Five Poems by Joshua Kepfer

 

Far Reaching North 

 

Like	a	dry	fallen	leaf	blown	by
the	wind,	you	can	only	land	so
far	from	where	you	begin.	If	you’re
reaching	the	end,	be	again	braver.	The
North	old	has	the	not	close	future.

 

Like	the	far	reaching	North.
A	wind	from	the	old,
dry	you,	where	end	has
fallen.	Can	you	be	the
leaf?	Only	begin	again	not
blown.	Land,	if	braver,	close
by,	so	you’re	the	future.

 

 

Nature and Ego 

 

Why	does	my	instinct	so	often	lead	me	wrong?
Is	something	wrong	with	my	nature?	With	my	conscience?
The	answer	is	yes.	Nature	will	lead	me	to
survival	even	at	the	costs	of	all	others.	Think
of	those	odds—	same,	of	course,	for	everyone.	Kill
the	weak	with	instinct	unknown.	Lead	today,	else	surrender.
Ego	urges	your	heart	value	to	diminish.	All	steal,
so	I	wrong	in	return.	Fear.	Tomorrow	has	an
important	find.	My	hiding,	then	following,	for	the	ego.

 

Why	is	the	survival	of	the	Ego	so	important?
Does	something	answer	even	these	weak	urges?	I	find
my	wrong	is	at	odds	with	your	wrong.	My
instinct	with,	yes,	the	same	instinct.	Heart	in	hiding.
So	my	nature	costs	of	unknown	value.	Return,	then,
often.	Nature	will,	of	course,	lead	to	fear	following.
Lead	with	lead.	All	for	today	diminish	tomorrow	for
Me	My	Me.	Others,	everyone	else	all	has	the
wrong	conscience	to	think	kill,	surrender,	steal	an	ego.

 

Fool’s Gold 

 

When	all	I	ever	find	is	fool’s	gold,
can	I	search	for	something	real?	Then	when
I	travelled	far	and	wide	to	find	you,
finally,	all	searching	ceased.	To	make	you,	too,
be	for	forever.	To	test	you,	some	have
completed	what	and	find	what?	A	real	purpose.

 

When	can	I	finally	be	completed?
All	I	travelled,	all	for	what
I	search	far,	searching	forever	and
ever	for	and	ceased	to	find.
Find	something	wide	to	test	what
is	real.	To	make	you	a
fool’s,	then	find	you	some	real
gold.	When	you,	too,	have	purpose.

 Guarantees 

 

I	don't	know	if	I	will
love	you	forever.	You	get	no
guarantees.	I	don’t	know	if	I
even	have	a	say.	You	might
love	some	others	who	will	commit.
Some	friends	go	from	terribly	to
simple,	who	without	doubt,	choose	you.
Handshakes	will	promise,	still,	I	forever…

 

I	love	guarantees.	Even	love	some	simple	handshakes,
don’t	you?	I	have	some	friends	who	will
know	forever.	Don’t	any	others	go	without	promise?
If	you	know,	say	who.	From	doubt,	still,
I	get	if	you	will	terribly	choose.	I
will,	no	I	might,	commit	to	you	forever.

 

 

 Orange 

 

This	language	can’t	find	anything	that	rhymes	with	orange.
Orange	was	always	the	natural	color	with	odd	things.
Pumpkin,	mandarin,	sunsets,	sunrises,	color	of	suboxone,	fire,	inmates.
What	would	those	match	with?	Nothing.	Next	to	others,
would	it	stay?	The	red	will	swallow	it.	Can
it	translate	the	codes	and	speak	with	nothing	to
speak	for?	Same	for	green.	Clearly,	orange	is	me.
If	me,	where?	Orange,	black,	as	tongue	enjoyed	flavor,
it’s	orange.	We	aren’t	even	orange,	but	the	monotony.

 

This	orange	pumpkin,	what	would	it	speak	if	its
language	was	Mandarin?	would	it	translate	for	me?	Orange
can’t	always.	Sunsets,	those	stay	the	same	wherever	we
find	the	sunrises’	match.	The	codes	for	orange	aren’t
anything	natural.	Color	with	red	and	green.	Black,	even
that	color	of	nothing	will	speak	clearly	as	orange
rhymes	with	suboxone.	Next,	swallow	with	orange	tongue,	but
with	odd	fire	to	it,	nothing	is	enjoyed.	The
orange	things—	inmates,	others—	can,	to	me,	flavor	monotony.

 

Joshua Kepfer lives in California, where he enjoys exploring the mountains and the ocean with his wife and daughter. He has work published in Abstract Magazine, Coffin Bell Journal, Peregrine Journal, Merganser Magazine, Garfield Lake Review, Tiny Seed Journal, Green Shoe Sanctuary, Press Pause Press, and Azure: A Journal of Literary Thought.