Kat’s bird-feeding station in the Bramlett Mountain foothills – Spring 2022
The silence on my page might imply that I have not been writing much this week. But in fact I have written words every day. Verses, poems that went unfinished because I was distracted by the news of the day and all manner of war…against a sovereign democratic nation…against truth…against democracy itself…against women, most achingly distracted by the war against women in my own country, and feeling powerless to stop the coming tidal wave…as heartless people in power check us off, one by one. They won’t be satisfied with one victory…subjugating women, but will surely move on to dole out equal shares of misery on minorities that make them uncomfortable…people of color, LGBTQ people, non-evangelical christian people…who else will face their wrath before their thirst for blood is quenched? And even now, still, I wonder about the children…always the children who were ripped from their parents at our southern border. I pray for them every day.
It’s a wonder I managed to write anything at all this week with this garbage swimming in my brain. So in the spirit of getting it out of my notebook and onto a proper page, this is a good time for a ReVerse. Would that I could reverse the cruelty of the humans who inhabit this planet…
I saw my first indigo bunting at the bird feeders yesterday…and a scarlet tanager…and a red breasted grosbeak. This is a first for me…three more beauties came to call, in person, just outside my window. All coexisting with the other birds, rabbits, chipmunks, squirrels and deer who happen by my little bird feeding station every day. You know, Nature has been doing this much longer than we humans…living in harmony…in balance. We could learn a thing or two. All this to say…that wee flash of brilliant blue…my little friend, the indigo bunting gives me hope.
And with that…here’s the ReVerse of this past week’s poetry that I was unable to finish…
A ReVerse Poem From a Week I Wish I Could Reverse
i don’t want to write about this there once was a town full of fools true power doesn’t need to boast we have forgotten what normal is a moment, just a moment take true power’s not up for debate imposing their will on others until remember all lives, but only if you’re white, matter, the rest are on their own disdained after their first breath, barefoot, pregnant, pregnant, pregnant, pregnant heartbeats matter, breathing not so much don’t ask, don’t tell i don’t mind an overcast day or two breathe in, breathe out, you need a break give it a rest i worry for the innocents but i know the sun is going to rise
~kat
A ReVerse poem (a practice I started many years ago) is a summary poem with a single line lifted from each entry of a collection of work over a particular timeframe and re-penned in chronological order as a new poem. Unlike a collaborative poem, the ReVerse features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time.
Sun-painted Green Mountain as the crow flies at dawn -kat March 2022
the wild sacred
who can look at the sun at dawn or at dusk and not feel it’s fire in your core or sink your naked feet in cool loam it’s tingling vibration, as you become one with the she that is Her; oh, the song of cicada’s stirs sensuous longing; their slow rhythmic moan to crescendoing climax to breathless release…’sigh’…how indeed the cacophony of spring birdsong at dawn, their frenetic trill tweets are passion’s love song how could wild things be bedeviled as wrong from the rush, ebb and flowing of waterways deep to shallow streams bubbling, the brute power of steam, the way wind-tossed leaves sound like tempest-swelled seas while the stars and the moon watch us drift off to dream, to sleep, souls to keep holy, holy, wild is the rawness of green not sterile stone chapels with steel phallic spires but darkness, musk hollows, mountains and fire, how sacred is She, how wet with desire the earth and the sky and a soft cooling breeze can transport one to heaven on earth…
come with me
we’ll tip whistling kettle to cup, watch the crushed tea leaves bleed you’ll tell me your tales, and i’ll tell you mine too, while we sip from our cups in this wild sacred place, just us two
-kat
Just musings..no prompt or challenge save the magnificence surrounding me. Some poetry is best just because. 😊
The view from my front porch…how I love this place! -kat 2022
vernal vespers
hush, ‘tis evensong day’s fiery dénouement sol’s final glisk
~kat
NaPoWriMo2022 - Day 2 Prompt: write a poem based on a word featured in a tweet from Haggard Hawks, an account devoted to obscure and interesting English words. My word of choice: Glisk.
hello there dandy, first to bloom, with golden mane, frosted lightly, buttons of tiny petals to parasols of gray, taking flight one day on bursts of breath whispered softly to a crystalline sky… it would seem you are more than a nuisance, a weed deeply rooted, it is you who dares to bare your face, to rise, to shine in the light of the worm moon, to announce the coming spring… a dandy-lion who dallies with tempests, only to be plucked from the loam, soft, downy, feather-light, ripe for the kiss of wish-makers, to dance for wide-eyed innocents who dare to dream
i’ve been watching the great oak in my yard for several years now… she doesn’t play by the rules of autumn, clinging tightly to faded, parched leaves against the fiercest of tempests, through ice and heavy lobs of wet snow, though her branches may bend to almost breaking, she holds fast i don’t know what to think of such a tree, is it vanity, stubbornness, a lapse of memory? for as sure as summer drifts to autumn and autumn to winter, spring will come as the sun grows warm and days grow long, life will begin to surge through her veins causing buds to burst, at long last setting their departed siblings free to ride the wind, to taste the earthen loam, to rest, to rest in peace in a sea of greening
i’ve been known to be stubborn, to cling too tightly to things not meant for me, to useless longing for what once was, my memory forgetful of the struggles of those glorified once upon a times, and time again i have been known to stand full-faced against a tempest, convinced i held on and on for virtue’s sake, believing martyrdom raised me up, oh there it is, the vanity, how loathsome to be a tree that can’t let go when letting go is one’s very destiny… letting go to ride the wind, to fall to pieces, to trust the seasons, to know that whatever is left of me is all i need and here, now is where i’m meant to be
So it is easier for you to find all the parts/chapters of my ongoing fiction series, I created a new page that lists all the links. You can check it out HERE!
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