Tag Archives: mondays

Monday with the Muse


Helix Nebula (aka: The “Eye of God” Nebula)

into nothingness

think of being
past the point of
existence, a place
without imagination
everything coming
apart, a blur at the
edge of tangled
twilight, left to be
buried beneath
daydreams, life
translucent, as
real as black stars
buried in ash


A Blackout Poem inspired by the poem below:

The Celebrated Colors of the Local Sunsets
by Matthew Wimberly

The day feels as thin
as the letters fading from
half a can of spray paint
a decade ago on the brick wall
of the closed down
Suder Feed Supply where
we used
skateboard and think
of all the crimes the police
could punish us with
being poor, and teenagers,
for wearing skin-tight jeans
and growing our hair
like a girl’s, for almost anything—
at least it felt like it then.
I can’t imagine home
without thinking of the
and the faintest stir
of indignation. It’s beside
the point.
Today, I’m revisiting Miłosz
with a pen pressed to the pages
making notes in the margins.
In 1987, in Berkeley,
he is doing the same, and thinking
back on the end
of his countries, their
existence.” Like him
I know
a place
I can’t return to, and without
much imagination can picture
everything coming apart, one way
or another. When I imagine
how it might go, it is
just like this: I am memorizing
bird calls and wild
plants which become
a blur
at the far edge of my yard,
their Latin names
in my mouth. Didn’t I
already show you this?
The country at
and a far-off darkness
of pines, a deep red sky
imagined for this page. What I
left out
wasn’t meant
to be remarkable—
a bruise faded from the surface,
the wounds
like overwintered wasps
plotting assassinations
beneath the snow. So let’s see
if I can draw it into focus,
like the truant
daydreaming in class
suddenly with something to say—
the one end I know complete.
Once, I thanked my father
for the gift of this
something he didn’t hear.
It was two years before he died
and he was high
on the
translucent painkillers
the hospital ordered to keep him
comfortable after surgery.
It was
as real as anything
I ever told him. I stood
over him in the hospital bed
and traced the outline of his body
under the gown, the collar and hip bones,
his stomach, his penis, and balls,
numbered the
black stars
printed on the cotton and listened
to him breathe, mouth
open, just so, a way
into the hive growing in his chest.
He didn’t hear, and then, he couldn’t.
In those years, I barely spoke to him
and now not an hour can pass
I don’t hear him, now that
what he has to say is always
final, always a last word. And
Miłosz is
buried in Kraków
and my father has entered
eternity as
ash, and I am
certain what doesn’t last
lasts—Hydrangea quercifolia,
Hypericum densiflorum,
Solidago rugosa

Monday with the Muse


i know quiet

i know quiet
no wind
breathing lightly
twilight to tranquility
the slow languorous
hum of silk on sand
the tremor
the tremble
of words that hide


A Blackout Poem inspired by the poem below:

I Know It Will Be Quiet When You Come
Joseph Auslander – 1897 – 1965

I know it will be quiet when you come:
No wind; the water breathing steadily;
A light like ghost of silver on the sea;
And the surf dreamil
y fingering his drum.
Twilight will drift in large and leave me numb
With nearness to the last tranquility;
And then the slow and languorous tyranny
Of orange moon, pale night, and cricket hum.

And suddenly there will be twist of tide,
A rustling as of thin
silk on the sand,
The tremor of a presence at my side,
The tremble of a hand upon my hand:
And pulses sharp with pain, and fires fanned,
words that stumble into stars and hide.

grief repeating – Monday with the Muse


Painting, “Blue” by Kat Myrman

grief repeating

even now, grief
repeats itself
“what hope for
love survives

see only
in blue


A Blackout poem inspired by the poem below “Anne Frank Huis” by Andrew Motion.

Anne Frank Huis
by Andrew Motion
Even now, after twice her lifetime of grief
and anger in the very place, whoever comes
to climb these narrow stairs, discovers how
the bookcase slides aside, then walks through
shadow into sunlit room(s), can never help
but break her secrecy again. Just listening
is a kind of guilt: the Westerkirk repeats
itself outside, as if all time worked round
towards her fear, and made each stroke
die down on guarded streets. Imagine it—

four years of whispering, and loneliness,
and plotting, day by day, theAllied line
in Europe with a yellow chalk. What hope
she had for ordinary love and interest
survives her here, displayed above the bed
as pictures of her family; some actors;
fashions chosen by Princess Elizabeth.
And those who stoop to see them find
not only patience missing its reward,
but one enduring wish for chances
like my own: to leave as simply
as I do, and walk at ease
up dusty tree-lined avenues, or watch
a silent barge come clear of bridges
settling their reflections in the blue canal.

Andrew Motion, “Anne Frank Huis” from Coming In To Land: Selected Poems 1975—2015.  Copyright © 2017 by Andrew Motion.  Reprinted by permission of HarperCollins Publishers Inc..
Source: Coming In To Land: Selected Poems 1975—2015 (HarperCollins, 2017)

Magnetic Poetry Monday Late – 28 February 2017

unknownI was going to try to explain my tardiness…but, what can I say? It was your typical Monday…CRAZY day! 🙂

this was one of those
dark coffee mornings,
cloudy, wild, work days
but I always smile as if…
you get the picture…

but I sail along only by
remembering to breathe
and lingering over
my hot cup o’ magic.

kat ~ 28 February 2017

April’s Poetry Month – A Poem a Day #11


Photo Credit: pixabay.com…It’s been a day!

Happy…happy? Monday? Sometimes Mondays are…MONDAYS! Oh I’m being polite. Sometimes Monday’s are a BITCH! Today was one of THOSE Mondays!

But I made a commitment to try a new poetry form each day this month, and so I shall! I give you the “Lai”. It’s French for “Lai”. At least that’s what my translator says. Original eh?!

The Lai is at least one stanza of nine lines with 2 rhymes between lines “a” and “b”. The rhyme sequence is: aabaabaab. And just to make it interesting, the “a” lines have 5 syllables and the “b” lines have 2 syllables. Got it?

It’s a challenging little form. If you’re adventurous, there is a variation called the Lai Nouveau with similar rhyme sequences, 16 lines and repeating lines! Yikes! I think I’ll save that for a day when I have a brain! Today all I got is a lai poem about a lai!

The Lai

This form is called Lai
one stanza, nine lines
Let’s see…
It follows strict rhyme
Line “A” rhymes six times
“B” three
“A” syllable’s five
Two “B”
A challenge to try
This I can’t deny
Oh me!!!

kat ~ 11 April 2016
(I’m even more confused!!!!)

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