Tag Archives: monday

Monday with the Muse

turning

turning and turning,
things fall apart,
anarchy is loosed
upon the tide,
and everywhere
innocence
full of passion,
is coming with
a gaze blank and
pitiless, its slow
shadow vexed by
a beast, its hour
come, at last

~kat


A Blackout Poem inspired by the poem, The Second Coming with Yeats as seen below.

The Second Coming
BY WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: somewhere in sands of the desert
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again; but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
Source: The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (1989)


Whispering from the Muse

left wanting



left wanting…

for the flowers,
just being was
enough…to be sweet,
to be part of the clay,
and before clay,
being earth, and
before earth, nothing

but then
the flowers
wished very hard
to grow wings
and for
something
to sing

~kat

 


A Blackout Poem inspired by the poem below:

The Origin of Birds
By Nicole Callihan

For hours, the flowers were enough.
Before the flowers, Adam had been enough.
Before Adam, just being a rib was enough.
Just being inside Adam’s body, near his heart, enough.
Enough to be so near his heart, enough
to feel that sweet steady rhythm, enough
to be a part of something bigger was enough.
And before the rib, being clay was enough.
And before clay, just being earth was enough.
And before earth, being nothing was enough.
But then enough was no longer enough.
The flowers bowed their heads, as if to say, enough,
and so Eve, surrounded by peonies, and alone enough,
wished very hard for something, and the wish was enough
to make the pinecone grow wings; the wish was enough
to point to the sky, say bird, and wait for something to sing.


Monday with the Muse

allnnothing.jpg

all and nothing in between

in between every in between
shadows in mocha brown, two shades dark
exquisite stained glass camouflage
blocks the ozone…we need control,
bullets for the concrete sky to create holes
so someone could dream of flowers
while parking lots gather shopping carts

~kat


A Blackout Poem (a bit on the abstract side) inspired by the poem “All-American” by David Hernandez (see below):

I’m this tiny, this statuesque, and everywhere
in between, and everywhere in between
bony and overweight, my shadow(s) cannot hold
one shape in Omaha, in Tuscaloosa, in Aberdeen.
My skin is mocha brown, two shades darker
than taupe, your question is racist, nutmeg, beige,
I’m not offended by your question at all.
Penis or vagina? Yes and yes. Gay or straight?
Both boxes. Bi, not bi, who cares, stop
fixating on my sex life, Jesus never leveled
his eye to a bedroom’s keyhole. I go to church
in Tempe, in Waco, the one with the exquisite
stained glass, the one with a white spire
like the tip of a Klansman’s hood. Churches
creep me out, I never step inside one,
never utter hymns, Sundays I hide my flesh
with camouflage and hunt. I don’t hunt
but wish every deer wore a bulletproof vest
and fired back. It’s cinnamon, my skin,
it’s more sandstone than any color I know.
I voted for Obama, McCain, Nader, I was too
apathetic to vote, too lazy to walk one block,
two blocks to the voting booth For or against
a women’s right to choose? Yes, for and against.
For waterboarding, for strapping detainees
with snorkels and diving masks. Against burning
fossil fuels, let’s punish all those smokestacks
for eating the ozone, bring the wrecking balls,
but build more smokestacks, we need jobs
here in Harrisburg, here in Kalamazoo. Against
gun control, for cotton bullets, for constructing
a better fence along the border, let’s raise
concrete toward the sky, why does it need
all that space to begin with? For creating
holes in the fence, adding ladders, they’re not
here to steal work from us, no one dreams
of crab walking for hours across a lettuce field
so someone could order the Caesar salad.
No one dreams of sliding a squeegee down
the cloud-mirrored windows of a high-rise,
but some of us do it. Some of us sell flowers.
Some of us cut hair. Some of us carefully
steer a mower around the cemetery grounds.
Some of us paint(s) houses. Some of us monitor
the power grid. Some of us ring you up
while some of us crisscross a parking lot(s)
to gather the shopping carts into one long,
rolling, clamorous and glittering backbone.


in parting ~ Monday with the Muse

in parting…

take this
in parting
you are wrong
my dream
has flown away
a vision gone
we stand
tormented
grains of sand
they creep
through fingers
while I weep
I grasp them,
can not save
one from the wave

~kat


A Blackout Poem inspired by words found in the poem below, A Dream Within a Dream by Edgar Allen Poe.

A Dream Within a Dream
BY EDGAR ALLAN POE

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?


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

 


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