consider Gaia’s cycling days her seasons gently yield and flow no forced succession, letting go, no power struggles, coups, or frays
if only men could learn her ways and realize all things must end in order to emerge again if only we could just be still and listen to the wind and chill perhaps our enmity might mend
there’s no calm, no eye ‘midst the tempests formed by men only destruction
it’s been a few weeks of random. Some days I was inspired to write several poems. Others, I struggled to find words. Several jots never made it past my notepad. Working from home in our new weird alternate reality has taken a toll on me, I’m afraid. Sleep has eluded me. But I’m not giving up nor am I giving in. Baby steps. A word here, a flash of brilliance there. Like two pieces of flint tapping together, I know eventually there will be a spark great enough to ignite the fire in me again. And like a phoenix I’ll spread my wings and rise from the ash. For now I’m tending to necessary self-care. Working on getting more sleep. Watching less news. Staying safe. This is my favorite season. That is the one true thing that sustains me.
Peace and kindness to you. Pass it on. ❤️
Sunday’s ReVerse Poem – 27 September 2020
and yet still, she blooms,
that you are lost for good, I fear.
nothing to see here, all is great
I forgot to lock my head
one day I plan to be
as if we needed more heartbreak…
apple cider, cinnamon steeped, nips my tongue
~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 in this case, the past few months!
leaves droop drearily on exposed branches tinged amber from the sun’s fierce fading, fire-red on the horizon at dusk of day, the autumnal equinox is upon us, crisp and cool, apple cider, cinnamon steeped, nips my tongue
I forgot to lock my head left it wide open, in fact, how careless of me, before stretching my toes to the memory foam’s edge, wrapped to my ears in satin-lined down. Of course I can’t sleep, with that incessant drip, drip, drip, because, wouldn’t you know, I left my brain on too, just a smidge, enough to dry up the well water, water everywhere, dry to my bones, tired of counting sheep, stupid sheep, at three A.M. while a moth slams Itself against the strobing blue-green light from the smoke alarm on the ceiling. I know, I know it’s hard to resist crazy, when it courses through your veins, damn weak link in the old double helix, instinct perhaps, but, about that door, we don’t live in a barn here you know…yeah, I know, but what about living in a barn is meant to dissuade me? It’s 4:27 A.M. now, two more hours before dawn or the alarm clock, whichever comes first, ruining a decent REM cycle…if only I’d locked my head before turning in… 4:51 am and counting…4:52…4:53…
So it is easier for you to find all the parts/chapters of my ongoing fiction series, I created a new page that lists all the links. You can check it out HERE!
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