She cares for us always, in
all ways, She cradles
us in Her belly near
Her heart, She
nurtures us at Her
bountiful breasts
whispering sweet
nothings to us on
the breeze, She sings
lullabies, trilling
tweets and coos, She
loves us fully,
unconditionally, weeping
for us, with us, Her
tears, the balm that
heals our boo boos, anointing
us with dewy grace…She
Who is our Mother.
~kat
The Fourth Estate
If not for our brave Fourth Estate wielding
its ink-dipped sword of truth, we might
be relegated to alternate reality that
spews from lofty golden towers and
seeping bubbles oozing putrid slime.
Forever reign, oh Fourth Estate! Protect
us from the creeping goo that drips from
salivating tongues hungry for the souls
of fools who still believe the earth is
white and darkness dwells only in
light, where up is down and there is
when, who cling to lies of haughty
men, who slay the loathsome meek to
win, to fill their coffers to the brim…
We’re all but lost but for the brave
who rally at the gates of Hell, who scrape
away the dross and live to tell, who rise
up with tenacity for only they can keep
us free, speaking truth to power to the end.
kat ~ 25 February 2017
(Free Verse Poetry)
Words
no longer
churn inside my
head, but spill
onto amber-lit
screens, twenty-six
letters arranged in
syllables, cursor
strobing in rhythmic
urgency as if
to say, “More! fill
my longing!” How
can I say
no…why
would
I ever.
kat ~ 28 May 2016
For Jane Dougherty’s poetry prompts this week, the charcoal drawing by Odilon Redon, entitled “Tears” and by the words: Tears, Horizon, Fly, Hue, Stealing.
I also took a bit of inspiration from Greek mythology and the story of Hypnos, son of Nyx, who won the hand of the youngest of the Graces, as payment for favors rendered to the Goddess Hera…
Charcoal drawing by Odilon Redon, entitled ‘Tears
She was light to his darkness,
most tender of the Graces, stealing
his heart at first
glance, her soft hypnotic
hue, shimmering pearlescent against
the purple-black horizon, a ransom
paid for favors, shifting
the tide of his fly-by-night
existence, giving birth to
dreams, sweet dreams, quenching
his eternal longing for sunrises and
sets, collecting his bitter
tears of regret in
rivers of forgetfulness.
kat ~ 6 May 2016
like mercury colliding... 