shade growing thin
how soft the sun’s light
bends through the trees
shade growing thin beneath
bare boughs lonely for
birds of summer, like
fall leaves, gone with the wind
~kat
A poem written with online magnetic poetry tiles using the Nature Kit. Digitally enhanced photo by Kat Myrman in October 2022. Hickory tree in the Bramlette Mountain foothills.
blustery
billows cool and damp
ride the wind
frost the dawn
like a whisper summer fades
autumn blushes rouge
~kat
A Shadorma (3/5/3/3/7/5) is a fun short form. NO metering, no rhyming…just count syllables.
As requested by my dear friend Peter, i give you the recited version of yesterday’s poem. It took me a dozen or so takes, not that I’m a perfectionist, but to successfully get through from beginning to end without a hiccup, tongue-twist, mangled word, or brain freeze. And I might add, the quietest place in my world is outside. This bright sunny morning, you will hear that I competed for air time with a field of lusty cicadas. Welcome to my world! I hope you like it.
And Peter, I could not live with myself if I were the reason you were losing sleep! Rest well my friend and thank you for tapping on this old turtle’s shell and inviting me to come out!
…and here is the text in case you’d like to follow along…
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
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
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
