Krispin crossed the Kalahari
searching for a drink
a dream of gin and ginger
was all that he could think
up and down the dunes he roamed
luscious lips were left behind
one last Kiss was not enough
nor embrace the fleeting Kind
here he was King of nothing
hot Kepi on his head
memories of moonbeams sweet
were better left for dead
like sandy grains in worn out boots
blistering hours did multiply
nights cold as Kiev he huddled
under the star-strewn sky
no chance for a small cuppa
indeed where was the Kettle
mistress Karma’s cruel joke
fine way to test his mettle
for silk Kimono and Kaftan cool
he longed to drop his Khakis
a dusty heap next to the door
picked up by well-loved lackeys
clear visions of a nice Kabob
set on a proper plate
Kaffir limes and Kiwis cold
his palate could not wait
miserable fortune set in motion
by a nasty camel’s Kick
this unexpected walkabout
was nothing but
a desert trick
K
Keep it going with the entries in Frizztext’s A-Z Challenge: tagged “K”.
ACROSS THE BORED 
You are way too good at these (that’s my excuse for abandoning the challenge)! I got quite caught up in the story…a mirage, no?
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Why thank you! By the time I was finished I had worked up a sweat – K was tough nut to crack…
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Yes, sweaty writing is not my fave…I prefer it to be a relaxing pastime.
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I just feel like I am trudging along lately – having to work hard at it to get any kind of results…
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Well, your results are immaculate, so maybe the sense of “trudging” is fatigue (emotional or physical). Did I mention I’ve started working on “the novel” again? “Trudging” is definitely the descriptive for epic projects–I love those fast little Jorio poems!
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Thanks for the encouragement! I think the key is to work in small time increments: type, snack, clean, type, snack, snack, lie on couch…
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I like the snack and lie on couch increments.
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my favorite verses:
+
Krispin crossed the Kalahari
searching for a drink
a dream of gin and ginger
was all that he could think
+
sandy grains in worn out boots
blistering hours did multiply
nights cold as Kiev he huddled
under the star-strewn sky
+
for silk Kimono and Kaftan cool
he longed to drop his Khakis
a dusty heap next to the door
+
miserable fortune set in motion
by a nasty camel’s Kick
this unexpected walkabout was nothing
but a desert trick
!
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Thank you – I’m glad you liked it – I struggled with this K but like Krispin made it through alive…
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