from a distance letting go takes one’s breath a symphony of amber, crimson, gold, emerald summer flare fading, cool winds of change wooing us to dance like dervishes to break free of all bounds, to ride the gale with abandon, to flutter softly to the earth, in afterglow of ecstasy, to drink the dew, to sleep letting go takes one’s breath from a distance
when one draws near there’s no denying truth clarity, reality, convey a somber view of brittle bones, age-dappled skin, fragile veins, the cusp of death, spring, summer, now autumn fading, letting go, the grim final hurrah that exposes our nakedness letting go is not so pretty, we cling, longing for a spring we’ll never see there’s no denying truth when one draws near
in the end when all is said and done when all that is left of us is dust when the earth reclaims our mortal shell, what stories will our brief life tell, memories perhaps of greening, vibrant, shading, dancing, dreaming, kissed by sun, caressed in moon glow, brief, a blip, we laughed, we loved, we lived life full…oh how we loved! when all is said and done in the end
bare tree limb tips dipped in green, white and lavender sunlight lingering into the evening, peepers peeping at dusk, worms slithering from the damp dark, bees, butterflies, spiders and ants, buzz, flit and creep, a hint of wet clay, fading leaves and first blooms in the mist and this, the first hummingbird sighting at the nectar jars outside my window it’s official...spring is finally here
~kat
NaPoWriMo2021 - Day 13 Prompt: This one is short and sweet: write a poem in the form of a news article you wish would come out tomorrow.
i don’t remember when the world turned blue maybe it was when the post-it notes on the ‘frig lost their power to inspire me or perhaps it was when i stopped listening to the nameless portraits on the wall... aren’t they just voices in my own head after all, me trying to preserve my sanity is like using crazy glue to stop a dam from bursting i lost control of everything that late spring into summer into... the seasons are all a blur here behind closed doors, no hope left inside locked, the key tossed into the starry night, into the beautiful purple haze, that faded to grey, the darkness in my soul changing hue, to blue it’s all coming back to me now like loose change in my pocket i realize it’s the little things, things that i can’t forget
~kat
NaPoWriMo2021 - Day 10 Prompt: First, find a song with which you are familiar – it could be a favorite song of yours, or one that just evokes memories of your past. Listen to the song and take notes as you do, without overthinking it or worrying about your notes making sense. * Next, rifle through the objects in your junk drawer – or wherever you keep loose odds and ends that don’t have a place otherwise. (Mine contains picture-hanging wire, stamps, rubber bands, and two unfinished wooden spoons I started whittling four years ago after taking a spoon-making class). On a separate page from your song-notes page, write about the objects in the drawer, for as long as you care to. * Now, bring your two pages of notes together and write a poem that weaves together your ideas and observations from both pages.
always wanted to retire on an island, not exactly what i had in mind but gotta give it to this place, if disappearing is the goal, it fits the bill, it’s a bit crowded and noisy, but the city gave me my own four walls, a fine pine box actually, kinda’ reminds me of my first apartment, damn, but we were cramped in that place, walls thin as paper, no room to move, the family packed in like sardines, like this place where they stack us three deep...some of the locals say this place has been around for 150 years, there’s folks here from 1918, the Spanish Flu, from that Aids Crisis, and Yellow Fever, this place has some history, more than a million souls rest here they say and now me, plopped here like a time capsule from 2020, from COVID-19, whose time ran out, a day past two weeks sprung from the morgue to make room for more folks with no one to claim ‘em, not that i don’t have nobody, my people, they live out of state, and i didn’t tell ‘em i was sick, didn’t want to worry ‘em, you know humph, wonder how long it will take ‘em to miss me, maybe they’ll find me, maybe not, doesn’t matter much now, peace out as they say and hey, wear a mask
~kat
For NaPoWriMo2021 Day 8 Prompt: Today, I’d like to challenge you to read a few of the poems from Spoon River Anthology, and then write your own poem in the form of a monologue delivered by someone who is dead. My subject is inspired by the Potter’s Field on Harts Island in NYC, now being used to bury the unclaimed victims of COVID-19. Read this NY Times article.
soft as a whisper, her sweet perfume lingering in the air, tosses wisps of my hair, like a comet, bright, breathtaking, for a brief moment as she flits by, i tilt my head to catch the sound of her laugh, avert my eyes when she glances my way, she’ll never know how my heart flutters when she is near... it’s for the best, i tell myself, i’m not her type anyway
Go to a book you love. Find a short line that strikes you. Make that line the title of your poem. Write a poem inspired by the line. Then, after you’ve finished, change the title completely.
You may notice the resulting poem is nothing at all like the book or the inspiring line. That is the beautiful irony of taking words or statements out of context, don’t you think?! 😉
The book I chose, one of my all-time favorites…
Old Turtle Text by Douglas Wood Watercolors by Chen’s-Khee Chee and the text: “sometimes i feel her breath as she blows by”
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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