berries on the vine
cold nip in the airs
summer softly fading
blossoms bursting seed
tree boughs gently rustle
baring their souls
as the nights grow long
full moon lingering, come dawn
~kat
Brought out the Nature Poet Kit magnets today. It is a gorgeous, sunny, cool day. But dusk is coming too soon.
the unraveling
the tapestry is unraveling
earthy tones of brown and
tan, yellow and red fading,
white patches soiled from
blood and tears, offering no
warmth, no consolation,
threads splintering, breaking
unable to hold together the
dreams of the innocents
wrapped in it like a shroud…
where are the seamstresses
with steady hands and nimble
fingers, trembling with needles,
eyes too narrow to thread, to
mend the tatters, to scrub
the fabric clean, to restore
the tapestry, or better yet,
to weave a new cloth, one
that is brilliant, softened
with batting, large enough
to cover all who slumber,
to shield us from nightmares,
from the darkest of nights,
to bring us safely to the dawn
we’re hanging by a thread
tossed by tempests, trembling,
chilled to our bones
while the world burns
~kat
Crawling out from under my rock. Sorry for my recent silence. I confess that I have been overwhelmed of late by what’s happening to our brothers and sisters of color, to those sick and dying from the pandemic, from the lies of our leaders, from the hate ravaging our streets, disturbing the ardent pleas of peaceful protesters, from sheltering in (sheltering…what a benign word…sheltering). I have struggled to find words, forgetting that it is words that save me from the abyss; that help me get out of my head. I hope everyone is staying safe and well. I hope…at least I am trying to even as the dawn seems so very far away. Peace ✌️
sheltered
there is no drama here
no coffee-breath, he said,
she said, I heard, did you know’s,
no traffic, no rude drivers
riding my ass in a hurry to
get nowhere, no whispers,
no prying eyes, no judgment.
here, there is my desk, my
computer, tasks for the day,
routine, sun shining outside
my window, and rain, I don’t
mind it, here there is bird song,
an occasional butterfly flitting by,
it is quiet, I can breathe, I am
breathing at long last, my heart
has settled from my throat to
my chest…I could get used to
this, I have gotten used to
doing what I do without leaving
my house, relishing the freedom
of forced sheltering in place,
these walls no longer feel
confining, as they embrace me
here, safe, well, solitary bliss…
they are planning for us to
return to our cubicles, but
a part of me is hoping
I’ll not be missed
~kat
matin
i rise
to sun dappled treetops
to emerald eyes
to soft rhythmic purrs
to coffee-infused air
to cool sheets
to softness
to light
to love
what a miracle it is
to be granted another sunrise
to feel my lungs swell, to sigh
to know that i am clothed
in this moment, grounded
in its sweetness, charged
to greet this messy world
in the afterglow of glory…
may i be a blessing then
as i have been so richly blessed
i rise
to a new day
like every day before
and every day yet to come
if the fates are willing
to sun dappled treetops
to emerald eyes
to soft rhythmic purrs
to coffee-infused air
to cool sheets
to softness
to light
to love
~kat
healing
i hold my breath
try to forget
my shoulders tense
then I remember
the sweetness
and my breathing
grows soft, healing,
like rain, my breath’s
like a kiss, soft, slow,
persistent
~kat
Today’s Blackout Poem inspired by this magnificent poem by Yesenia Montilla.
i have diver’s lungs from holding my
breath for so long. i promise you
i am not trying to break a record
sometimes i just forget to
exhale. my shoulders held tightly
near my neck, i am a ball of tense
living, a tumbleweed with steel-toed
boots. i can’t remember the last time
i felt light as dandelion. i can’t remember
the last time i took the sweetness in
& my diaphragm expanded into song.
they tell me breathing is everything,
meaning if i breathe right i can live to be
ancient. i’ll grow a soft furry tail or be
telekinetic something powerful enough
to heal the world. i swear i thought
the last time i’d think of death with breath
was that balmy day in july when the cops
became a raging fire & sucked the breath
out of Garner; but yesterday i walked
38 blocks to my father’s house with a mask
over my nose & mouth, the sweat dripping
off my chin only to get caught in fabric & pool up
like rain. & i inhaled small spurts of me, little
particles of my dna. i took into body my own self
& thought i’d die from so much exposure
to my own bereavement—they’re saying
this virus takes your breath away, not
like a mother’s love or like a good kiss
from your lover’s soft mouth but like the police
it can kill you fast or slow; dealer’s choice.
a pallbearer carrying your body without a casket.
they say it’s so contagious it could be quite
breathtaking. so persistent it might as well
be breathing down your neck—
Yesenia Montilla
