing and delusions
of inadequacy.

A smile from you,
a hug
a gentle touch…
kind words of support

the falling stops
ever so briefly
and once again
I start

Saturday, May 3, 2014

I Write Alone

Heart shaped words
appear on my screen,
inspiration comes from
My thoughts leave me,
only to find a home
in a place you can
read what I am thinking,
Thumbs enter letters
which turn into something
that reminds me of you.
A pen swirls and dances
all about; paper
soaks up my memories,
exposing me to those
who care.
Everyone is given a choice,
to read
            (embrace my passions),
or not to read
                      (ignore my struggles).
Misunderstanding my muse
gives birth to apathy,
with the final result being
that I write.