Tag Archives: Week in Review

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 14 October 2018

We are swept up in whirlwinds these days. Fractured relationships, fear of the bogeyman, politics, religion where emotions run red hot, firing on all cylinders all the time. Our tendency is to lock ourselves in our houses to ride out the storm. But as we learned this week from Mother Nature, we cannot hide. It is foolish to think we can ride out the storms, be they weather related or otherwise. If we do manage to make it through to the other side, the world we are left with in the light of day is not the one we hid from behind our shuttered doors.

I get it. It’s tempting to turn reality off; to stay in one’s happy place. But eventually we all have to wake up, grow up, open the door and take responsibility for the mess we’ve made. And if we haven’t made the mess, we still need to roll up our sleeves to clean up the mess if we hope to have a future.

I know I talk moments a lot. And don’t get me wrong, I’m a big proponent of savoring precious moments. I am grateful for the occasional interlude from the chaos…for the eye in the storm. But I also know it’s important to remember that the eyes are temporary. Sometimes the back half of a hurricane can be worse than the first. With it comes the surge…the aftermath.

I’ve been scarce this week. I managed to scratch out at least a monostitch a day, a tweet, a haiku, but I have to admit I’m clinging to the moments right now. I’ve worked my muse to exhaustion and I sense she needs a rest. So it is fitting that this week’s reverse is contained within two lovely moments. I’m paying attention. The words will come. It is autumn after all.

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 14 October 2018

until next time we meet
the simplest of pleasures are gifts beyond measure
clusters of cumulus clouds bloom, raindrops to nimbus
let me love you
I’m a moron
he said, she said, stale-mates should try listening instead
enough, enough I say of this rain, rain go away
speaking of it…the weather…we’re a bit under it
tempest remnants scatter in heaps…we sow what we reap
Autumn dawning hush, jasmine flush gilds Gaia’s awning.

~kat

A 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 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.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 7 October 2018

It’s been an exhausting week. Without planning it, today’s ReVerse sums it up quite well. Too well.

Oh I know there are those who see the culmination of this week’s events as a victory. It’s why they voted for trump after all, knowing full well what a misogynistic, racist, greedy, narcissist he was. He was a means to an end. This end. The highest court of our land is now stacked in their favor. It’s a gift from their god, surely. The one who judges and condemns women, minorities, foreigners, the poor, the sick, children, the weak. Yes, that god, praise Jesus. They are reaping the just rewards for their idolatry. One step closer to the heaven on earth they dream of and pray for each night.

I know you’re thinking, tell us what you really think, Kat. Ha! Am I right?!

Well, I’ll tell you. What I really think. What I know. The god they so piously claim to worship? He is not god…his son is not Jesus. The Jesus I know loved the outcast, the sinner, the poor, the weak. He gave women a voice and included them amongst his disciples. He listened to them, confided in them. It was a woman he first appeared to when he returned. If you believe in the stories written about him. It’s okay if you don’t.

I’ll admit I do not believe in the god of those who call themselves christian. I stopped warming a pew long ago. I could not stomach the lies, self-righteousness judgment, and hate that spewed from the pulpit and festered in the hearts of loyal congregants who gratefully thanked god, their god, for saving them from being like… well, you know, us…the others…the fallen…the lost.

In fact, I feel lost right now. I like to think that there is a god somewhere who cares. That Jesus is real. That all the sages of the ages who speak of love and mercy and forgiveness were on to something. That there is a god who asks us to love one another, to help the foreigner, to visit the prisoner, to feed the hungry, to heal the sick, to welcome the outcast…because that’s the kind of god he (or she) is. Yeah, that would be a god worth following, worth believing in.

As I write this I am sitting on my porch in the cool darkness listening to crickets and city sounds droning in the distance. I think about those who are suffering tonight. Those who were hurt this week. Those whose memories of injustice were dredged from the darkness, laid bare, and trampled upon by those who are celebrating a win this weekend. My heart breaks for us all, and I know I am not the only one who feels this way. And that gives me hope. I still believe in the goodness of those of us who feel. I believe in that spark of compassion that I see in those around me. God may not be some white haired dude sitting on a throne smiting the unchosen after all, but I’m more than okay with that. I see god in the gentle, the compassionate, the weak, the outcast, in all living, breathing things; I feel god in the wind. I can believe that god. The one who is. I can believe in us. I can believe in you. There you are. I see you.

Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 7 October 2018

i rise like air
listen…there is birdsong
I hearsay, hearsay’s not proof for true seekers of truth
silence
no one would know
weaving threads of silken lace she lies in wait and waits
face toward the light so shadows fall behind, out of sight
death interrupts our planned existence in an instant
trust is fragile, easily lost, regained at great cost
when justice declares her verdict…
saying you believe, but…reveals a mind that is shut
She was a bitch.

~kat

A 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 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.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 30 September 2018

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There is an air of despair and hopelessness, as bitter old men ram through a questionable candidate for the highest court in our land, to reign over us for a lifetime. 

Our nation was riveted to ‘credible’ testimony laced with accounts of a lifetime of pain resulting from trauma and responded to with pent up privileged rage. It left us tearful and aghast, this spectacle that summed up the chasm between us. It left us with more questions than answers and a clear view into the soul of an elite powerful class in the final throws of power. It revealed to us that there is nothing the powerful will not do or say to keep their power, the rest of us be damned. 

There is a pattern to the assaults on equality, dignity, and fairness that has transpired over the past few years. Among those in power are the privileged, old white men and their fawning little women, and evangelical pro-lifers who are happy to sell their souls if it means edging them closer to a dystopian heaven on earth a la Gilead (see Handmaid’s Tale). Those who suffer abuse at the hands of this power base are disproportionately female, young, sick, poor, marginalized, ethnic, immigrant, or people of color. Heaven, it seems is only for the chosen and we are all painfully reminded daily who is chosen and who is not. We know them by their fruits as their tome reminds us. Rotten to the core, but ever righteous according to this twisted doctrine, their transgressions covered in the blood of the lamb (aka the meek). That referenced verse is ironic in a terrifying way. 

