Monthly Archives: July 2018

Slipping Between the Cracks -Terza Rima 4-Two

where has the time gone in our little game
passion has fizzled, we pass in the hall
jump starts fall short, nothing’s the same

battered by life, our love’s weathered it all
the fire’s faded, it’s true, to embers
such comfort, ‘twill do ‘til the reaper calls

given the choice i choose love that’s tender
but how my heart thrilled once, hearing your voice
in the beginning, us…i remember

~kat

Terza Rima Challenge


Slipping Between the Cracks – Terza Rima 4-One

“Slipping Between the Cracks” is an idiom that refers to someone or something being forgotten or neglected; something being lost by falling between floorboards. (Not to be confused with “slipping through the cracks”…to go unnoticed or undealt with; to be unintentionally neglected or ignored, especially in a corporate, political, or social system.) There’s a subtle difference between the two…one implies fading into oblivion, forgotten; the other is a major unintentional blunder.

For this week’s Terza Rima Challenge I’ll be looking for the overlooked. It might take more than one stanza to tell the story, but that is what I’m going for. To bring to light things forgotten.

I pass this old abandoned house everyday on my walk. And so its untold storytelling begins…

-One

old house abandoned, now wasting away
empty and dark with its doors shuttered tight
the old woman died, who once lived here, they say

no record exists of her obscure life
she lived in this house, built, 1918
the tree died too, when they turned out the lights

remembering when that tree was still green
smiles we exchanged; never knowing her name
gone with the mist now, forever unseen

~kat


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 22 July 2018

What is there to say about this past week on the world front? I chose not to go there in verse…at least I tried. But how could I not watch with horror, the train wreck happening and treasonous actions of our president…yes I said it…treason. How else can one view his willingness to hand over US government officials, who Putin disdains for apparently playing a role in Russian sanctions, to be interrogated by Putin’s thugs.

Whether Trump “would” or “wouldn’t”, it was clear from Putin’s puffed chest, command of the event, and evil smirk during their press conference, that he had strong armed trump in their two hour tête-à-tête. Trump belongs to Putin. We suspected as much. It was confirmed this past week on the world stage. And lest we forget, young children still remain prisoners in black government sites and un-vetted foster homes across the country while their parents rely on the mercy of strangers to untangle them from red tape. Fortunately, I didn’t go there this week!

No, rather than writing about headlines, I decided I would focus on finding Merak. And I like to think I did find glimmers of Merak each day. Boy did we ever need it this week. It ain’t easy being woke. And that said, my daily Terza Rima this week will slip between the cracks to see what we find. It will take some diligence to find a thing overlooked a day. Today’s was easy…and sets the stage for the rest of the week. I pass by the empty house in the photograph on my walk every day. Even the tree in the front could not sustain life once its owner passed away.

Sometimes it’s not the things that happen on the world stage that matter the most, but rather the tiny shifts behind shuttered doors that cause the earth to quake.

Have a great week. I’m off to discover the overlooked and forgotten…


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 22 July 2018

to fly above the earth, a bird’s eye view…
with my feet, deeply rooted like a tree
i probably shouldn’t be
we whisper in the shadows,
come out
with grace to bend when tempests storm the night
a rhapsody of words
stardust and sinew meld beneath my skin
cicadas’ shrill diminuendoes troll
the sun rises here too
amaranth tendrils pierce through lace-trimmed trees
but looks can be deceiving
threading the needle
it helps to be woke
at long last, i am flying on moonbeams
like fingers of light
they never listened

~kat

A ReVerse poem 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.


Saturday with the Muse

The muse kept me up past midnight. We finally settled on two verses…

they never listened
to the wind…always
following after every
loud noise in this world
some say that’s why
they still wander

beneath the cool forest
cover, shadows play
like fingers of light
dancing in the mist

~kat

Magnetic Poetry Online


Finding Merak – 3 finit

The Serbian word “Merak” is a feeling of bliss and the sense of oneness with the universe that comes from the simplest of pleasures. It is the pursuit of small, daily pleasures that all add up to a great sense of happiness and fulfillment.

the gold crescent moon ushers me to bed
its crooked smile hid by cirrus streams
memories of moments fill my sleepy head

at long last, i am flying on moonbeams
serendipity’s bliss attends my dreams

~kat


The following is a streaming version of this week’s Terza Rima Challenge. I planned for it to read like a “day in the life” which was interesting since I wrote a new stanza daily. As an assist I tried to write at progressive hours of the day as the week passed. I am still looking for Merak. And so a new day begins…

Finding Merak

to fly above the earth, a bird’s eye view…
tell me robin red what wonders you see
when on the wing, riding the wind, please do

i dream of flying unencumbered, free
yet suffer from a phobia of heights
with my feet, deeply rooted like a tree

but oh there’s something trees get very right
they meet the wind in dance with tender limbs,
with grace to bend when tempests storm the night

whispering soft, the ancients draw me in
familiar voices touch my heart and soul
stardust and sinew meld beneath my skin

earthing, am i, whilst baring my soles
cool grass tickling, trembling in the breeze
cicadas’ shrill diminuendoes troll

gloaming looms on the cusp of ebony
the scent of musk and rose buds fill my head
amaranth tendrils pierce through lace-trimmed trees

the gold crescent moon ushers me to bed
its crooked smile hid by cirrus streams
memories of moments fill my sleepy head

at long last, i am flying on moonbeams
serendipity’s bliss attends my dreams

~kat


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