what matters

what matters

it matters not when life begins
or ends; it is the in between
the crooked path, the highs, the lows
as most lives go, pendulums swing
and we obsess in the extremes
but that’s not where the rubber
hits the road, i’m told, steady
as she goes, the wise have said,
don’t lose your head, don’t sweat
the insignificant, but who’s to say
what matters most at end of day
if truth be told, if truth exists
the rights, the wrongs the
reasons why we fight and fret
and lean toward right or left,
it is the middle, we forget,
where time is present,
neither here nor there,
where god, if god exists, is love,
is everywhere, where grace
flows freely, despite who,
what, why, or where you’ve been,
can we just close our eyes, pretend
it matters not the second life
begins or ends, it is, as it has
always been, the in between

~kat

crone maple

crone maple

she is a crone, yon maple tree
her sweetness long run dry
her core laid bare, exposed,
she stands tall, deeply rooted
having weathered many a storm,
seasonal extremes, drought
and deluge, through it all she
greens, her leaves a celebration
of resilience, audacity, of life..
a marvel, casting shade to cool
and sturdy limbs for nesters,
a wonder, though onlookers
might surmise her useless, her
scarred exterior as evidence, they
underestimate her power and
the fire that courses through
her veins…underestimated to
the peril of small minds who’ve
forgotten that their shallow roots
mingle with hers in the hollows

~kat

ode to joy

ode to joy

mist-veiled hints of muted blue
pale light dawning, just out of view
earthen musk mingling
sweet blooms, dew clinging
birds singing
joy breaks through

~kat
The Clogyrnach Poem

This Welsh poetic form is typically a six-line syllabic stanza with an ab rhyme scheme:
Line 1: 8 syllables with an a rhymeLine 2: 8 syllables with an a rhymeLine 3: 5 syllables with a b rhymeLine 4: 5 syllables with a b rhymLine 5: 3 syllables with a b rhymeLine 6: 3 syllables with an a rhyme

endless

endless

how unnatural it feels
this chill in the air
the changing of seasons
winter to spring arrested
held captive for excruciating
seconds, summer in the wing
collecting souls for the keeping
never to be seen again,
transported to the fragrant fields
of summer land, of endless summers
just beyond the veil, while we weep
winter overstaying it’s welcome
night spilling into the dawn

~kat

angry

Just getting this out of my head and onto the page. I don’t like being angry. But that’s my reality right now and I’m guessing I’m not alone. I don’t want to forget how I’m feeling right now. Accepting it, recognizing it, redirecting this anger toward making a change, to once and for all righting the wrongs of our collective apathy and hopelessness is how i choose to move forward, for myself, for the children, for the outcast, the marginalized, the forgotten…for our world. But first, right now, I’m just angry. 
enough is enough

your thoughts and prayers
pierce us like daggers
emptying our hearts
of the last drops of grace
for your boastful posturing,
your lies, your meaningless
words that seek
to change the narrative,
holding us hostage while
you wait, wait, wait for us
to forget once again
that you really don’t care
about the slaughtering
of innocents, or for refugees,
or others, not like you,
please save your prayers
to your vengeful god,
a hateful god who doles death
to the weak, who brandishes
weapons of war proudly, a god
in whom no mercy can be found
for the meek, a god that you’ve
created in your own image
who boasts of being pro life
while shattering
the lives of the living
we will not forget
how you led the lambs to slaughter
how you congratulated yourselves,
for protecting the rights of monsters,
there’s a special place in hell for you,
would that I believed in hell

~kat


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