well, they’ve all gone to seed,
their balding heads, puff freed,
far from dandy, indeed, blown to hell
~kat
Florescence Day 18 for Jane Dougherty’s Poem a Day Challenge. The dandelions are so pretty…until they are not. Beauty is fleeting, indeed. 😉
Indian Princess
grandma
told me stories
of generations past
and my great great great grandmother
Princess
born of the Blackfoot tribe, but then
ancestry-dot-com and
my dna
cried myth
I wonder how many other little girls grew up listening to family tales of Native American royal lineage? Even after I grew up and realized that I wasn’t a real “princess”, as my grandma used to call me, I still believed in my many-great, princess grandmother. That is, until a thorough search on ancestry.com revealed the truth.
In fact, there was no Native American streak to be found in the strands of our DNA. Not a drop. The stories of my Indian Princess great, great…great was no more than a fantasy, like Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy. To soften the blow, I did discover a few notable people in my family tree. Saints, sinners, pilgrims, soldiers, writers, and philanthropists. Given who I am and who they were, where I come from, and who I come from, actually makes more sense to me now.
But there are still nights when the fireflies are legion, the smell of smoke from fire-pits is wafting through the neighborhood, and the low, droning click of cricket song hums from the misty hollows of the hedgerow. On those nights I remember my grandma Mary’s stories and I think about my great, great, great Blackfoot grandmother, who never was, and I miss her.
~kat
And there goes a Butterfly…Cinquain, that is, for NaPoWriMo 2018 – Day 17 Prompt: write a poem re-telling a family anecdote that has stuck with you over time.
no u-turn, stop, one way,
red danger on display,
gridlocked traffic, delay, rows to hoe
~kat
Florescence Day 17 for Jane Dougherty. Stuck at a traffic light this morning. I don’t even remember getting here. I suspect it may be that the rut I wear out every day is so deep, I’ve stopped noticing the scenery. Crazy, mind-numbing routine. Did I mention it’s freezing and cloudy? There’s that too. 😉
Public Domain Photo from Pixabay.com; Poem by Kat Myrman
come dawn, the aftermath
carnage marks its path
the tempest’s brutal wrath, leaves us numb
~kat
Day 16’s Florescence for Jane Dougherty. We are entering the stormy season here. It’s the battle of the seasons and the elements repeated year after year. What is laid waste we restore over and over, collecting the salvageable remnants, while mourning the lost. This is a random seaside photo of the aftermath of a storm. Last night, several neighboring towns less than an hour from where I live were flattened by tornadoes. I thought about using a photo from the news had captured the damages this morning, but it is too soon I think. Too soon.
(A Cleave Poem, meant to be read in three parts, top to bottom, first column, second column, then the / entire line.)
I’m going to be a legend / I know I don’t matter
the whole world will know me / they treat me like I don’t exist
the ones that say / it’s better that way, I think
I’m a weirdo, I’m strange / better than the beatings and
I’ll show them / the broken bones
they won’t be laughing then / how could someone treat a kid like this?
when I do what I do / I tried to be good
I’ve been planning for years / but I was never good enough
the world makes it so easy / failure is all I know
for freedom fighters like me / I never had a chance, you know
we’re an elite militia, genius, / to be normal, what’s that?
armed to the teeth / life’s a bitch and then you die
I’m gonna make my mark / and when I’m gone
you’ll remember my name / no one will miss me
I’ll write it for you in blood / worm-feed in an unmarked grave
~kat
The prompt for today’s NaPoWriMo 2018 Day 15 was: write a poem in which a villain faces an unfortunate situation, and is revealed to be human (but still evil). There is tragedy to be found in the life of the villains of our time.
like mercury colliding... 