The Scent of Color

In a classroom where sunshine spills,
And morning’s laughter freely fills,
There is a realm that just one child sees—
Whiffs of color wafting on the breeze.

Her skillful fingers, so full of grace,
Apply colors to their special place—
Pinks, bright yellows, deep blues, solid greens,
Ev’ry piece adorned with vibrant scenes.

With crayon box, varied and new,
Whose each shade is a magic brew,
She makes fancies take off in flight
Through shiny stars sparkling at night.

She puts down with wholehearted cheer
works of artistry to revere.
Each mark is a tale, pure and free,
Charming princess on royal spree.

Dancing across the paper white,
Pixies and rainbows shine so bright
As smell of wax, both light and neat,
Rises up from her artwork sheet.

The aroma is a fragrant bond
To childhood days, both fun and fond,
In ev’ry shade and ev’ry hue,
A world of dreams for all to view.

Her enjoyment pours out, strong and clear,
As vision forms a world so dear.
That sweet scent’s a timeless recall,
Where whimsy reigns and wonders sprawl.

Thus a special child, heart so true,
Turns simple strokes to skies of blue.
And in her scenes both bright and bold,
The scent of color shines like gold.

© 2025, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

How Far Can Satire Go?

How far can satire stretch its wings,
Before it falls and bruises things?
A laugh, a jibe, a pointed word
At truths unspoken, seldom heard.
It dances close to edges, bold,
Where wounds are raw, and hearts unfold,
Mocking kings and shaking crowns,
Making bigots and snobs grow deep frowns.
But how far can it walk the line,
Between the joke and a darker sign?
Can humor cure or only wound
While exposing lies we’ve all subsumed?
In satire’s grasp, the world may bend,
It speaks of truths that may offend.
Yet in that crack, does it reveal,
A love that heals or hurts that reel?
It wades through waters deep and wide,
Where wit may go against the tide.
How far, then, can this art, this blade,
Carve the space where truths are laid?
Satire questions letting things slide,
But is there a point where we divide?
When does it cease to jest and play,
And leave us lost in shades of gray?
Perhaps the answer lies within,
The balance of the thick and thin.
How far should satire truly go?
Just far enough to make us know.

© 2025, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

Scrabbled

Beneath the cwm zenith where nymphs wheezily prance,
whizbang melodies from an old jukebox entrance. 
Faqirs strum quickly on sweet mezquite-wood guitars,
highjacking reality, exciting quasars.
A Jezebel sylph winks, zombifying the night,
the zymurgy of enchantment, bathed in moonlight.
Below the Qi’s frolicking flybys, swift and free,
caziques and vizcachas equalize at tea,
as quetzals dose on outoxyphenbutazone,
jazzed by zippy zephyrs that sizzle to the bone.
And while muzjiks whisper, “Quixotry is preferred. 
To maximize the magic, Xerox the absurd,”
xylophonists scarf flapjacks, yelling at bezique,
“Prizes in zuz and xu, not exempt from our pique.”
Chutzpah and qwerty thusly are here intertwined,
defuzing the mundane, leaving logic behind.
So, exorcize your qualms and brush the “phphts” away.
Squeeze out cynicism. It’s Oxazepam Day!

© 2024, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

Where Dreams Dance?

In a land where worthy tales are told,
Where emotions are painted bold,
Exists a realm of vibrant charm,
Where melodies dance, hearts grow warm.

From streets of Mumbai to mountain tops,
Frame by frame, emotive flow never stops.
It’s a silver screen with magical allure,
Where passions surge and epics endure.

Movement in synchrony, showing off skills,
The steps so intricate, they induce big thrills.
With energy, rhythm, and joyous sway–
The Masala scenes chase worries away.

Heroes with charisma, hearts so pure,
Lift all higher; their spirit and courage ensure.
Through trials and triumphs, they guide,
The lessons learned to forever abide.

Promoting unity, welcoming diversity,
It aims to embrace all with equality,
Give great pleasure to the young and the old,
Within a world where dreams can unfold.

Such is Bollywood’s majestical stage,
Where romance and adventure both engage.
A kaleidoscope of feeling ever so bright,
It ignites sparks that energize film night.

But while espousing harmony and parity,
Does Bollywood still treat all with equity?
Can it keep disarming discord new and old
To help understanding and peace take hold?

© 2024, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

Whyforth ART Thou?

Art is more than just a canvas and paint,
It’s a reflection of the soul, free from restraint.

It speaks to the heart in a language of its own,
A way to express ourselves when words are unknown.

Through brushstrokes and melodies, we can convey,
Emotions and feelings that words cannot say.

Art is a universal language that bridges the divide,
Bringing together cultures and minds worldwide.

It inspires us to think, to dream, to create,
And encourages us to explore and celebrate.

Without it, our world would be bleak and grey,
For art brings color and sense to our everyday.

So let us appreciate and cherish its worth,
For art is the beauty that brings life to earth.

© 2023, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

Dear Subject

Poets are always saying

something about someone and

if you are written about

and particularly not used

to being written about

you may think you

are being betrayed

because you are not in control

and you don’t know how

the poem will turn out

for you may see yourself

as you think you are

but might not actually be

while the bard may draw

a very different lesson

and this is of course

an inevitable fact of life

c’est comme ça!

like the commercial

not sorry

no apology

© 2023, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

[art is] [cut and paste]

[discovery]  [self]  [openness]
[loss]  [stored honey]  [risk]
[autobiography]  [trash]  [choice]
[cleansing]  [ritual]  [growth]
[childfulness]  [beauty]  [imitation]   
[dam breaker]  [love]  [mystification]
[agitation]  [success]  [reminder]
[lie]  [rejection]  [childishness]
[doubt]  [gain]  [propaganda]
[pain]  [transcendence]  [weapon]
[incompletion]  [un-Truth]  [utility]
[mistake kept]  [union]  [a way]
You are invited to Add/Subtract/Move.

Addition: ________________

form (Kant)
make see (Degas)
civilization (Sibelius)
discovery (Frank Lloyd Wright)
imitation (Plato, Seneca)
cleansing (Picasso)
loss (Thomas Merton)

© 2021, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

[art is] [rhyme]

[transcendence]  [self]  [beauty]
[un-Truth]  [civilization]  [utility]
[mystification]  [love] [openness]
[lie]  [mistake kept]  [childfulness]
[autobiography]  [form]  [agitation]
[cleansing]  [ritual]  [rejection]
[choice]  [growth]  [dam breaker]
[imitation]  [success]  [reminder]
[doubt]  [propaganda]  [gain]
[childishness]  [make see]  [pain]
[a way]  [union] [discovery]
[weapon]  [risk] [stored honey]

© 2021, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

It is raining

It is three-thirty-three in the morning
I note the time because I can’t sleep
and because it is raining.
Yesterday it snowed
March … Equinox … almost Easter
and still it snows
one-and-a-half nearly two inches
of sloppy, wet, and sticky snow.
So I forage through the odds and ends
cluttering the counter.
Everyone is slumbering,
and I finally find a scrap of paper:

last day of winter—
sparrows and cawing of crows;
I hear them from the kitchen
I don’t hear a robin, though
there will be no spring!

© 1990, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

A Fruitful Frivolity

People interested in athletics
and in the care of their bodies
think not only of condition and exercise
but also of relaxation in season;
in fact, they consider this
the principal part of training.

In like manner scholars, I believe,
after much reading of serious works
may profitably relax their minds and
put them in better trim for future labor.

It would be appropriate recreation for them
if they were to take up the sort of reading that,
instead of affording just pure amusement
based on wit and humor,
also boasts a little food for thought
which the Muses would not altogether spurn;
and I would hope that they will consider
my work something of the kind.

May then they and you find it enticing
not only for the novelty of the subject,
for the intricacy of the scheme,
and because I tell all kinds of tales
in both plausible and specious ways,
but also because much within my pieces
is more or less a squib on the foibles
of yours truly or of one or another
of my fellow human beings.

Carpe poema!

Dancer

A flute sounds
low and plaintive
filling the studio,
stilling the whispers.
After a brief silence,
a rhythmic drum tap
begins to echo through
the rafters overhead.
The performer enters
the center spotlight,
tresses cascading down.
A violin joins in while
she bows with grace
in purple dress that
brushes the stage.
As the ensemble launches
a haunting melody,
she whirls into the dance.

© 1972, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.

Fond Foundling

A foundling born on Allworthy’s land,
Young Tom Jones, hero, with heart so grand.
A rake, a rogue, with passions high,
Beneath eighteenth-century sky.
With wit and charm, he roams afar,
Through love and loss, chasing his star.
The world, it turns with folly’s grace,
As the charming Tom seeks his place.

A life of scandal, yet joy and cheer,
With dear hearts entwined, both far and near.
From lovers’ games to duels of might,
He stumbles forward, seeking light.
His journey long, with folly and fame,
Through laughter, tears, he plays the game.
Character blooms, so full of life
With twists and turns and travails rife.

Yet in the end with the truth in hand,
Tom finds his place in a noble land.
Through all his faults, his heart does gleam,
For love, though tested, is his dream.
So here we find in Fielding’s tale,
A hero flawed, yet set to sail.
Tom Jones, a name that will endure,
A story of life, both wild and pure.

© 1972, Kenneth Koziol. All rights reserved.