Category Archives: Essays

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 2 December 2018

In the stillness of late autumn, hearths crackle softly, teapots whistle, pots of soup simmer on low, and the sweet smell of baked goods lingers in the air, as the nights grow long. Winter is coming. It is a magical time of family gatherings, celebrations, sparkling lights and the exchanging of gifts. A time when we learn how lovely it is to give. We learn how to graciously receive. Or at least we try to. Most of us need a little work on that part.

So, this final month of 2018, as we remember the passing year and store up hope for the coming one, let there be no regret, but rather a gentle acceptance of days gone by; the good and the bad. May we gift ourselves with compassion, forgiveness and love. January symbolically represents a clean slate. My wish for all of us is love, peace and joy. It’s sounds a bit cliché, I know. But I can dream. I still do.

Have a great week.

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 2 December 2018

dawn’s chorus erupting
I keep my dreams close
all those years ago
it was all smoke and tears
wasting my time
a lifetime is short, as seasons go
wish I could look away
whisp’ring prayers, their souls to keep
street lamps humming low
pluck soft petals one by one

~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.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 25 November 2018

It’s so very convenient to “not go there”, especially for the milk spillers, who would rather not be reminded of the souring pool of curdling mess that they’ve wrought by their carelessness. I’m talking religion and politics of course. Oh…you didn’t know? I’m quite good at hiding behind symbolism, metaphors, and allegories. I sometimes speak in code, or not at all, simply blinking, curling a lip or rolling my eyes.

Mostly I stayed silent, happy to be invited to the party. I followed the rules. Talked about the weather and … the weather, but they knew. They always knew I wasn’t one of them. They tolerated me because, well, because I was their mother.

And then they helped to elect a monster. A monster who has ushered in a vile reign of greed, bigotry, misogyny and hate. We live in a world now, where anything goes, where there is no truth because everything is fake. “Don’t believe what you think you see, believe only me,” he spews, and they lap up his drivel like honey. They’ve closed ranks, put up a wall, drawn a line in the sand and think nothing of challenging anyone who dares question why or how they could support such a monster. They think nothing of shunning those who can’t stomach the madness, just get along, stop talking politics ever, even when they’re not around, unfriending, disowning, even their own mother…

Sorry for the rant. If you read me, you know you can expect messy, raw honesty. It’s been two years since I’ve been invited to share Thanksgiving with all my children, and consequently, my grandchildren. Two years since my oldest and second born have spoken to me. Two years of missed birthdays, missed graduations, missed milestones. My youngest two still speak to me, as long as I follow the rules. As long as I don’t mention the spilt milk souring in the corner. As long as I behave, I am allowed to see them. We talk recipes and the weather, global warming aside. I know better than to go there. I know better.

We just celebrated the first of a string of holidays here in the US. Thanksgiving was this past Thursday. Soon comes Christmas and New Years…then the birthdays roll ‘round, Mother’s Day, graduations, summer holidays. Two years ago was the last holiday they tolerated me. Last year they didn’t. And this year, I expect nothing.

I know the price of speaking the truth. I know the dear cost of honesty. These days I’m learning to let go. These days I’m rediscovering myself; figuring out who I am after decades of being a mother, and a grandmother to eight; five of whom I may never see again. I’ll always be those things, but I am more. These days I’m learning how strong I am. These days I’m learning how precious life is no matter the heartache.

I love the rain. It’s raining today. A perfect day to bake a cake, to write poetry, to forgive myself my faults, and to be at peace, having let go of expectations. When I do that, even the smallest thing is a gift. This week of being thankful finds me thankful still. Yes, I am thankful.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 25 November 2018

don’t expect too much
lay them down, down
this mid-autumn night
things like, ‘I love you’
I’m not listening. La, la, la!!!
I made a wish one rainy day
haunted by time’s tocking tick
to know, in a moment’s glance,
in the star dappled void of night
she glows ever bright
turning bare branches dark
to disagree won’t do when truth’s at stake

~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.


Sunday’s Week in Reverse – 11 November 2018

Happy Veteran’s Day. It’s a long way from the 1970’s, but today I’m feeling patriotic. Yep that’s me back in the day. USMC…Semper Fi! And in the words of President Macron this weekend, “Patriotism is the exact opposite of nationalism. Nationalism is a betrayal of patriotism. By saying ‘our interests first’…we erase what a nation holds dearest…its moral values.”


Another week, another mass shooting, an election…contested, a house regained, an attorney general fired, a sycophant hired, press pass seized, threats of retaliation, lies doubled down, fires raging. In other words, a typical week in the alternate world of trump. We learned a few things this past week. Hate is alive and well in these divided states with far too many election results lingering into the night “too close to call”. Insanity reigns as our president spirals into rage. If the last few years were trump in good times (with allies in all three branches of our government), we are in for a wild, terrifying ride from a defensive trump. The house win, he says, out loud, works well into his (evil) political plan to stay in power. He’ll just blame the democrats for everything.

But something also changed this week. There is a flickering check on the imbalance we have suffered these past few years. It’s certain to be ugly. It will most definitely be exhausting. Our divisions are real, laid bare by our party loyalties, and our recent election.

