Ken Kirkby – Warrior Painter

excerpt

The renewed quest for a cure became a secret shared between
Francisco, the Portuguese fisherman who became Ken’s mentor and closest
friend, Ken’s father, and himself.
Following a year of inconclusive specialist appointments, a tentative
diagnosis was made that he was suffering from a form of leukaemia. The
three of them were sitting in a favourite spot on top of the cliff on the edge
of the village, watching the constantly moving sea far below. With a sigh,
Ken’s dad voiced his personal frustration.
“I am a man with considerable influence, but in this matter I am
completely powerless. The one thing I love most on earth—you—I can do
nothing for.”
The boy was shocked to see tears trickle from his father’s eyes.
“You are going to have to take command of yourself. You must be as
strong as the whole Roman Empire, Jesus Christ, Buddha, and Krishna all
together. Go deep within yourself. Raise an army to fight these evil creatures
that are destroying your blood.”
The youngster thought this a sensible idea. He would create millions
and millions of little fighters and turn them loose. They would run down his
veins and each time the bad blood cells came out, his good fighters would
slaughter them! Strangely enough, that decision seemed to mark a turning
point.
Whether triggered by the power of positive thought or the clouds of
bromine, similar to iodine, produced by a type of seaweed on that part of the
coast, or something remaining to be discovered—no medical authority was
able to pinpoint the cure. Ken’s body grew stronger and he was no longer
troubled by his mysterious illness.
It seemed entirely logical to Ken that his dad, whom he respected above
all others, had put him in control of his own body and therefore of his life.
And from that time forward, Ken Kirkby refused to acknowledge the right
or responsibility of any other person over his actions, decisions, or the way
he lived his life.
This was the root of his self-reliance. It would wrongly be interpreted
throughout his life as arrogance.

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In the Quiet After Slaughter

excerpt

Mother’s Day
He hid in the shadows at the end of the hallway and waited for
her to drop into the chair facing the mirror. He’d seen it before
but needed corroboration. If she caught him watching, he’d say he
was looking for the cat.
She held the hatpin up to the light . . . then plunged it into the
palm of her left hand. The crucifixion seemed to divert her fury, at
least temporarily. A Kleenex stemmed the bleeding
He must have flinched, because she glanced up at the mirror, eyes
glistening with tear. Long after she was gone, long after his own fingers
had stiffened, he wondered if she’d known all along of his audience.
– I’ll fix dinner soon, she said.
– Here kitty, kitty . . .
In its natural state my mother’s mane had the lacquer sheen of a Japanese
jewelry box. When liberated the locks splashed across her
unhappy shoulders like rainwater. Monthly she entrusted her scalp
to Tony, surname unknown, proprietor of Hair By Anthony, a gracious,
perfumed soul who worked from photographs of starlets torn
from magazines. His haughty companion— an indulged Persian—
sunned her royal whiskers in the shop window.
We learned to recognize changes in my mother’s personality that
would accompany the makeovers. They appeared like uninvited
guests. Depending on the actress she imagined she had become, as
well as myriad other factors only she was aware of, my mother would
mangle foreign accents or greet acquaintances with a sultry purr.
She’d steal glances at herself in strategically mounted mirrors and
take up smoking but never inhale. She’d duck in behind an assortment

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Impulses

Solemnity
Sober shadows under the widow’s
solemn eyes and
bitter chin holding her jaw
half inclined daring the sun
we uncovered ancient books penned
when undressing books was sin
and we walked secluded beaches
beheld Eros’ apparition
while scanning egos of aspiring rulers
we called the palace jester
who amid jokes and guffaws declared
God has perished
people danced in the Agora
knowing jokes do not revive Him

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