but for a few
faded old pictures,
I would never have
remembered those times
we were brilliant, dazzling souls
devouring life with feverish joy…
who are these smiling ghosts
staring at me, who wasted
their youth chasing after time…
~kat
but for a few
faded old pictures,
I would never have
remembered those times
we were brilliant, dazzling souls
devouring life with feverish joy…
who are these smiling ghosts
staring at me, who wasted
their youth chasing after time…
~kat
Kat Myrman – Late 1990’s – South Central Virginia
Life Music
Before fiction, flash and poetry, before this blog, I wrote songs. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say, I heard songs in my head and had the good sense to write them down.
Pages and pages of rhyming words set to melodies filled my head; a gift from the universe, I had supposed, that sustained me during some of the hardest times of my life: poverty, domestic abuse, isolation. I was a troubadour then, performing for my supper, more often than not, in living rooms, nursing homes, hospital rooms and meeting halls.
I never truly considered them “my songs” because they seemed to come from somewhere outside of myself. In retrospect I realize that they were every bit me. My hopes, my dreams, my longings, wrapped mellifluously in simplicity to help me express what I was feeling, how things were and how they could be.
I still make music, but somewhere along the way I stopped singing the words. These days I hum, and that suits me just fine. The earth, the trees, the wind, the sea; they all hum. I’m content in knowing that I am in good company.
sometimes the words come
like an old friend, familiar,
they meant something once
more than a sweet melody
desire set to music
what a gift they were
those streams of consciousness
these days I just hum
~kat
A Haibun/Tanka/Haiku combo for Colleen Chesebro’s Weekly Poetry Challenge, prompt words, song and gift.
It was still there, just as he remembered; that grotesque eagle statue that “looked like it had been spray painted gold”. Her words. She made him laugh. That’s when their eyes met and he found the courage to ask her to join him.
The cafe on the corner was gone. Well, the building was still there, but the space had become a trendy clothing shop.
It was crazy, but he was sure he could smell coffee in the air and a hint of her perfume. “Jasmine”, she had told him, like her name. Crazy.
“Jazz?” He whispered. But there was no one there.
So many things had changed since that day. They’d shared a wonderful life. Made a home, raised three amazing kids. He had always assumed he would go first. Fate didn’t agree.
So now here he was, fulfilling a promise that he would go back, have a coffee and check on their old friend, Guido, the eagle.
He tipped his hat toward the old bird. “It’s all your fault you know. If you hadn’t been so gawd awful looking she might never have noticed me.” Then he laughed out loud. “Thanks Jazzy girl. You knew I needed that.”
~kat
(200 Words)
For Sunday’s Photo Fiction challenge inspired by this photo by our host Al.
there were lucid happy moments
i remember them oh so well,
fishing for pike in northern lakes,
Gun Smoke reruns in black and white
learning to drive, taking the stage,
there were lucid happy moments
hid in closets praying for sleep,
Midwest tornados, swirling rage
pyramids and razor blades,
Doe’s Motel homeless, swimming pools,
there were lucid happy moments
jumping from window fire drills
mania trapped in dark light strobe
how does one escape it unscathed
retrospect gleans the good from not
there were lucid happy moments
~kat
(A Quatern)
Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. I hope you found the peace that eluded you in life…
i remember sunbeams streaming
through a hedgerow of cedar pine
my special hiding place to pass the time
lying on the cool earth dreaming
i’d converse with toads and faeries
fill jelly jars with fireflies
here I learned the world is teeming
with mysteries to be explored
a step outside an old screen door
a time of sweet imagining
just a girl with big ideas
oh, what a lovely time it was
those carefree days spent daydreaming
behind the cedars on the ground
where I could hide and not be found
~kat
For NaPoWriMo 2017 #25 – A Constanza Poem about my favorite small space when I was a girl of about 4 or 5. It was a corner cedar shrub garden in my Grandmother’s yard with just enough space for me to squeeze behind. Once underneath it was like a little cave of cool damp earth, green and sunbeams. It was my favorite place. Even after all these many years, if ever I join you on a nature walk, you might still find me having wandered off the beaten path, lounging in the hollow of a grove of low trees or shrubs. I never forgot my first taste of nature. It has defined who I am and how I view the world.