Monthly Archives: July 2018

Speaking of Three – Terza Rima – 1 of 3

Speaking of Three

With only three days left in July, my final Terza Rima offerings will explore the number 3, stanzas in triplicate. I’ve enjoyed the Terza Rima. Here we go then…

metaphysically, the number three
bespeaks of divine souls who know the muse
theirs is a life of creativity

the alchemy of magic thrice infused
with graces threefold, walking in the light
a powerhouse of elements imbued

those so-called, three, inherit a birthright
optimistic sprites, loyal, filled with glee
three-folks live here with heaven e’er in sight

~kat


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 29 July 2018

I love this week’s ReVerse! I had set for myself a daunting challenge: to write a trio of terza rima stanzas exploring things that slip between the cracks, which of course, they don’t really do, because the cracks

ARE the in between abysses where we lose things. Cracks between the cracks, as it were. That is to say nothing is truly lost to us if we are paying attention.

And pay attention I did this week, to the ‘nth degree. Rather than being exhausting, it was inspiring. A prime for the old pump. I even managed to tackle all my favorite challenges this week, save my own “word of the day” musings. To be honest, the words of the day have been at best, meh, lately, so I’ve given it a rest. This week’s word was punnet, a small container or basket for strawberries or other fruit. Um, so ok. Now you know. Not much more to say about that. 😉

But back to today’s ReVerse! Did I happen to mention how pleased I am with it? Of all the words I wrote this week, these lines are some of my favorites. They play nicely together, don’t you think? Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could all do a reverse and together, get along? Yes, wouldn’t that be lovely.

Have a great week. There are only three more days of Terza Romas to explore…hmmmm, three. Hold that thought. See you on the flip!


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 29 July 2018

remembering when that tree was still green
in the beginning…us, I remember
with you, I would go
no one will remember your words
a swift swing of a bat rendered them headless.
there’s still life left in what some throw away
for these days pennies don’t amount to much
slow turns the screw ‘til truth cannot exist
lounging in streams of sunlit bliss
which makes me wonder
precious treasures overlooked, throngs unfazed,
fair-haired ladies in waiting,
in these trying times
“How much farther?”
“Is that a thing?
between, in darkened cracks where stuff falls through
forever, when they’re botched.
i never wanted to
i live for the sweet
the sun shining too bright
blue, red crush, misting

~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 he Muse

the blood moon sweats
blue, red crush, misting
purple rain, falling

who do they think
they are disturbing
my dark, restless night…
happy squirrels, bird song,
the sun shining too bright
when all I ask is to
wither here in peace

i live for the sweet
in between…dawn and
darkening dusk when
the hot summer sun
is muted

i never wanted to
love you but my
heart always gets
what it wants

~kat

Magnetic Poetry Online


Tattoos – A Six Word Story

Tattoos hurt! Forever, when they’re botched.

~kat

This week’s Six Word Story Challenge from Wonderwall is prompted by the word “tattoo”. Head over HERE to post your own story in the comment section. Then post it on your blog with a link. Have fun!


Slipping Between the Cracks – Terza Rima 4-Seven (finit)

midst long dead leaves, audacious life abounds
gold button blooms, fat drops of shimmering dew,
songbird trills, whisp’ring breezes, morning sounds

things that slip to pale and out of view
when we’re distracted by things, overlooked
between, in darkened cracks where stuff falls through

oh, every day’s a chapter in a book
filled with the tragic, balanced by sublime
when i forget, it begs a closer look

“between the cracks”…a silly paradigm
that makes no sense, a symbol of the times

~kat

This week’s Terza Rima has turned into an epic quest beset by detours and distractions on the way to finding things forgotten, or having “slipped between the cracks”. But what does that oddly worded idiom really mean? Shouldn’t it read “between the slats” or something to that affect? There really is nothing between the cracks unless we take the phrase literally, and in that case it places those things that fall between them squarely on a solid surface in plain sight. Perhaps that’s the point of this silly, confused phrase. The stuff we’re looking for is always right in front of our face just waiting to be discovered.

If you care to relive each day’s offering, it’s posted below. My, my but I’m a big bag of wind! Ha! Peace out!


Slipping Between the Cracks

-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

-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

-Three
tossed to the curb, piles of junk, a few toys
nothing of value, or so someone thinks
a find for scavengers; cause to rejoice

they’ll save some collectible gems from the brink
clean them up nice; upload them to eBay…
mind what you pitch with that old kitchen sink

one man’s trash is a treasure, they say,
to those discerning, who know a thing’s worth
there’s still life left in what some throw away

-Four
while on my morning walk, a looming curse
a faceless copper penny caught my eye
pick it up and certain doom I might unearth

best to leave it there and walk on by
or better yet give it a happy turn
to pass good fortune on to the next guy

a single penny gained is thought absurd
for these days pennies don’t amount to much
even my two cents worth goes unheard

-Five
an ambush of lies, tall tales and such
sets gas lights aflame sowing questions and doubt
verity spiraling, fools out of touch

puppets on strings dance with lengthening snouts
while dark secrets spin behind closed door trysts
those who are woke try to figure it out

there is a legion of tools who insist
up is down, east is west, wrong, is all right
slow turns the screw ‘til truth cannot exist

-Six
a can of niggling worms looms as I write
I’m obsessed, unable to ignore
the innocents who’ve drifted from our sight

fractured families, children not cared for
species, numbers dwindling, resources razed
slipping between cracks; lost forevermore

precious treasures overlooked, throngs unfazed,
our better angels quickly losing ground,
their god is greed, they lavish him with praise

-Seven
midst long dead leaves, audacious life abounds
gold button blooms, fat drops of shimmering dew,
songbird trills, whisp’ring breezes, morning sounds

things that slip to pale and out of view
when we’re distracted by things, overlooked
between, in darkened cracks where stuff falls through

oh, every day’s a chapter in a book
filled with the tragic, balanced by sublime
when i forget, it begs a closer look

“between the cracks”…a silly paradigm
that makes no sense, a symbol of the times

~kat