It’s not for me to say who’s telling the truth. The fact is, truth doesn’t really matter. What I do know is what cannot be unseen…the spectacle of this candidate for a position on the Supreme Court’s performance. It smacked of his being temperamentally unhinged, rage-full, vindictive, and blatantly partisan as revealed by his own words when he repeated wild conspiracy theories against democrats. If he is pushed through to that esteemed seat on the bench, will we ever be able to trust in the wisdom, justice and impartiality that our founders envisioned? I think not. Of all the tragedies that have resulted from this week of blight, this is the worst and most far reaching damage anyone can imagine. It is stunning to witness. Democracy unraveling.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 30 September 2018

and the moon’s made of cheese
there, waiting in the dark…
to feed your narcissism
if you remember all who came before you
life has a way of surprising us.
thoughts, words mean nothing
when tossed into a cesspool
tick tock so very slowly
she weeps fallow fronds,
as smoke with no fire
truth hid, on holiday
morning will never bring peace
never too late for a do over
dreams never end
believing a thing,
wounds too deep to heal unaided,
it just was’t in the cards.

~kat

A 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 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.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 23 September 2018

This video/soundbite…because I need it again and again…


If you followed me this week, you know I spent an unacceptable amount of time working. Mind you, I am not an executive, but I assist one who never stops. Because of this, when the rest of the staff head home to their families…to their LIVES…I remain behind putting the final touches on tomorrow’s presentations compiled last minute by others who hit send as they were walking out the door. My only solace is the overtime that will pad my paltry wages. But this doesn’t compensate me for the life I forfeit to a corporation who demands more and more while stripping resources to save overhead.

I hear you mumbling…quit, get another job, change careers. Oh, that I could. But the truth is, I am 5 short years from retirement, unless they push the age closer to grave. To the government it’s economics of course. The Social Security powers that be, namely congress who diverts our hard earned contributions into tax breaks that pad the pockets of their wealthy benefactors…but I digress. As I was saying, surely they are hoping most of us will die before we dare try to collect the money we’ve paid into the system for decades. And who am I kidding. After raising 4 children on a secretary’s wage, supplemented by forays into furniture and jewelry sales, waitressing and cashiering, I’ve not amassed a sizable enough retirement nest egg to sustain me. I’m not alone. There are millions of people like me. The best I can hope for when the time comes is downsizing in order to afford living on a reduced income and landing a mindless gig greeting shoppers at a big box store to pay, if republicans have their way, for the preexisting conditions that healthcare won’t cover. Forgive me for breathing. I’m getting too old for this shit. Is it any wonder I vote for the other side. I’m no snowflake!

Sorry for the downer. It’s raining and I am exhausted. I spend Saturdays sleeping and Sunday’s dreading Monday. And I wonder what did I do wrong to end up here. The answer of course is nothing. A lifetime of hard work, honesty and loyalty only pay off for a select few. And most of them don’t need to work. those of us at the bottom do the heavy lifting for them.

And yet, I find time each night to write. It has saved me many times. It doesn’t pay my mortgage or keep the lights on, but it feeds my soul. In the end that is what matters. And no one can take that away from me. Those beautiful, beautiful words are mine to do with as I please!

So, hang in there. (I say to myself as much as anyone who is listening). None of are getting out alive, but there are moments to be savored while we still breathe.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 23 September 2018

soft murmuring
barrels of booze
the one thing I know
give it time
I hope you’re listening
fill the darkness with music
oh what tangled webs we weave
writing quells the madness
in fragrant wisps, our savagery
too short, two days, deadlines looming
rainfall is a beautiful sound
it came, then vanished into sawdust
apathy’s minions

~kat

A 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 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.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 16 September 2018

Hello from soggy SW Virginia where the gray sky is hanging low, heavy with rain. We have seen a few surges of Florence’s bands. A tease of more to come. She’s a a femme fatale having claimed a dozen or so souls during her unwelcome visit to the south. Now her shadow looms at our door. Her intermittent tears flowing ever so lightly as if she wishes to convince us that she is not the heartless tempest others say she is.

We are not buying it though, as waves of fearful hosts strip the market shelves of batteries, bottled water and the ever popular milk and bread. Candles poised to spend their wicks in the darkness wait expectingly on mantels for their moment to shine. We are ready or not for her here in the valley; for raging downpours to saturate the mountains whose soil is already swollen from record breaking summer rains. It is expected that our shallow basins and sleepy rivers will fill to the brim or more between now and Tuesday when Florence exits to the north.

Such is the lot we have wrought with our ignorant glut for convenience and our unfettered exploitation of natural resources, expelling our noxious waste into the atmosphere, tearing asunder the fragile layer of protective ozone, causing the seas to simmer, the polar ices to melt, the shores to diminish and storms to swell in angry protest. We who survive must never forget the role we play in this drama and vow to do better; to tiptoe through life leaving nary a footprint. It’s the least we can do for our mother, nature, who blesses us with so much. It is the least we can do. But, for now, we wait for the storm to pass.


Sunday’s Week in ReVerse – 16 September 2018

perfection can’t be perfected
the wind passes through
life in its magnificence
wanting, wanting more,
for only the now truly matters
morsel by sugar-sweet morsel
but I don’t want to keep you
bellowing counter-clockwise
unfulfilled, denouement,
with no rebuttal, no debate
provoking fear, unlucky
blue sky lull, sleepy denial
if you say so dear
…shallow roots clinging

~kat

A 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 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.


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