Tag Archives: death

Dark Night of the Soil


I realized this morning, as I gazed at my barren flower bed, its parallel to Easter and Spring’s awakening.

Death of unruly weeds and a sweeping of rocks and debris was necessary to ready the bed for planting. It required pulling up some deeply imbedded roots of certain weeds who disguised themselves in delicate, colorful blooms, hiding their malevolent intent to choke, encroach and overtake my beautiful garden. If I left even a hint of root behind, my garden would be at risk. Just to be safe, once the soil was sufficiently churned, a barrier was laid and new enriched top soil was added to prepare for new seeds and plants. Of course, there is still a bit more to do, and keeping the weeds at bay is a daunting task, but it is a necessary step to give my beautiful garden its best chance to thrive.

My soul is like a garden. It is affected deeply by nature, the changing of seasons, the light and darkness, the raging tempests and gentle rains, sunrises and sunsets, the clear open blue canopy, the subtle embrace of foggy bottoms, the star-speckled night sky.

As I look at the empty flower bed of my soul, especially on this Easter weekend, I am reminded of the despair and revelation of humanity’s dark nature that led to death, but I am also filled with a sense of hope for the new life that is promised to me if I am faithful.

When darkness overcomes me, I know I should pause to reflect. Is my current circumstance a result of happenstance? It is true some things just happen. Or is it a debacle of my own doing? The latter, if I’m open to considering it, requires a bit of work. Like my garden bed, my soul must be swept of weeds, taking care to remove the roots. The soil of my soul will likely need a bit of churning. It will take a conscious effort on my part to employ the barriers required to prevent any weed remnants from rising again to choke out my best intentions. And it will also take laying a new foundation of “soil”.

My life has the potential to be a beautiful garden! To be a light and a blessing. As I consider the hope of Easter and Spring’s promise, I embrace the new life that grace affords me today and every morning!

Peace, grace and life in all its magnificence to you! May you thrive in beauty!

-kat


Opiate Mem’ries – A Triolet

©Marta Shmatava

Photo Credit: ©Marta Shmatava

The mem’ry of that autumn night
still haunts her dreams these many years
she fills her veins with opiates
the mem’ry of that autumn night
and cries for him through groggy tears
but death has closed his ears to hear
the mem’ry of that autumn night
still haunts her dreams these many years.

~kat – 3 February 2016

A Triolet (new poetry form for me) inspired by the painting above by ©Marta Shmatava in response to Jane Dougherty’s weekly poetry challenge. If you would like to try your hand at a triolet or read other takes on this prompt, click HERE.

(A Triolet is and Eight line stanza/Eight beats to the line. The first line is the refrain and is repeated as the fourth and the seventh line. The second line is repeated as the eighth line so the first and last couplets are the same. The rhyme scheme is ABaAabAB. The capitals denote repeated lines.)


FFfAW Challenge (100 Word Stories) – Week of 09-01-2015

wpid-photo-20150830113902812

FFfAW (Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers) Challenge – Week of 09-01-2015. This week’s photo prompt is provided by Louise with The Storyteller’s Abode. Thank you Louise!

100 Words…Except for One

“I’ll see you then”, she whispered through tears on that morning when he, duffel bag flung over his shoulder, boarded the train.

But she never said, “goodbye”.

Goodbyes are for endings and they were just beginning; busy with plans for a long happy future.

When she received the letter, delivered by two uniform-clad gentleman, it occurred to her as she thanked them smiling, “I never said goodbye.”

The townsfolk say you can set your watch by her arrival to the train platform, same time each day, mumbling over and again as the train passes, “but I never said goodbye…”

Kat ~ 2 September 2015


Eulogistic Rituals


It’s not how she imagined
it. Pale, tear-tracked
faces scowling at the
misting rain, a conspicuous
mound of earth, muddied,
near a deep hole of
nothingness, surrounded
by a silent chorus of
cold epitaphs etched in
stone…and weary
hopeless words, fancy
with accolades…words her
ears longed to hear once
upon a lifetime, reserved
now for a handful of black-
clad witnesses, who
listened, nodding, as if
they needed reminding. No,
this was not how she would
have ended things, making
peace with the unfinished
chapters, pages forever
left unturned, the
final page given much
more attention than
it was due.

If she had planned this
sad suarez it would have
been set in a field of
wildflowers near a bubbly
stream on a sun
shiny day with string
music and flowers…and
fruit pies, ice cream and
chocolate fountains…dogs,
cats and song birds and
helium-filled balloons
with rainbow-ribboned
tails. As for words…
no words…
simple knowing smiles
and laughter would
suffice. There would be
hugs, long full-frontal
hugging and kisses for
those so inclined. The
dress code would be
flowing shades of
fuchsia and yellow and
turquoise…green and
azure blue…no black
allowed. There would be
no cold dark
holes of unsettled
earth to bury tears or
lifeless roses and stiff
remains…no…a simple
ziplock bag of dust to
be tossed to the
wind, with a handful
reserved to set
sail on the sparkling
rivulets of stream
water nearby. If she
had planned it, this
is how it would have
been….a celebration
of love and life
full spent.

kat 2015