Tag Archives: Challenge

liberation – Monday with the Muse

liberation

silent no longer
changed am i
still solitary, reflective…

with words

i smile at the thought
like a powerful
beast, untamed
i laugh and drink wine,
i live
don’t weep for me

~kat

A Blackout/Found Poem inspired by Eileen Carney Hulme’s poem “The Rhythm of Life” (see text below with found words highlighted in bold.)


Rhythm of Life
by Eileen Carney Hulme

The clock is silent
nowadays clocks no longer
need to make
that rhythmic sound of life.

We have moved on
and everything is changed
I am no longer sad
I don’t weep for you.

In still moments
I see you solitary, reflective
running with the wind along the waterfront
with your Walkman on.

Radiowaves carry words
of a song we shared
and I am free to smile
at the thought
of you.

Big and handsome
the scent of you
like a powerful beast lingers
untamed by this world.

I know you still swim with dolphins
in the cold North Sea
I know you still laugh
and drink wine with friends.

I know you live by the seasons
and time is not your enemy,
the clock is silent
I don’t weep for you, I weep for me.

Source: https://100.best-poems.net/rhythm-life.html

 


the Boogie Man – MLMM

the Boogie Man

the boogie man’s not lurking in
our bedroom closets, glowing red,
with dust bunnies, candy wrappers,
socks underneath our beds,
he doesn’t only strike at night despite
the tales you’ve read,
he certainly can’t read your mind
but there’s still cause for dread,
because you see it’s what you can’t
see holding you in fear,
it’s the unknown, that’s threatening
all that you hold dear
scary words like what if, I can’t
blaring between your ears
unconsciously you know him well
he’s right there in the mirror

~kat


For MindLoveMiserysMenagerie’s Sunday Writing Prompt: For this prompt I’d like you to focus on creating a portrait of the Boogie Man or some other supernatural being in a very concrete and descriptive way. What does this creature look like? Why does it do what it does? Is it evil or simply misunderstood?


battle him – NaPoWriMo #14

battle him

about this faze where going threw
this ship will write itself in the end
butt weighting is knot what wee should dew
or talk about whether my deer friends
thyme two get reel, hear’s what two due
two forget about the mess where in
let’s knot look back or weight four sum shoo
to drop, thyme two indite evil men
two exorcize are write two vote, yew
no the jig, bridal there power, let
justice raze her scales, give them there do
they’ll waist away inn prison, wheel send
other criminals a massage two,
that crime does knot pay, wee will defend
democracy, butt until wee due
close yore ayes, suite dreams my friends
don’t let this bazaar thyme treble yew

~kat

My apologies to any spelling/grammar ninjas and a disclaimer. I am not responsible for exploding heads, nervous breakdowns or mind blows. Ironically, this poem may make sense if you read it aloud, but you’ll have to get past the words themselves…I don’t recommend it. I’m exhausted now. I need a nap!


For NaPoWriMo 2019 #14 Prompt: write a poem that incorporates homophones, homographs, and homonyms, or otherwise makes productive use of English’s ridiculously complex spelling rules and opportunities for mis-hearings and mis-readings.


mother of my mother – NaPoWriMo 2019 #13

mother of my mother

I remember her like it was
yesterday…my grandmother,
Mary Magdalene, mother of my
mother, confidant, and crone,
teller of family lore, of Russian
gypsies, garden remedies, secrets
of a distant past, in words I once
understood but can’t recall, days
of magic lived with her and my
grandpa, of lumpy cream of wheat,
whiskey-laced toddies, make-believe
reality, fleeting childhood memories
etched in my heart, ultimately part
of who I am…a bit of quirk, tree
whisperer, faerie friend, maker of
art, ‘twas she who taught me how
to see what others overlook, to
hear the voices in the breeze, to
see the acorns for the trees, to
feel the trembling earth with my
bare feet, my gypsy soul, always
home, no matter where or for
how long, clearly where I’m meant
to be, however short, however bitter
sweet, lessons to glean, new friends
to meet, my grandmother, all this,
taught me, leaving too soon, her
wisdom buried, silenced, from the
questions I have only thought of,
left unanswered now, but life goes on…
those sacred strands, connecting
those who came before, however
dim, inform this mother’s mother’s
child, who lives to tell her own
grandchildren tales of old, of
gypsies, whispering trees, of faerie
folk, we’ll listen to the breeze, dancing
on hallowed ground in our bare feet,
eat lumpy cream of wheat, conjure
our own realities of make-believe,
and come to know no matter where
we find ourselves, we’re always home,
never alone, embraced by kin, by
every gypsy soul who ever lived before
and who is living still in us and will again

~kat


NaPoWriMo 2019 #13 Prompt: write a poem about something mysterious and spooky! Your poem could be about something that is mysterious and spooky in a bad way (like a witch), or mysterious and spooky in a good way (possibly also like a witch? It depends on the witch, I guess!) Or just the everyday, mysterious, spooky quality of being alive.


mind blown – NaPoWriMo #8

mind blown

I don’t believe I knew what “brrrblubbbballlloooobalub” meant when I was new and my vocabulary was nonexistent, but I’m guessing I liked it all the same, smiling at my parents’ funny faces when they said it… I don’t believe they understood what it meant either, but it stopped me from crying, so they said it again and again…and again. They didn’t understand a lot of things those early years, as they grew up with me and learned about parenting, trial and error being key…somehow I survived barely, moving on and out before they lost their minds…you think I’m kidding… I should have said, before my father put a bullet between his eyes and my mother destroyed her body with years of drug abuse and doctor tripping…too much?

What I meant to say is that I have a pretty good idea how not to lose oneself to oblivion, not because I’m any less neurotic than my parents…I’m afraid my genes are laced with lunacy…but I have tried to learn from their mistakes, spent decades vomiting words to therapists (with an “s” because it takes time to find the right one who is not a bible-thumping, name it, claim it, pray the demon out of you, zealot), gotten the right mix, the perfect recipe, for my anti-depressive cocktail of pharmaceuticals, legal, of course, and I have tried to be good, to be kind, to be a good listener, to be a helper, but not a doormat, and to learn to say no, to learn to trust, to let myself love another person, and to give myself permission to walk away from anyone or thing that feels wrong…it has taken me a long time to figure out I’m okay…

sometimes I let out a roudy brrblubbbballlloooobalub when no one is listening just to feel the rush of joy that bubbles up inside me, centering me in the moment, so I can breathe in and out and smile. I think I’m starting to understand what that silly gibberish means after all these years. Absolutely nothing, of course and that is okay…that is okay.

~kat

A prose poem for NaPoWriMo 2019 #9 Prompt – Write your own Sei Shonagon-style list of “things.”