to ride the wind
like a whirligig
in the browning
stage of life…to
spin adrift on
the vortex of one’s
own imagining, having
snapped free from
the tip of rooted
branches that burrow
deep into the heart…to
drift to earth only to
split asunder…and
when all seems
lost, to explode
into rooting tendrils
reaching deep
deep, deep…
sometimes one
must abandon
everything…
surrender in free
dizzy-ing fall,
to find home.
kat 2015
There, tucked under a
canopy of translucent
green, ’tis not the budding
blooms, but a pair of
whirligigs that draws
me deep.
kat 2015
i rouse from
dreamy rem,
at that un-godly
hour, 3 am…
with mountain
summits looming
made of feet.
through bleary
goo i squint,
and squirm to
gain some
equilibrium,
then drop my toes
to floorboard so
to wander room
to room…to grab
a pee, perhaps
a cuppa tea, whilst
solving universal
problems in my
head. i’m brilliant
then, at 3 am,
though i suspect
that things are not
as lucid as they
seem…perhaps it’s
best to leave this
hour to demon
play, return myself
to bed, count
sheep…count
sheep…count
sheep…perchance
to dream…
kat at 3am july 11, 2015
You say heaven as
if it is the be all end
all of existence. As
if to be denied entry
is the most dreaded of
all things to dread.
Some do live this
life paying dues for
eternal entry into
sprawling mansions…
their names etched in
gold at the gate. While
some live life on
heaven’s fire, wildly
loving, rejecting egoistic
edicts scribbled in
ancient tomes by
fearful men.
Eternity, after all, is
neither here nor
there, but once
upon and now and
then, a candle burning
at two wicks to
be consumed when
end meets end.
kat ~ july 9, 2015
