STOLEN (Impressions of “The Book of Negroes”)

STOLEN   


They caught us
from behind and stopped
our mouths,
against our will.

We had no chance—
no hope in Hell,
against
the coils and clubs in
strong arms and cruel hands—
the fire-brands.

We were yoked;
they bled and broke
us, and we choked for days,
and nights filled with stars
against
an indigo sky.

We tried hard
not to die.

Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

Advertisements

NIGHT SKY

Great glowing host,
rising in the night sky—
held high,
by unseen hands.

In communion
with nature,
the day-birds fly
overhead.

Kildeer’s shrill cry—
an air, against
the fly-by chorus
of wild-geese,
so high,
in the night sky.

Inside, we lie,
sleepless,
in our beds
below.

Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

CATATONIA (a song in my head)

  
It’s a three cat night;
I’m tossing and I’m turning.
A three cat night;
Under the comforter, I’m burning.
I got one at my head,
One on my hip—
Another at my knee.
It’s a three cat night;
There’s no room left for me!

It’s a three cat night;
Every one is licking.
A three cat night;
The clock is slowly ticking.
There’s the hairball choke,
It’s an inside joke—
I am seeing Red.*
It’s a three cat night;
I’m gonna lose my head!

It’s a three cat night;
My mate don’t seem to worry.
A three cat night;
My pillow’s gettin’ furry.
Yeah, the bed’s real wide,
Out on the other side—
He’s sleeping like a log.
It’s a three cat night,
And he’s talking ’bout a dog!

Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker
*Red is the name of one of our cats.

My Morning Sky

My morning sky
is a world of things,
of planetary rings,
and planes (not those that fly);
it’s strips and strings
and mountains, high—
a gaping eye.
 
And down below,
the yellow finches glow
against the glen that is
my little piece of pie;
you’d never know
a storm is due to blow,
but for the storm-crow’s cry.

Kat Mortensen©2011

Remembering Blanche

We still listen for
the terradactyl-squawk you would let out
when food was  in the offing—mushroom pizza was about.
Still see your funniest impressions—
of all cats you were meshuggah,
from the Buddha to Pink Panther, but our favourite was Beluga.
 
We can feel your compact body make that THUMP
upon the bed;
the classic once-around and then the curl-up
(not like Red).
 
We remember “Esther Williams” off the duvet to the floor,
and that sweet white face the first to always
greet us at the door.
 
We still can feel the thick hair stick the sole just like a spine.
We remember; we still love you, far beyond the last of “nine”.

Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

TELE-VISION

Try this:  use the menu or the guide for your satellite dish (or just flip through a t.v. guide) and pick out words as they appear (try to keep to the chronology of the guide) and create a poem.
Or, if you don’t feel like doing it yourself, just have a read of mine:



I have seen the madness
fall from heaven—
the view; the vision—
a soul surfer, lunar jam.
Out there, the talk, bold;
oh! the code,
borrowed.
 
Wink! This impasse—
deep space, undercover;
the life I’m in, this league of mind—
expeditions, extinctions
after the catch of air.
 
The flame—crimson, untouchable;
whip it! Find bliss—
Pound! Pound! Spring inside
a place of restless arbors—
nearly dead,
now,
limitless

Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker