There have been three deaths in my circle of friends this past fortnight. It has seemed a numbing spiral from grief to grief to grief. And so…a poem to help me process…
Death comes to call in waves,
it seems, unsettling
the shifting sands beneath
our wobbly feet;
each ebb and surge might
topple us and suck
us out into the icy deep.
How grief’s sad wail on wind assails
our fragile sanguine view.
A siren’s dirge, our angst to purge,
can’t set our course anew.
For gaining ground and moving
on are not a certain end.
Sometimes one needs to pause
a spell, to breathe and take it in.
When faced with terse mortality
no soul escapes unscathed.
Remembering our ash-smudged brows
the dust from whence we came.
So hurry not for comfort’s sake,
full sorrow’s dreadful course.
When time stands still ‘tis time one
needs, and space, and little more.
kat ~ June 2015
Sun’s radiant glow
fuels my swelling joie de vivre!
Mondays need a boost.
kat ~ 22 June 2015
in times like these, when good
and evil clash, when fingers
point and bleating sycophants cry
foul to sway their witless
devotees…I find it wise to bite
my tongue from adding
to the mad cacophony…
…and squint through swelling
tears on bended knees, perchance
to glimpse one single bloom
amidst the weeds.
kat ~ 21june15
“Come see my garden,” she would say, with a twinkle in her eye as if she was offering me the key to her heart. She was. I would learn this, when on a cool, clear evening, I took her up on her invitation.
The garden’s portal was an arched gateway. Flanked by trees and curving flower beds, the garden extended from the house to the alley, an eclectic variety of benches, of stone and wood, were situated throughout the space. Each became its own tiny corner of the world offering a unique vantage point of the surroundings for those pausing to reflect. Like tiny worlds within worlds. Near the entrance, a great old tree hung heavy with a gaggle of hatchlings chattering for their next meal. A yearly event, I was told, this particular tree being a favorite nesting place of this latest brood’s parents. And my favorite spot yet, was a small corner nook set aside just for the faeries. I lost myself in faerie whisperings there. I could live here, I thought.
Witnessing such beauty lulled me into a sense of deep peace. What a gift was hidden just behind the white picket fence of her century old home. And how blessed I felt to have been invited to visit. It is an evening I will never forget. Honored am I to have known this creative, lovely soul who recently crossed beyond the veil. I have no doubt she will be tending a magnificent garden wherever she is. Crossing over myself, when that time comes, feels sweeter to me now, imagining her there.
kat ~ June 2015
when the end of all ends besets
us and we are called to
account for the treasure we
spent, let it not
that we pledged our allegiance
to purveyors of faux
religiosity, abandoning those
least among us and the infirm, hording
our riches tight to our chests…taking
up arms against imagined
enemies, defending liberty and
life for some, not all, condemning
as pariah those fallen from
lock-step and grace of
the chosen, infallible herd, pressing
for the silent annihilation of
those other than, telegraphing
our righteous deeds from center squares.
but let it be that…
we allowed our hearts to
open again and again, to
breaking…that we gave not
merely of our plenty, but
our all, that we forgave, nurtured,
healed, welcomed, fed, clothed,
visited and embraced every
soul that providence led to
us, our prayers like incense wafting
aloft from our private cells. let it
be that when called
to account, our account will
be empty…our treasure dribbling
like honey from the comb.
kat ~ 18 June 2015