take care, what you wish for little tree; don’t rush to blush amidst midsummer’s balmy haze, for summer comes but once a season; take your cue from elder trees, their lavish manes of sparkling emerald, chartreuse and sage, wisdom comes from weathering life’s cycles, grace and age, and autumn, with her cool dawn snap will be here soon enough you’ll see; so entertain the breeze and dance, while dusk holds back the shade of night, your dreams will keep, they’re never late, but lie in wait until the time is right…oh little tree stay green, let your sprouting limbs grow strong stretch your roots into the loam that holds the memories of home in just a blink your innocence will be laid bare, as winter’s snow becomes your hair, the night will wrap you tight and long and you will wonder where time’s gone, and think about the summers passed, while drifting off to sleep
i have been lulled by the serene, by cloud dappled cerulean, and green by the scent of honeysuckle, fresh cut blades of grass, by rose petals stretched open wide, drenched in dew by birdsong at dawn, crickets and peepers at dusk, the sun and the moon chasing each other day to night, the stars granting wishes before fading from sight…she is a beguiling mistress, nature, it’s easy to forget she has a dark side; a cycle of life, daunting for those low on the food chain… usually efficient, she sends the buzzards to remove remnants of untimely death from the forest floor usually, but not today as i happened upon a tiny shank of fresh meat, fur still clinging to exposed bone, undeniably of rabbit, nestled in pressed down clover, beautiful green, the sun shining, a soft, fragrant breeze rustling the leaves and all i could think was how grateful i was not to have witnessed the brutal carnage that happened here under the trees, my heart breaking for that poor creature, emotions flooding my soul, heart breaking for all manner of suffering as the world grows darker by the day remnants of untimely carnage left in the open forcing us to see, no longer kept hidden behind closed doors or in the shadows, life is not all rainbows and butterflies and there are not enough buzzards, what magnificent creatures they are, to sweep away the bloody mess we’ve made of things, not nearly enough
~kat
As luck would have it, it was raining when i recorded this melancholy poem… or maybe it has nothing to do with luck. 😉
she is a crone, yon maple tree her sweetness long run dry her core laid bare, exposed, she stands tall, deeply rooted having weathered many a storm, seasonal extremes, drought and deluge, through it all she greens, her leaves a celebration of resilience, audacity, of life.. a marvel, casting shade to cool and sturdy limbs for nesters, a wonder, though onlookers might surmise her useless, her scarred exterior as evidence, they underestimate her power and the fire that courses through her veins…underestimated to the peril of small minds who’ve forgotten that their shallow roots mingle with hers in the hollows
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. 😊
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!
Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Kat Myrman and Like Mercury Colliding with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
like mercury colliding... 