Tag Archives: quatern


‘You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled
Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring
The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.’ —W.B. Yeats

she was somebody’s somebody
before the great unraveling
a loving soul with grace to spare
a heart of love, overflowing

she was known by many a name
she was somebody’s somebody
a daughter, sister, mother, friend
a welcome guest and confidant

then a tempest, fierce, chaotic
ripped through the world, left from right
she was somebody’s somebody
her children scattered to the wind

these days she clings to memories
hope can be a cruel reminder
but she still loves with grace to spare
she was somebody’s somebody


A Quatern for Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats: Day Fifteen, inspired by today’s quote from the ‘The Rose of Battle’.

harvest ode

harvest ode

mirror mirror in the sky
truth’s reflection burning bright
stars align, emotions swell
some find comfort, others, hell

ours is not to run and hide
mirror mirror in the sky
call forth authenticity
shed the dross to set us free

mend our cold uncaring hearts
light our path when days grow dark
mirror mirror in the sky
tame our tongues when curses fly

heal our broken disconnects
all’s not lost; oh no, not yet
there’s still time to set things right
mirror mirror in the sky


The Untied States of ‘Merica (No, it’s Not a Typo)

Photo by Ottavio at Pixabay.com

The Untied States of ‘Merica (No, it’s Not a Typo)

I don’t think you’re evil, I don’t
misguided, blind, naive perhaps
and I’ll just say it, I am hurt
to learn the things that you believe

when did the rock-a-bye bough break
I don’t think you’re evil, I don’t
when did we cross that great divide
where no one wins and wrong is right

I’m not sure how to fix this mess
not sure that we should even try
I don’t think you’re evil, i don’t
but you, but we, are different now

and I suppose it’s for the best
we’re not the first to meet this fate
when ideology meets hate
I don’t think you’re evil, I don’t

(A Quatern)

Growing Up Crazy

there were lucid happy moments
i remember them oh so well,
fishing for pike in northern lakes,
Gun Smoke reruns in black and white

learning to drive, taking the stage,
there were lucid happy moments
hid in closets praying for sleep,
Midwest tornados, swirling rage

pyramids and razor blades,
Doe’s Motel homeless, swimming pools,
there were lucid happy moments
jumping from window fire drills

mania trapped in dark light strobe
how does one escape it unscathed
retrospect gleans the good from not
there were lucid happy moments

(A Quatern)

Happy Father’s Day, Daddy. I hope you found the peace that eluded you in life…

Frank – A Quatern


I promise an original photograph of the scene that inspired this poem when I have the misfortune, on my morning commute, to be stopped by a particular traffic light gone rouge. In the meantime, I have staged a digital re-enactment.

Each day I  wave at a happy, bearded, black man dressed in a statue of liberty suit
advertising 50% off the cost of services for a local tax prep establishment. And each day as I wave, I am struck by the absurdity of the image. Three days on, the words pinging in my brain cannot be contained a breath longer. Eye-witness photograph or not, I give you my thoughts in Quatern form


Liberty’s a bearded fellow
hawking curbside business options.
Dark-skinned, donned in green patina,
smiling, waving at passers-by.

The sight exudes absurdity.
Liberty’s a bearded fellow,
a tool for greedy plutocrats’,
alternative reality.

Wand’ring from that golden gateway
to take your two cents to the bank,
Liberty’s a bearded fellow,
a doddered cross-dresser named Frank.

It’s a wee bit disconcerting,
Colossus taking to the streets,
saving drudge from tax collectors,
Liberty’s a bearded fellow.

Kat – 8 February 2017
(a Quatern)

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