Off until Easter

See you in April!


The Real Thing

Charlotte Gainsbourg AnOther Magazine 2009

Doing this sort of thing,
demands that I be bare-foot,
as I root through these sleeves—
make my mind up.

Your coffee’s getting cold.

I told you, I’m a novice—
with these vinyl stacks
(I left my iPod in my backpack).

Hmm, but I like
the way the scratchiness.
matches with the sound,
coming from the leather case;
it overtakes the room—
in a good way.

You don’t get that with a cd,
do you?

Oops! Sorry, I bumped the table
with my knee,
and spilled your coffee
on the rug …


Pass me my smokes, will you?

No, wait! On second thought,
I’ll just have this Coke.

Kat Mortensen©2013Creative Commons Licence

The above poem was prompted by the above image posted at THE MAG. Visit the link. You’re welcome.

Ashes to ashes

Image by R.A.D. Stainforth

You used to smile and say,

“Cancer sticks”,
Whenever you lit one up,
Placing it between your coral lips.
I’d watch you wave the match, to
Snuff it.
I liked the rustle of foil
As you slipped one out,
and tapped it on the table.
You were such a beauty then—
Hair coiffed and nails done; 
You smelled of Chantilly and ashes.

Men turned their heads,
Until too much suck and blow made them
Turn away.
“Cold Turkey” was the only way to go
In those days.
(You never had much will power.)
I caught you hiding a pack 
In the bin at the back of the counter;
You put your finger to your lips and said,
“Don’t tell Dad.”
(I never did.)
Fifty-two is too soon,
For a heart attack.
I brought you a basket of marigolds
from your garden.
In the parlour,
Everyone remarked how much you had changed.
(Along with the obligatory sleeping line.)
I bent to kiss you in the casket,
Inhaling the faded scent of Chantilly,
And ashes, one last time.

Kat Mortensen©2013Creative Commons Licence

The above poem is the result of a prompt for The Mag #149. Please visit to read fine interpretations of the image at the top of this post. I missed contributing earlier as it was in the midst of the Christmas/New Year business.


The below poem has been prompted by this photo, courtesy of The Mag #151. Click the image to visit the website where you find other exceptional takes on this bizarre photo. Thank you.


Putty pink
Soft and spongy.
I draw you in to my lair.
Hairless and helpless—
The unborn is not
Pink putty,

Kat Mortensen©2013Creative Commons Licence

On Bridge Street

Not far away,
there is a road,
called Bridge Street.

You can take it
into town,
if you make a left
or right.

On icy days,
the slope down
requires good brakes.

Beyond the dead end sign,
there’s the river.
(No bridge remains.)

I confess, my mind wanders,
down that road
and off the edge,
where a car
could be lain to rest
in frigid waters—
for good.

I must confess,
the Devil is my passenger
on Bridge Street.

Kat Mortensen©2013Creative Commons Licence

2013: I resolve …

Ten Reasonable Resolutions:

10.   Only eat chips (crisps) every other Saturday
9.     Only go out to dinner twice a month
8.     Only exercise if I am not tired.
7.     Only get out of bed early if I am not tired.
6.     Only wear comfortable clothing.
5.     Only read books I really want to read.
4.     Only watch “Pointless” once a day.
3.     Only use Social Media if other people are on it.
2.     Only blog if I have something to say.
1.     Only make resolutions that are reasonable.

Kat Mortensen©2013Creative Commons Licence