Before we trudge forward, I have one more thing to say…Apologies to Europe…to the world…for trump and his atrocious behavior in Paris, in general. Apologies to our veterans and service members who have given all to this country for a commander in chief who is afraid to get his hair wet. Apologies to the people losing their homes and sadly for some, their lives, while wildfires rage. I’m sorry you are being blamed for this tragedy and threatened by our president who’d like to cut you off from funding and ultimately out of the union. To the hopeful, seeking asylum from terror and violence in their homelands, I’m so sorry we are not the bright, shining city on the hill you imagine us to be. To the innocent people wounded and killed by angry men wielding weapons of war in our streets, to those suffering from addiction, to those with preexisting conditions, to the marginalized, the poor, the sick, the elderly, people of color, lgbtq, non-Christians, non-republicans, to all the others, I’m sorry we can’t do better. But remember this one thing. Your vote counted this week. It made a difference. We are not powerless. And trump is not who we are. He has his blind followers, but there are more of us who remember, more patriots who cling to what matters most…our moral values, decency and truth. The blue wave may not have been a tsunami, but change is coming.


Sunday’s Week in Reverse – 11 November 2018

sometimes family,
this cold, grey mourning
seeks you
mind your manners
a simple blot of ink
blue haze dissipating
show me, just show me
ice-nipped air, drizzling sleet,
peace exists

~kat


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 4 November 2018

You know the saying, “things could not get any worse”. That one. It’s meant to encourage us when things are really bad. Unbelievably awful. I’ve been saying it to myself a lot these past few years. A lot. So many times that it almost seems meaningless, because it’s just not true…

And Worse, for his part, keeps showing me that he is not finished showing off. Every day, Worse is looming, in my face flaunting his best, the greatest hits, of his worst. And the hits keep coming. At a furious pace. Worse is relentless. He’s especially good at reminding me of what I’ve lost…friends, family, security, freedom. He loves making me beg for an end to his madness. He loves beating me down. For every uttered, “it can’t get any worse,” he’s there smugly declaring, “Oh, but it can. It can always get worse.” Worse is a bottomless pit of impossibilities just waiting to spew his venom. To poison us into believing it’s hopeless to imagine anything better than the misery he’s so good at inflicting.

But Worse doesn’t know me. I have seen Worse. And I am still here. The shimmering break of day still moves me…every day. The cool settling of dusk soothes me. I swoon to the caress of the breeze on my cheek, thrill to the trill of birdsong. Oh I know I’m waxing poetic a bit. Hey, it’s what poets do. But like I said, Worse doesn’t know me.

Go ahead give me your worst, Worse, I’ll raise you with hope. Ante up…show how vile you can be. Tell me your lies. They’re no match for the truth. I wear truth like armor. And another thing…I am a raging bundle of love. Love never fails. You can’t stop the beautiful sun from rising, or quiet the birds from singing. You can’t stop the seasons from seasoning. And my friends, the better angels, they’re not afraid of you either. Yes things may seem to be going your way Worse. But not today. Today Hope is rising. She’s ready for a fight. And when she wins, you’re gonna feel it.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 4 November 2018

when words are not enough it’s best not to make up stuff
nipping our hearts, numbing frost, fear, our freedom lost
something was horribly wrong
all have gone…
mustn’t be late, and then we wait, it’s the waiting I hate
the haunt begins…appease them with sweets, don’t let them in
it is not safe here
clouds, drizzle droplets
silenced by our better angels
when so much is at stake / become the truth
gilded needles clinging
remember the things that matter

~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.


Twittering Tales #106 – 16 October 2018

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About the challenge: Each Tuesday I will provide a photo prompt. Your mission, if you choose to accept the challenge, is to tell a story in 280 characters or less. When you write your tale, be sure to let me know in the comments with a link to your tale.

A final note: if you need help tracking the number of characters in your story, there is a nifty online tool that will count for you at charactercountonline.com.

I will do a roundup each Tuesday, along with providing a new prompt. And if for some reason I missed your entry in the Roundup, as I have occasionally done, please let me know. I want to be sure to include your tale.

Finally, have fun!

And REMEMBER…you have 280 characters (spaces and punctuation included), to tell your tale…and a week to do it. I can’t wait to see what you create this week.


Twittering Tales #105 – The Roundup

img_3105 Photo by Matt Artz at Unsplash

Starting us off…
“I’m a moron,” Brad groaned.
“It’s all the rage!” she said. “You have a chance to get in on the ground floor.”
He’d spent his savings on the very first plein air writing kiosk. It became a favorite spot for texters and gamers.
“Cool sculpture,” they’d say, smart phones in hand.
~kat
278 Characters

By Martin at Martin Cororan:
You Maniacs
After years of churning out gibberish the apes finally typed the complete works of Shakespeare.
The boffins in their lab coats seemed very pleased with themselves.
Many moons later Charlton Heston rode along the beach and encountered a semi-submerged Statue of Liberty…
Bloody boffins!

