Tell Me Who You Are
tell me who you are
not what you are; that’s just an illusion
tell me who you are
with beautiful words, show me your heart
identifiers just cause confusion
and labels to presumptive conclusions
tell me who you are
~kat
A Rondelet (AbAabbA). Photo by 3dman_eu @ Pixabay.
One of those Monday’s with few minutes to spare, and so, a few Minute poems (8,4,4,4; 8,4,4,4; 8,4,4,4/aabb, ccdd, eeff)for Jane Dougherty’s ‘A Month with Yeats’ – Day Twenty, Poetry Challenge inspired by the verse below from Yeats’ poem, ‘The Old Age of Queen Maeve’. The painting is IvanBilibin‘s illustration to a Russian fairy tale about the Firebird, 1899.
‘out of the dark air over her head there came
a murmur of soft words and meeting lips.’—W.B. Yeats
breath to death
in dim-lit sterile cells we wait
to meet our fate
the reeper’s sweep
our souls to keep
medicated interventions
good intentions
stripped dignity
dis-harmony
we rage against eternity
our destiny
is but a breath
to peaceful death
Branded
it’s comes to ‘do you believe them?’
all the women
nothing to lose
who claim abuse
for if you side with privileged men
know in the end
you’ll share their shame
for selfish gain
it really does come down to this
you can’t dismiss
you’ll wear the brand
of where you stand
~ kat
With every sensational soundbite, those who are paying too close attention (I am all to easily sucked in…guilty as charged) are reeling from the downward spiral of our uncivil civilization. I happen to have an American front row seat, but from your comments; you my friends across the pond, and from the north, south and east, this current state of unrest seems to be global. With nuclear options being flexed and monsters being exposed, I have even heard the “A” word mumbled under pundits baited breaths. “A” for apocalypse…oh my!
But I’m not buying it. And, well, if I’m wrong….that’s okay. I can deal with being wrong especially since there won’t be anyone around to say “I told you so…” Why am I not buying it? Not yet? There is still enough good in the world to hold this implosion at bay. Patriarchy is going down. Hate is being exposed for the ugly blight that it is. And we are starting to believe the women…and the innocents when they point at the emperor declaring that he is buck naked. He’s always been naked. I know it’s a shock, but that’s how truth rolls.
At any rate, the bad guys will still try to distract us from the truth, blame the victims, call monsters heroes. I don’t expect them to go down without a fight. But they are clearly desperate. That’s a good sign.
I know you’re weary. But we’re in the final stretch it seems to me. The apocalypse may be coming, but for a chosen few. I expect to be standing when the smoke settles.
Peace, truth, love…resist! ❤️
she lights up a room / she’s a sorceress cackling, tock-tick-tick-tock-<
ainful<
..sorry to interrupt your eternal bliss<
ool nor-eastern zephyr whispers<
aging from coal soot nostrils<
rumbling to dust<
he burning stench of liquid iron, oozing<
hoose me, choose me<
..haven for hoards of crude middling beasties<
irtue is disdained<
oo beautiful to bear<
o not lose heart<
hey’re going down<
eartless fools who<
ish that you were here instead<
..brief glimmers of recognition
~kat
A shi sai or ReVerse poem 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 shi sai features the words of one writer, providing a glimpse into their thoughts over time. I use it as a review of the previous week.
“With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,”—W.B. Yeats
Photo from Pixabay.com – Free Photos
wisdom is silenced behind sterile walls
while entertaining the reaper’s minions
attended by strangers with vapid intentions
sedated, benumbed by cruel inattention
wisdom is hidden ‘neath thin sheets of flesh
draped loosely on frames of sinew and bone
dull synapsed grey matter turning slowly to stone
pebbles of acumen dribbled softly in moans
wisdom remembers the lessons of youth
often repeating her tales of the past
the din of tweets twittering, rife media blasts
soon drown out her treasure, precious pearls vainly cast
wisdom is lingering, time’s running short
fools claim she’s crazy; that they can’t relate
in fluorescent lit hallways she patiently waits
one day they might miss her, but it will be too late
~kat
For Jane Dougherty’s “A Month with Yeats” poetry challenge – Day 3. I don’t know what poetry form this is…rhyme scheme abbb-cddd-efff-ghhh, syllable count: 10-10-12-12, but it worked for my thoughts today. It was such an interesting quote to ponder as I sipped my jasmine tea. 🙂
Mixed Message
you can be anything you dream / watch how you dress
you are beautiful / you don’t want to give the wrong impression
you are intelligent / but don’t worry that pretty head of yours
you are strong / men will protect you
so take your rightful place / as long as you know your place
use your voice / you know who’s in charge
to change the world / always remember
step up and be counted / behind every successful man
your limitless potential / is a woman
waiting to be realized / a beautiful trophy
is your birthright / to impress the guys
for you are a woman / the weaker sex
magnificent in every way / emotional, compassionate
don’t let them tell you / it’s why women can’t be leaders
who you are / because it threatens manliness
what you can or cannot be / to be considered equal
it is up to you / it’s just not going to happen
so fly my darling girl / don’t make waves
the sky’s the limit / smile and look pretty
~kat
A Cleave Poem is three poems in one. Read the left column, top to bottom, then the right column, top to bottom. And finally read each line across.
like mercury colliding... 