Author Archives: Kat Myrman

no trace

no trace

the light slipped away
hope is dead, go quietly
a dream leaves no trace


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.


they were like the sun
and the moon, their paths
only touching at dawn
and dusk, he, longing for
night, she, for the day


Magnetic Poetry – Nature Kit

selfish jerks!

I’m disappointed, furious…horrified by my country’s response to COVID-19! Our leaders act like it’s an inconvenience. That ignoring it will just make it go away. They refuse to take responsibility, to model behavior that will help slow the spread; they refuse to accept science and the recommendations of experts. Meanwhile the country’s numbers of new cases are rising, the rest of the world is shutting their doors to us. I don’t blame you. The US is a horrible place to live right now. UGH. UGH. UGH. Anyhow…just getting this off my chest. Poetry is therapy you know…. Hope you are staying safe and for goodness sake, wear a mask and keep your distance when you leave your house. SMH!!

selfish jerks!

your heartlessness is on display
when you refuse to wear a mask
your heartlessness is on display

‘cause nobody should need to ask
it should be common courtesy
when you refuse to wear a mask

claiming your right to liberty
it shows you’re just a selfish jerk
it should be common courtesy

yet you don’t care who you might hurt
you’ve death and sickness on your head
it shows you’re just a selfish jerk

it’s stupid, you could slow the spread
your heartlessness is on display
you’ve death and sickness on your head
your heartlessness is on display


Today’s poetry form is called a Terzanelle:

The Terzanelle is a poetry type which is a combination of the villanelle and the terza rima forms. It is a 19-line poem consisting of five interlocking triplets/tercets plus a concluding quatrain in which the first and third lines of the first triplet appear as refrains. The middle line of each triplet is repeated, reappearing as the last line of the succeeding triplet with the exception of the center line of the next-to-the-last stanza which appears in the quatrain. The rhyme and refrain scheme for the triplets is as follows: 

1. A
2. B
3. A

4. b
5. C
6. B

7. c
8. D
9. C

10. d
11. E
12. D

13. e
14. F
15. E

Ending Type 1:

16. f
17. A 
18. F
19. A

Ending Type 2:

16. f
17. F
18. A
19. A

Each line of the poem should be the same metrical length.




the time
for words
they refuse
to be touched,
tiny hearts
that can’t love,
that reminds us
we are the worst
for the ineffable
belief in nothing
and what it leaves


A Black Out poem based on the poem below by Seth Abramson.

What I Have
By Seth Abramson

Twelve dollars sixty cents,
& the fact that there is no blood no storm
can’t wash into dirt, that the time for these words
is already ended,
that for all the rain that has been here before
so have I.
& there is less water in the world
than a famous woman once said, & I know that,
& that the stars in the river
also are real I also know, for they disappear also
& refuse also to be touched. & I have touched 
bare things, & it works—
it can be the sole unbraided moment in a life—
but even so, what better days look like to me is still
the tiny gore
of heartbreak, & long walks with small shoes
that can’t be taken off,
& schools in a city I love that put molded cages
over their clocks,
because that works too to remind us
we are not ready. & the worst of all is anything that
stays as it is
when touched.
At lunchtime a woman famous for her ability
to praise the ineffable

says she can’t believe anyone returns
to where they came from.
But of course they do. In fact
some do nothing else. & what is it they leave behind?
 Perhaps not the meaning of time,
but the time of meaning, & the fact that whatever
happens, tomorrow
will change it.

Source: Poetry (March 2009)

a whisper

in the stillness
a whisper is music
to our ears, like
soft mist rising
after a storm


Magnetic Poetry-Original Kit

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