An Internal Memo

From my latest book, Vanishing Fair, available on Amazon.


Let's indulge ourselves
In the pointlessness of positive thinking
For a change
Instead of the unsurprising
Expected impending doom
Which has not disappointed
In its daily rounds
Shall we get all Shirley MacLaine
And take a trip to the 
Past lives pavilion
Just to draw strength from
Previous failures
Or go full postal Dale Carnegie
Who believed in his philosophical larceny
So much
He changed the spelling of his last name
Thinking that people would associate him
With the rich family who built libraries
And they did
Or maybe what would work better
Is just realizing
We're doing the best we can
And we should understand that
The ability to continue through
The King Lear storm
Is something to be acknowledged
And appreciated
It probably won't subtract any sorrow
But it might
And that delusion
Is something you can dine out on
If not for a meal
Than at least an amuse bouche
Which is marginally better than nothing


Copyright 2020 by Steve Keil

In The Dark On The Outside

From my latest book, Vanishing Fair, available on Amazon.


Up early
First thing
Before the sun has a chance
To rise
I hit the pavement
With the shoes I'm ready to retire
Taking in the views
Of the houses around me
At a decent pace
Since the gym is closed
On Christmas Day
Mostly by myself
Except for one misguided soul
On Huron Street
Somewhat at peace
Strong from determined accomplishment
Ready to turn the table
On my recent past
Willing to happen to the world
For a change
Feeling better about myself
Than I did the day before
Which is just about
The best present
I could hope for
While the rest of the planet
Unwraps boxes
And throws away
The pretty paper


Copyright 2020 by Steve Keil

Stretching the canvas for more space

From my latest book, Vanishing Fair, available on Amazon.


Hey, the new issue of 
Southern Living is in
There's a sentence I never thought I'd say
Mostly because I have never heard
Of the magazine before
But since I am in current phase
Of reading what I ordinarily wouldn't
And realizing that The Sunday New York Times
Was too much of a time hoover
To leave room for anything else
I picked up this magazine from the periodical shelf
And dove in
It did have Octavia Spencer on the cover
Which was a good sign
But I don't know whether it was by accident
Or editorial design
That the first photo inside
Was one of a pie
Apple, I'm assuming
Without any other ingredients included
I zipped through the articles about
Throw pillows and Japanese maples
All pleasing enough in their scope
Only a clutched paw of more bits of string
To add to my ever-growing sphere
Which may or may not serve any purpose
In the W.H. Auden sense
Or inspire something of limited or lesser value
On my own

Copyright 2020 by Steve Keil

Blanks Filled While You Wait

From my latest book, Vanishing Fair, available on Amazon. 

The old man was bemoaning
The daily passage of time
Probably because he just lost
Another of his friends yesterday
I know how that goes
Having been blindsided relentlessly
When I was much younger
I wanted to say
Yeah, but look at us
It's 7:30 in the morning
And we're both at the gym
That's got to count for something
Even if it is the pointless raging against
The oncoming darkness of all our lives
But I didn't say that
I just vexed my shoulders and said
What are you gonna do?
Given that we were in New Jersey
It seemed the only appropriate response
An all-purpose reaction
That is surprisingly effective
In a variety of occasions
When nothing of value said
Is going to make
Any difference

Copyright 2020 by Steve Keil

Still Busy Feeling Blue

It would have been his birthday
Yesterday
My friend, Peter
We were supposed to be a thing
Once upon a time
But it never came to pass
It just didn't
That didn't make me any less sorrowful
Of his natal anniversary
When I was perpetually reminded
Because no one has taken down
His profile
Since he was murdered
A few months ago
Assaulted in the laundry room
Of his apartment building
And left for dead
After his screams
Heard by the other tenants
Went unanswered
I don't know if they ever caught
The suspected son of a bitch
Who could do such a thing
To another human being
Let alone someone I knew by name
But it reminded me once more
Unnecessarily
In these times of sanctimonious
Self-appointed sainthood
No matter what is said
The horrible truth is
Not all lives matter
To everyone

copyright 2020 by Steve Keil

Preaching Under A Sweaty Hat

This is a new poem that I wrote on July 9, 2020. 

After the free cigars were

Passed out

Along with some of the guests

Each wedding attended

In the days of my youth

When I was far from being a man

Had a certain inevitable flow

Regardless of whether 

I approved of the union or not

At some point at the reception

I would begin to pester the band

If there was one

To allow me the luxury

Of singing an inebriated number

For the usually happy couple

There was rarely any problem with that

It was one less terrible popular song

For them to fully participate in

And if anything

I allowed them the opportunity

To seem a lot better

Once I slurred my way through

Whatever tune was available

I seem to remember a lot of

Huey Lewis to choose from

Bur don't quote me on that

No matter how awful I was

I would get applause the crowd

After all, I was one of their own

Despite being

Totally unprofessional

Just as I would make my style

In the years to come

Once I started getting paid

For doing the same

copyright 2020 by Steve Keil

New Ways With Gin and Sour Defeat

This is the title poem from my most recent collection that was published in 2018 and is available at amazon.com

Sequestered to the back
Of the bar

Where the wallflowers

And the uninvited
Wild things are

Watching the crowd with

My hello kettle

Running a mutual commentary

For our own amusement

Entertaining ourselves as usual

While everyone else

Is entranced by

What's happening on stage

Laughing at the absurdity

Of it all

Including ourselves

Knowing that this is

Our version of

A fine romance

The most we'll ever be

Together

Which is still more 

Than can be said

For the zombie apocalypse

With necks bent downward

That surround us