Non-Fiction (a catharsis)

Would like to be so clever—
put it all on the page in some obscure manner
that would make you go,
“Oh, isn’t this deep, and beautiful
and worthy of acclaim?”

The bottom line is this is not going to be
a very good poem. 

I may not ever be ready
to share what’s really in my head,
how it replays those words,
“just before I slit his throat”
over and over.

Don’t want to say I’m haunted
by the true crime,
but it’s sitting there
under the surface,
every time I turn from the window
and the natural world.

I catch myself thinking:

Don’t forget to lock the door.
Don’t stop to play the Samaritan.
Don’t ever drop your guard.

Maybe I’m too paranoid
to be reading Capote in the first place,
but occasionally,
there’s that darkness deep inside
that must be satisfied.

All of us have the capacity—
all of us can dig a little and find
where evil lies.

Some of us will never cross the line.
(What decides who is on which side?)

But the reality is,
Evil comes out of hiding
to strike like a gator on a bayou
riverside.

They are out there-empty and black inside
waiting to make their move.

We all know this, yet it’s so
easy to put the facts out of mind – to forget.

Don’t ever forget.

In the beginning I disclaimed
about being clever.

Good thing I did.

Kathleen Mortensen © 2017

Advertisements

In Box

On the surface,
I’m all smiles.
I’ll give you the glittering
twinkle in my eyes,
palm you with a warm hand
and stand shoulder to shoulder
with you.

Inside,
the mind hides
a darker side—
the story-teller of sadness,
the machinator of murder.

I stroke my puss
with gentleness, sing sweet songs
of supplication and adoration,
but the darkness lurks—
the evil one is always ready
to emerge and share
his bitter tale.

Sometimes, he creeps out
from his black space
and fills the page
with his venom.
This is his only refuge,
the only place I will allow
him access.

Keep a lid
on those creatures of the night.
Remember the plight
of poor Pandora.

Kat Mortensen@2016

 

Discovered on Silly Little Rhymes that Poet Rummager had asked an interesting question. The above was my response. 😉

 

Unwilling

Morpheus has no power
over Medusa’s tresses;
these serpents writhe about me,
waiting to consume.

He made me his unwilling mistress
of the night
with tiny bites that sapped
my life.

Now I shun the sun—
can tolerate moon’s light,

but my thirst is
impossible to sate.

This need not be my fate.

Oh love! Do not be misled;
come sit here by the bed
and stake my heart.

Allium sativa
is not enough;

Evil’s made
of stronger stuff.

Kat Mortensen©2012

cgilbert
Original image by Gilbert Christophe (darkened for this post). Click to enlarge.

Visit The Poet Rummager for more Monstrous works of art and to join in the fun!

Power-lines

 

transtower

Totemic

 

Where once we stood

In trunks of wood

The cedar scarred

For shame and show;

In colours loud

We towered proud–

All spirits of the

Winds that blow.

 

Now monoliths

Of metal rise

In place of us

Vibrating wild;

Through cables cold

The armature

Transmits its evil–

Steel, unmild.

Kathleen Mortensen©2009

Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape