Lost: A Poem of Grief The Mag #128

Deep in that pit
Where we dare not go,
Is buried the knowledge
That all must come to it.

We cannot fathom
The reality of this darkness,
Choose to spelunk, elsewhere—
A brighter place, for a time …

‘Til the cave walls crumble;
We tumble to
The unavoidable truth:

They are lost to us.

In dreams,
We plumb the depths
Of every abyss,
Until our own unmissable

Kat Mortensen©2012 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

image: Zelko Nedic

On Friday, we had to put our beloved cat, Daisy to sleep.  We had such a strong bond with her and she had been afflicted with health issues for some time, so we knew that one day we would be faced with a decision. The end came very quickly and we are now in the process of grieving.  This is one of my ways of coping.

Please visit The Mag website for interpretations of the above image that may be more accurate.



Pin It


Magpie #49 – On thin ice


When the ice breaks,
Your skates can’t help you—
Their metal blades,
Only drag you down.
A bulky coat, can soak up water
Like a Bounty paper towel.

They stretched themselves out
On the ice—tried
To grasp her small gloved hands
As they clawed for purchase,
And found none.

Her lids and lips went blue;
Her legs grew numb—
No longer thrashing,
She succumbed to the
Frigid water in the pond.

Grandma tells the story;
She can’t recall the year,
Or the names;
Still, I see a tear
Run down her cheek.

Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

Visit Willow’s Magpie Tales to discover  a treasure-trove of fine interpretations of the photo above.

Magpie #48 – The Beat Goes On




His old, joint-jumped fingers

Pump the keys and he’s pleased

With what he hears.

Foot-stomping on the pedals below,

He’s goin’ goin’ with the tide

That flows from the out of tune piano.

Music, music, music!

It takes him home to

Smoke-filled rooms and dahlias in their hair.

He wears a pork-pie on his silver head,

Insignia on his hand – no wedding band.

Grimy ivories tell tall tales of

Being fingered by the greats.

He remembers all the dates—

The late-night gigs and swigging beer

‘Til dawn.

He may be losing sight,

But his touch is light—

In his head he’s still playing

To an adoring crowd,

While his decrepit heart

Keeps time.


Kat Mortensen©2011 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

Visit Magpie Tales for other creative takes on the photo prompt provided by the magnanimous Tess Kincaid.

A Magpie on The Island



When I consider Rome’s ex-eye,
my mind finds itself
in a quandary.
Gregory, Sophie, Lucas
and Carl—
Mathematical darlings all,

on that higher plane I could never reach.
Teachers tried to drill me
in tangents and cos and arcs,
but the only tangents
I can manage …
Did you see that flick
with Jim Carrey?

Kat Mortensen©2010 
Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

This is for Mag #41 at Magpie Tales and Prompt #29/2010 at Writer’s Island.  Visit them both if you’d like to take part.

Magpie Tales #8


(Note: Sometimes what’s in your head doesn’t always translate well when you try to put it into words. This appears to be the case with the poem below. I apologize for the confusion. I’ve added a sub-title to see if I can allay the befuddlement.)

The Silent Partner (Usurped at an Auction)

An Egrebaf! she cried,

Digits drumming at each side;

The drool might even slide

Down her chin, in


An Egrebaf, they showed.

I must have it! (loud, she crowed);

Her eyes lit up—fair glowed

Like a flame—shame-

less with elation.

My Egrebaf, he muttered,

Through a phone-line that stuttered;

His man, with one hand fluttered

Card: One-Two-Eight—

Great devastation!

Kat Mortensen©2010 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

Visit Willow’s Magpie Tales blog for more participants or to join in the fun!