the forest for the trees
I know they’re there
the golden hillside
the mountain vista
the endless blue sky
the sun
my memory
serves me well..
they’re there
but for today
heaven enfolds me
in her cool, damp cocoon
to savor the moment
to breathe, to sigh
to notice the trees
for the forest
~kat
daffodils in winter
it’s too soon
much too soon
my darling daffodils
to breach the loam
to dare to bloom
much, much too soon
i’m sorry dear, sweet daffodils
the mercury ascended
disguised itself as spring
to lure us from our winter wombs
to prey upon our longing hearts
tomorrow you will feel the sting
as winter rides the ides,
lurks, waiting in the wings
his frosty breath descending
to nip your golden face at dawn
but oh the hope you give my soul
weary from these long, long nights
spring tidings to you for today
may she not tarry long
~kat
writer’s block
I could say I have no words;
that the Muse is hiding,
or that I have nothing to say, but
I would be lying
I have words, so many words
vacillating from incredulous disbelief
to zealous commitment, to truth, to rage
oh, I have words
words that keep me up at night
words that rip my soul to shreds
words that, if I dared utter them out loud
would assure you that
I have completely lost my mind
even while, as they settle in your gut,
you find resonance with them...
it's just words after all
I wonder sometimes if it’s best
to embrace the silence or blurt it out,
the raw pain, the fear, the exhaustion, the sorrow
to scream, to whisper in primal tones
to the air, to the sky, to the gods
to whoever might listen
it may just be me thinking out loud, but
I imagine that saying what everyone is
afraid to say, might actually make us all
a little less lonely
and even pave the way to healing
ah…the irony, the brilliance!
cutting words wielded
to incise the poison
festering in us all
~I am still kat
it doesn’t matter
when someone says,
it doesn’t matter
it’s not necessarily
an obstinate
self-defeating,
depreciating,
or rude thing to say
it can be
liberating
when one knows
what matters is
recognizing
what doesn’t...
the worrying,
second-guessing,
soul-crushing
defeatism that happens
when we try to fit in,
be accepted,
follow the rules,
play the game
be noticed…
in fact, not mattering,
where invisibility is a gift,
anonymity, sublime
is where what
matters most,
breathing
loving
being
happens...
the rest
is an illusion,
smoke and mirrors,
the sum of a life
wasted
~kat
I’m actually in a good place…where nothing matters but the things that do. With age comes wisdom and a general “I don’t give a fuck” attitude! When life gets shorter, you realize life is too short! It is glorious place to be!!! Oh my… did I just say/write fuck?!!! Well I don’t give a “you know what”! 🤪
comes the rain…
how odd it feels
this dark drear night
as sheets of rain
and milky fog
obscure my sight
while puddles swell
earth waterlogged
from outer bands
that sweep the sky
a monster with a single eye,
a tempest wielding misery
over a thousand miles,
its bitter tears from
too warm seas brings
half a nation to its knees
odd, i think, to taste the rain
that's caused such pain
to neighbors i will never meet
terribly connected, we,
and yet so far, so very far away
~kat
This poem was birthed in the foothills of Bramlette Mountain at dusk on the 30th of September 2022 as the outer bands of Hurricane Ian bent the pines and drenched the loam while simultaneously making landfall several states away on the South Carolina coast. We humans truly are a wrinkle, a mere blip on the vast landscape of this earth. Who are we to boast of anything at all when a raindrop can render us small?
like mercury colliding... 