when

when the sun ceases
when no sound is heard
when the moon and the stars
sigh in melancholy, mournful silence
when, in sleep, earth forgets to bloom
remember to breathe
let not sorrow cloud your happiness

~kat

A blackout poem based on this lovely poem by Anne Plato.

Forget Me Not
Ann Plato

When in the morning’s misty hour,
When the sun beams gently o’er each flower;
When thou dost cease to smile benign,
And think each heart responds with thine,
When seeking rest among divine,
                                    Forget me not.

When the last rays of twilight fall,
And thou art pacing yonder hall;
When mists are gathering on the hill,
Nor sound is heard save mountain rill,
When all around bids peace be still,
Forget me not.

When the first star with brilliance bright,
Gleams lonely o’er the arch of night;
When the bright moon dispels the gloom,
And various are the stars that bloom,
And brighten as the sun at noon,
 Forget me not.

When solemn sighs the hollow wind,
And deepen’d thought enraps the mind;
If e’er thou doest in mournful tone,
E’er sigh because thou feel alone,
Or wrapt in melancholy prone,
Forget me not.

When bird does wait thy absence long,
Nor tend unto its morning song;
While thou art searching stoic page,
Or listening to an ancient sage,
Whose spirit curbs a mournful rage,
Forget me not.

Then when in silence thou doest walk,
Nor being round with whom to talk;
When thou art on the mighty deep,
And do in quiet action sleep;
If we no more on earth do meet,
Forget me not.

When brightness round thee long shall bloom,
And knelt remembering those in gloom;
And when in deep oblivion’s shade,
This breathless, mouldering form is laid,
And thy terrestrial body staid,
Forget me not.

“Should sorrow cloud thy coming years,
And bathe thy happiness in tears,
Remember, though we’re doom’d to part,
There lives one fond and faithful heart,
That will forget thee not.”

This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on August 2, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.

 


little piggies at the market – a rant

little piggies at the market – a rant

when you refuse to wear a mask
and stand too close to me in line
I bite my tongue and bide the time
and mumble to myself, ‘you ass’

is courtesy too much to ask,
or kindness, manners? what the hell!
who made you special, huh? do tell!
it’s freedom, liberty you prize
no matter who gets sick or dies
i wish…no that’s not nice…you well

~kat


For today’s challenge at RonovanWrites, a Décima where the word PRIZE must be one of the D line words. Then the other D line(s) word(s) must rhyme with PRIZE.

A Décima is a 10-line poem with 8 syllables per line. The rhyme pattern is: abbaaccddc. Further study of this form indicates that the subject matter of a Décima tends to be more socially conscious than some poems, taking on topics such as philosophy, politics, dogma, and religion. It can also be in the form of satire, criticism or insulting to an enemy/opponent in a situation. 

Sometimes you break the rhyme into two stanzas using the following rhyme pattern.

abba/ccddc


In Too Deep – A Décima

In Too Deep – A Décima

I’ll never say I told you so
there is no pleasure being right
no gloating glare from me, despite
the fact I warned of this…you know.

We’re in too deep, we’ve sold our soul.
The piper’s ruse, out of control,
devours all that’s decent whole,
leaving destruction in its wake.
Now with our very lives at stake
ignorance knows no bounds, it grows.

~kat


Decided to give this a go. It’s a new poetry form, the Décima, and a new challenge from RonovanWrites. This week’s prompt word is Grow (C rhyme line).

A Décima is a 10-line poem with 8 syllables per line. The rhyme pattern is: abbaaccddc. Further study of this form indicates that the subject matter of a Décima tends to be more socially conscious than some poems, taking on topics such as philosophy, politics, dogma, and religion. It can also be in the form of satire, criticism or insulting to an enemy/opponent in a situation. 


sheltered

sheltered

there is no drama here
no coffee-breath, he said,
she said, I heard, did you know’s,
no traffic, no rude drivers
riding my ass in a hurry to
get nowhere, no whispers,
no prying eyes, no judgment.
here, there is my desk, my
computer, tasks for the day,
routine, sun shining outside
my window, and rain, I don’t
mind it, here there is bird song,
an occasional butterfly flitting by,
it is quiet, I can breathe, I am
breathing at long last, my heart
has settled from my throat to
my chest…I could get used to
this, I have gotten used to
doing what I do without leaving
my house, relishing the freedom
of forced sheltering in place,
these walls no longer feel
confining, as they embrace me
here, safe, well, solitary bliss…
they are planning for us to
return to our cubicles, but
a part of me is hoping
I’ll not be missed

~kat


Asleep

Photo above by Mike Warner, KATU TV

Asleep

I have been asleep, Rip
Van Winkling through life
pretty in pink, golden pin-curl
locks and porcelain skin, muted,
pale, pastel privilege, oblivious
to the jewel tones that lower their
eyes when I pass by, yes, ma’am,
no, ma’am…please don’t call me
ma’am,
I say, but they just smile
and whisper, yes ma’am, as
they shuffle away.

I have been asleep, yearning for
love’s kiss to wake me, warm
breath against my cheek, life is
a fairy tale, simple, sweet, but it is
a hot shallow breath that rouses
me to the nightmare, I can’t
breathe
, he can’t breathe!
blood runs cold, crimson,
amidst a sea of jewels rising
from the asphalt, beautiful,
terrible, how can anyone sleep
in the shadow of this injustice,
we should do something, what
can I do? how can I help? this
has to stop, how do we make it
stop…do you see what’s happening?

yes ma’am
please don’t call me ma’am…
I have been asleep.

~kat

#Black Lives Matter


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