gray
everything is gray
the sky, heavy and wet, gray
the days blend together,
monday, thursday, saturday,
no weekends or beginnings
it doesn’t matter, the lines
are graying, like my hair, more
salt than pepper these days
is it stress or age catching
up with me, it doesn’t matter,
everything is gray…
makes me feel blue
~kat
i am like the wind, tracing
every curve of you, tossing
your hair, whispering
in your ear, swirling amidst
the embers to warm your skin
but it is those moments
when you breathe me in
holding me near your heart
that take my breath away
~kat
I remember every first moment
your first breath, first teeth, first steps,
you consumed me for decades
first words, I understood what you meant
even when others heard gibberish
first days of school, every event
ballgames, plays, dances, graduations
first loves, every dream you dreamt
I was there for every fail and success
you consumed me for decades
even now your presence fills this empty nest
~kat
Magic 11 poem – my variation on the Magic 9 poem, a 9-line poem that doesn’t have any rules as far as meter or subject matter–just a rhyme scheme: abacadaba. Enter the Magic 11 abracadabra poem with the r’s intact, placeholders for a refrain. Rhyme scheme: abRacadabRa. (R for the refrain).
It is week…oh I don’t know. Pick a number, 1 to 100, it doesn’t matter, any number will do, because the weeks run together now. No Monday morning angst when a day is like the one before, or the next. No hump day celebrations, anticipations of TGIF, no weekends, no Sunday day of rest. There is only sunrise and sunset, sunrise…sunset…sunrise…sunset.
If ever there was a time to learn to breathe, it is now. If ever a time to cherish the moment, to fall into the abyss of mindfulness, it is this. Sunlight streaming, a cool breeze tossing emerald treetops, the sparkle of dawn’s first light.
They call it the new normal, but I don’t want to be normal anymore. I’ve had a taste of the life I once left behind working overtime week after week after week, forgetting that I had a life once, or could have if only I had made room for it.
They are a gift, these blurry days that never seem to end but for the relentless cadence of day into night into day into night and again. I breathed just now, slow, deep, inhaling, exhaling. Truth. I am learning, with nowhere to be, that here is all I need and now is all that matters.
Have a lovely now my friends…look! There goes a butterfly.
Another Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 10 May 2020
when we reflect on how it was
dawn emerging through the trees
it took a tragedy for our broken hearts to mend
i can’t help myself, it’s an obsession, yes, i know
but I’m not sure they’re who they claim
there’s no sleeping in, no lingering
day after day, and instinct
~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. I use it as a review of the previous week.
instinct
not love, but instinct
keeps the mother bird nested
dawn to dusk, all night
day after day, and instinct
drives the fledglings to leave her
~kat
like mercury colliding... 