Frederick Kesner Poems

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better than vintage wine
flashier than weekend cars
more precious, much more
than the Don's Cricket bat
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It will never be like this again.
Just yesterday this house was alive;
Today it's empty, yet again.
This makes one think about tomorrow.
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The sick-room had always chilled me
For I feared that it could kill me

I stayed clear from the infirmary
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a grated gate in midnight's light
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Please, pray tell, what it means
when your poems are 'online' green
while the rest upon your list
have no such green tags in the least?
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Eilat, minuscule by what we know is worthy
small, but nonetheless mighty city of refuge
near the Crossing Point by the east shore of the Red Sea
between pharaoh and the promised land it tends
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