Now and Then

Now and then, I remember
when we were young.
We made love in a cold room
with plastic sheeting on the window.
We rocked and rolled
beneath the patterned quilt—
(our un-guilty Christmas gift
to each other),
and kept our socks on.

We didn’t care about the blare
of Seger’s “Still the Same”
coming from the flat upstairs,
and “Jagged Little Pill”
across the hall.
We only knew our own
small world under the covers.

We worked temp
to pay the bills,
shopped “no frills”
for yellow-labeled cans
and made plans for the future …

milestones have transpired,
but we can smile
at how happy we were
and how we still have some fire—
we’re still the same lovers …
now and then.

Kathleen Mortensen©2017


I Don’t Know What To Call This

my life is measured out
in cans of cat food
and empty toilet rolls
in flattened cereal boxes
and gnawed apple cores
it’s load upon load of laundry
glaucoma drops—twice a day
and 4:00 p.m. tots of sherry.

my life is pieced together
in yards of dental floss
man-handled tubes of toothpaste
cold tea bags and dumped
coffee grounds
it’s scads of used tissues
in purses and pockets along with
half-filled bottles of hand-sanitizer

it’s scooped out in pellet-litter
and cups of birdseed
handfuls of peanuts-in-the-shell
and jugs of water
ceramic pots with serrated silver spoonfuls
of marmalade or jam

my life is milk-stains
on a maple floor
dirt in corners, single cat whiskers
caught in rugs
it’s kitchen knives
ritually washed again and again
and plastic tabs from bread bags

Imagine if I could count all these things in reverse;
I’d return to the first moment
when I could measure nothing at all—

I would be unborn.

Kathleen Mortensen © 2017

Key Hole

Key Hole
handed you a
 key, and said,This is
 the answer to all your
 hopes and dreams, you
 need only find the
 door where
it goes in.
Would you
 spend all 
your days 
seeking that
 key hole
to make your
 every wish come
 true, or would you
 throw away that key,and
carry on? 
Kat Mortensen©2012 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

Keyhole image adapted by Kat; please click for
original source.

Poem produced in response to the Thursday Think Tank prompt at Poets United.  You know what to do!

Life at Landsbyhus

(Stolen from an earlier post HERE)
We decided to christen this new home, Landsbyhus (pronounced, Lanz-bue-hoos) which means “village house” in Danish.  As usual, we sort of made up a word by putting two together (as we did with our beloved Hyggehus).
The Landsbyhus is a deceptively large townhouse.  You would never know it from the front, but we have a massive loft bedroom with a full bathroom on the second floor behind the attic over the garage. We also have a nice alcove at the top of the loft stairs, where we house a tub-chair and small table with lamp for the purpose of reading.  The funny thing is, our old cat, Gilbert spends the most time in that chair, rather than Kevin or me.  We’re carrying our reading material all over the house, but can often be found in the “Great Room” (which is quite compact, actually) lounging in the love seat, listening to the iPod and reading
Although technically, we are not exactly in the village where we live, we are on the edge of town and feel comfortable with the new house designation. 

I’ve decided to reactivate my “Kat’s Monitor” posts under the new title, “Life at Landsbyhus”.  I hope you’ll enjoy these periodic peeks into my real world.

What’s Outside? 
The sound of Canada Geese flying overhead, no doubt landing on the green-space across the road from my house.

What’s in my head?  See “Today’s ear-worm” below.

What am I grateful for: I don’t have to drive into the city for a medical appointment for my mom today.  I’ve already done that twice this week.  No more trips for a while.

What’s cooking?  I just had toast for breakfast (as per usual) and I don’t expect lunch to be too exciting.  Dinner will be fish and chips with some roasted Brussels sprouts.  We bought a banana gelato last night which I am very keen to try.

What’s in my glass/cup? The remains of my cold coffee, from which I still take a sip every once in a while, purely out of habit.

What’s my “get-up”?  Today, I can’t tell you that! Suffice it to say that my clown socks are in place as per usual.

What’s on the monitor?  A black and white photo of mine with Kevin in the left foreground and the 1800s-built Royal Hotel in the background.

Where am I off:  To the local grocer to buy some raspberry coconut tarts for my mom to take to a church function this afternoon.

What’s in my library? I’m on page 445 of “The Woman in White” and “Anna Karenina” is waiting in the wings.  She may have to wait a while, until I finish, “Three Men in a Boat”.

What’s that noise? The furnace just kicked in; the clock is ticking. No! really, it is.

What’s happening here? There’s a new house being built behind and just over from us.  When it is complete (probably by April the way these guys work) our immediate neighbourhood will be pretty much done.

Gotta love this!  We live just down the road from a horse farm and I love to wander over there and feed them apples over the fence.

What’s up this week? The work week is done; let the weekend commence!  I hope to get to a few of my favourite charity shops and of course, on Sunday, I’ll be singing in the choir.

Today’s ear-worm:   Adele: “Set Fire To The Rain”.   We’re watching “American Idol” and a poor young lad chose this song (big mistake – he’s only what? sixteen?)  Nonetheless, a mish-mash of Eben and Adele is running through my head.  Make it stop!

A picture from today’s report:


We are minted, single,
to be dropped in the pockets of life, where
we mingle—ministers with monarchs;
beavers with bears—the great and the small,
all come together in the same seam,
for a time.
We rub along—we gleam
until we tarnish.
We come face to face,
then turn our backs as we 
rattle on.
We cannot stay;
a great hand waylays us
from our commerce.
One day, we hit the ground
and we are alone once more,
until we’re found.

Kat Mortensen©2011 Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

Baby Steps



Step out
onto the stones;
the drive will carry you
to the path, that leads
to the trail, that winds
to the bridge, that crosses
to the town, that meets
the road, that will carry you
back home.

Each step you take is closer
to the last step of your journey.


Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker


Consider doors.
Without them, we couldn’t get in
or out of our homes
with decorum.

We open and close them
each day, until we die.

We use them to access
and to shut the world

Glass doors reveal
what’s inside, so we can choose
to enter, or not.

Steel doors
give the impression
it may be wise for us to leave.

Wooden doors—formidable
with iron handles,
lead us to incensed naves.

Brightly painted doors
seem to call,
Come in! Sit down!
Stay a while.

Screened doors
are designed to keep flies
away from carrion inside.

People speak of choosing
the right road.

You can make your mind up
about the road;
there will always be a door
at the other end.

Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker