All poems by Ken Mazur    © 2011-2026

Bread Crumbs      

Hansel and Gretel

dare a forest of 

shadows and wonder,            

breadcrumbs dropped

like delicate petals

in a thicket so vast

so full of deep mystery

that their fevered minds cling

to the fantastic,

the sepia page recited,

tales and tomes of lore

attempt a futile shrug

at the evident and obvious,

that all fleeting, living thoughts

are tender flowers,

florets falling gently in a

vast timelessness, a precious glance through

the endless mirror of existence.

young lips whisper

in a boundless wood

of branching equations,

time skipping machines and

quantum visions,

holding hands through the

wilderness of being

following their crumbs towards

an end they can not yet

imagine, that gingerbread cottage

of awareness

that frightening, welcoming

cackle in a tall black hat 

waiting by the gaping maw 

of knowledge

millenium 3

road kill,

the morning commute is over.

we have reached our destinations 

with sunken eyes, 

bloodied wheels,

latte in a styrofoam cup.

lost to us the song of the rock, the leaf,

the claw, 

alone from tinted glass and rolling steel we

stare intent, grip firm,

detached from ancient mysteries  

that slither, fly and scurry save to

kiss them distant,

final with violent wheels

and punch up the

traffic news.

Millenium 4 part 2

in the LA hills it is raining

fog shrouds the mirror glass

I wipe a clean circle and shave

there are serpentine streets in these

endless hills that

suck moonlight from the sky 

and bury it deep

beneath the bougainvilla and

BMWs, down with the 

clogged and rusty pipes

that carry the ghost of

the Colorado to sputter

on our lawns and fill our

clorinated pools.

I don’t know why we came here.

this is a place for

spiders and snakes

yellow eyes and dark wings.

the oaks hum an ancient drone

with the raven

we sit by our flat screens and wait for pizza.

below the ocean strikes hard the shore, 

the stars are trying to reach us from heaven

only the cat, stretched long and

hot across the sofa seems

to calmly accept it.

The Gift

gray and white, abandoned

by the door

her tiny, six month furry form, 

so frail, so young

could not absorb the weight

of five to feed once born.

Into my life her babes,

bequethed to live and

teach my soul to share 

and love her helpless, orphaned, 

mewling mass.

I turned around,

twelve years had lapsed

and one by one 

they all had moved 

beyond my reach 

to mortal dark and 

silence

and if I gathered all the light 

that passed before their 

caring eyes

and knew each sound 

by which they knew the day,

each trot across the winter quilt, 

the greeting of extended paws, 

the mantra of a warm 

and purring dawn,

would my tattered heart again 

accept the simple precious joy

that every day, was

given me to love them?

Curiously Conscious Chemicals

curiously conscious chemicals 

continue to question

the cosmic consequences of

celestial creation,

existence from quantum

fluctuation, 

entanglement,

beguiling, 

redefining the fabric of being,

the reach of space-time

the infinite

the multiverse

a universe expansive,

expanding universally

into the possible. 

accellerating

past the speed of light 

creating the fabric of 

space-time in 

our time,

in real time.

and bending 

the synaptic comfort

of our cherished

understanding

the diamond

of a neutron star,

the energy emmission

of a distant super nova

the gravitational waves of 

merging black holes in a

a centerless infinity

witness awestruck

this proud evolving picture,

this memory, soon tomorrow, of our

infantile knowledge, an 

early glimpse

deeper, beyond the bow and 

hammer, the rocket, the lap top,

the four dimesions daily lived.

a vision growing vast beyond 

the senses of our brave and

curiously conscious chemicals

Millenium 4 part 2

in the LA hills it is raining

fog shrouds the mirror glass

I wipe a clean circle and shave

there are serpentine streets in these

endless hills that

suck moonlight from the sky 

and bury it deep

beneath the bougainvilla and

BMWs, down with the 

clogged and rusty pipes

that carry the ghost of

the Colorado to sputter

on our lawns and fill our

clorinated pools.

I don’t know why we came here.

this is a place for

spiders and snakes

yellow eyes and dark wings

the oaks hum an ancient drone

with the raven

we sit by our flat screens and wait for pizza

below the ocean strikes hard the shore, 

the stars are trying to reach us from heaven

only the cat, stretched long and

hot across the sofa seems

to calmly accept it.

millenium 2

slipping a twenty 

into the pay and pump

concrete hot with

traffic zipping,

thirsty glass eyed guzzlers

waiting

heat waves rise from

sizzling skins of steel.

I lift the pump head

shiny, 

warding off the 

harsh

reflections 

in torn jeans

and raybans

digits flashing

vapors rising

taste the burning sidewalk

feeling energy from

ancient algae

filling up the belly of 

my hungry

metal beast

Mere Specs

mere specks above

like holes in the shoebox top 

to let the air in,

shining,

just there,

in the black night sky,

as if their light is of today

and not some long gone burn

from the terribly far 

and cold beyond,   

and yet

they hold my eyes 

and heart in such devotion,

waiting still to see the box lid

lift away 

and greet my keeper’s hand