morning blush,
sacred breath
warm and wet,
cool on my skin,
the night’s embrace
lingering
~kat
genesis
genesis
the beginning of time
dark, glorious, sparkling
from dust and nerve endings,
rippling and glittering,
hearts roaring, the wonder
of wet delight, a twinge of color,
bright orange, mahogany, black,
the hum of gratitude whispered,
motion begetting light … it begins
~kat
A Blackout poem inspired by this fabulous poem by Jabari Asim. So much to play with in this magnificent poem! The photo features the Rosette Nebula.
Some Call It God
Jabari Asim
I choose Rhythm,
the beginning as motion,
black Funk shaping itself
in the time before time,
dark, glorious and nimble as a sperm
sparkling its way into the greatest of grooves,
conjuring worlds from dust and storm and primordial soup.
I accept the Funk as my holy savior,
Funk so high you can’t get over it,
so wide you can’t get around it,
ubiquitous Funk that envelopes all creatures great and small,
quickens nerve endings and the white-hot
hearts of stars.
I believe in Rhythm rippling each feather on a sparrow’s back
and glittering in every grain of sand,
I am faithful to Funk as irresistible twitch, heart skip
and backbone slip,
the whole Funk and nothing but the Funk
sliding electrically into exuberant noise.
I hear the cosmos swinging
in the startled whines of newborns,
the husky blare of tenor horns,
lambs bleating and lions roaring,
a fanfare of tambourines and glory.
This is what I know:
Rhythm resounds as a blessing of the body,
the wonder and hurt of being:
the wet delight of a tongue on a thigh
fear inching icily along a spine
the sudden surging urge to holler
the twinge that tells your knees it’s going to rain
the throb of centuries behind and before us
I embrace Rhythm as color and chorus,
the bright orange bloom of connection,
the mahogany lure of succulent loins
the black-and-tan rhapsody of our clasping hands.
I whirl to the beat of the omnipotent Hum;
diastole, systole, automatic,
borderless. Bigger and bigger still:
Bigger than love,
Bigger than desire or adoration.
Bigger than begging and contemplation.
Bigger than wailing and chanting and the slit throats of roosters.
For which praise is useless.
For which gratitude might as well be whispered.
For which motion is meaning enough.
Funk lives in us, begetting light as bright as music
unfolding into dear lovely day
and bushes ablaze in
Rhythm. Until it begins again.
Copyright © 2020 by Jabari Asim. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 6, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.
Sunday’s ReVerse – 5 July 2020
Sunday is almost over. It has been a long weekend, literally. Another holiday in the US. Another weekend of people acting badly, gathering in large groups, unmasked, as new cities log record outbreaks of the virus. It’s starting to wear on me. My hours, and consequently my pay has been dramatically reduced. We’re managing. I am grateful to have a job.
But social distancing and working remotely has taught me that it is just a job. Not worth the heart and soul that I once put into it. Staying home these past months has reminded me that I have a life. And I love my life. It’s going to be hard going back to normal because normal was a rat race. One thing I am determined to do is to set better boundaries. My job doesn’t own me. It’s a means to live my life. And life is good and beautiful and worth protecting. I’ll still do my job. I’m good at what I do. But on my terms. I have a life to live!
Stay safe, be well. Until next time…peace.
Sunday’s ReVerse – 5 July 2020
shadows fall between
ghosts from the dark days of our broken past
‘midst brief bursts, sunlit blue
I worry for them, poor lost sheep
i have weathered, how many autumns
in the stillness
and what it leaves
your heartlessness is on display
only touching at dawn
a dream leaves no trace
~kat
A ReVerse poem (a practice I started many years ago) is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week (or two).
no trace
no trace
the light slipped away
hope is dead, go quietly
a dream leaves no trace
~kat
Today’ Blackout Poem worked perfectly as a haiku style poem. It was inspired by the poem by Courtee Cullen below:
If You Should Go
Countee Cullen – 1903-1946
Love, leave me like the light,
The gently passing day;
We would not know, but for the night,
When it has slipped away
So many hopes have fled,
Have left me but the name
Of what they were. When love is dead,
Go thou, beloved, the same.
Go quietly; a dream
When done, should leave no trace
That it has lived, except a gleam
Across the dreamer’s face.
This poem is in the public domain. Published in Poem-a-Day on June 28, 2020 by the Academy of American Poets.
longing
they were like the sun
and the moon, their paths
only touching at dawn
and dusk, he, longing for
night, she, for the day
~kat
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