By Hayley at The Story Files:
Working Air
It was a crazy idea, an office set up outside wouldn’t work! Mr.Cooper believed his team would be more productive without the ‘shackled desk’ atmosphere. It did improve things for awhile but then it rained and nobody wanted to work outside anymore.

By Reena at ReInventions:
Alas
Tickety-Tac ….. the fingers din’t stop rattling the keyboard, and dropping white sheets stained with stories on the sand.
But what were the stories?
The great drama unfolding on the horizon, of the meek winning battles….
Then?
They did not live long enough to witness it on Earth.
(276 characters)

By Willow at WillowDot21:
Nightmare
It was the same nightmare that he’d had for years. He’d arrive at work and not only had the office and carpark gone. In their place, among the weeds were five desks and five typewriters. He pinched himself on the arm as Dr Capaldy had suggested. But this time he didn’t wake up.
(280 Characters)

By The Dark Netizen:
TYPEWRITERS
A madman once read that monkeys typing on typewriters are bound to produce a novel. And so, he made monkeys type. Everyone mocked him. But, they were all proven wrong. The monkeys produced a masterpiece!
The madman stood triumphant, the typewriters stood as relics of his victory.
Character Count: 280

By Michael at Morpethroad:
In the house of lost story the keyboards sit idle, awaiting energetic fingers to restore them to life.
Each machine is overflowing with tales gallant and brave.
They sit idle ready to pour forth the next best seller.
A word escapes flops momentarily but gasps a lack of inspiration.
(279 characters)

By Deepa at Sync With Deep:
Eye Love You
for hours
we sat in silence
me and my typewriter
my heart was
his typewriter
and he typed
his love
through my eyes

By Ramya at And Miles to Go Before I Sleep:
Unwritten Fate
News headline read –
Want to change your fate? Then excellent opportunity for you!!!
Be the writer of your own destiny.
Write your own fairytale.*
Write the unwritten.
*Conditions apply – Fate once written cannot be changed back.
Character Count – 223

By Deb at Twenty Four:
With care Lola sprinkled the last grains of sand and then, finally satisfied, took a step back, it looked perfect.
“What is it for though? Old beat up typewriters in the desert?”
She scowled, tourists, they just didn’t comprehend artistic vision.
(247 characters)

By Anurag at Jagahdilmein:
The Writers Shall Inherit the Earth
“Are you sure these were the last of them?” I asked my General.
“Yes Sir,” he replied.
I sighed in relief. We’d managed to extract the last group of writers too.
Now we could safely go ahead with the invasion & annihilation of Planet Earth as per our plans.
258 characters.

By Peter at Peter’s Pondering:
The Sand Fly Typing Pool
The experiment had been tried before with monkeys.
Now, working with sand flies, it was thought that, eventually, their landing on the row of keyboards must lead to a work worthy of Shakespeare.
What a pity Charlie, the office junior, had forgotten to load the platens with paper!
(279 characters)

By Jan at Strange Goings on in the Shed:
Ancestral Burial Grounds
The ancestral burial grounds were a place of pilgrimage
And reflection.
An echo of great literary undertaking
And beauty.
And now,
The ancestors lay shrouded in memories and silence,
For the age of typewriters was all but gone,
A distant memory in the minds of the ones that came after.
(280 characters

By the Universal Unionist:
You already know about the SAS but the existence of an even more secret elite force that fought in WWII has now been revealed by a blogger known only as “agent Kat”. The STS or Special Typewriter Service played a crucial role in undermining and interfering in NAZI signal traffic, I could tell you more but agent Kat has restricted me in revea…..

By the Indie She:
The keys on the typewriters rusty as no one touched them.
Relics of history,they were consigned to the arid plains of oblivion.
Epitome of grander times,when you ruled the keyboard.
Time has turned.
The travesty of our times that keys rule us ,more smaller and smarter.
(267 characters)


A late entry from week #103 by Soul Connection:
Prediction
Ur View On Dis?
May Be Ancestors Prediction On Future.
Mean?
Dey Wr More Intlgnt Den V R 2day.Till Date Almst Evry Prdctn Is True.May B Dis Is Smthng Imprtnt Dey Predicted Abt Future Tht Need Attention n Thts Y Its Dfclt To Decode As U Can C It Includes Almst Evrythng Frm D Univrse.

Well done everyone! I was surprised by all the monkeys (and sand fleas) that made their way into this week’s tales. I guess I’m a bit out of touch. But they were great. Very entertaining, some nostalgic, some that made me think.

This week’s odd photo is by Buzz Anderson at Unsplash. I hope you have fun with it. In 280 characters or less of course, and I’ll see you and next week’s roundup! Have a great week!


Twittering Tales #106 – 16 October 2018

Photo by Buzz Anderson at Unsplash.com

The Great Christmas War

“This is the Christmas War exhibit,” droned the tour guide.

“What’s a Christmas?” asked a wide-eyed boy.

“Well,” the tour guide winked, “50 years ago, Christmas was banned because it drove people nuts! Filled ‘em with greed, hate, envy, rage!”

“Sounds scary!”

“It was buddy. It was.”

~kat

280 Characters