Through the Looking Glass

Lost my looks
some time ago, at least
that’s how it feels,
despite appeals of protest
from the man in my life.

Gone more grey, recently
from the strife of just being alive.

Sure, I scrub up well,
and maybe only I can tell
my hair is thinning
and a thickness is winning
at the middle.

I’m not exactly an old biddy yet,
but there’s no surprise in eyes anymore
when I reveal my age.

I look in the bathroom mirror
and wonder when it happened?
There must have been a solitary day
where I crossed that line
between youth and … anyway,

don’t know where I’m going with this,
and then I think,
nobody’s waiting for it—there’s no deadline,
all these changes will still be here
to write about tomorrow …
unless I’m not.

*wink, wink

Kathleen Mortensen © 2017

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At last: Compelled to Write

Aliens

Looking in the mirror,
It suddenly occurs
How odd we really are—
Our ugly ears, pinned;
Our orifices gaping.

There’s no escaping,
That we are aliens,
To those besides ourselves.

We shovel in, mountains of food.
We slug back, oceans of drink,
And to think, this is normal!

We must stink, to keep it up,
And we do.

Somewhere, elsewhere,
Other aliens, must be doing it too.

Isn’t the Milky Way just a mass of gases?

One day, we will fade … away,
Into the passing of time.

Kat Mortensen©2014

When Someone Dies

When Someone Dies,
it is very sad for you,
and also the person
who has died,
(though not as much).

You have cried out
all the tears you have inside,
and now,
you find yourself
looking in the mirror more
often.

You touch your face and wonder,
could it happen
to me?

You start rethinking things,
and begin to make an effort
to check those moles
and feel for lumps
with regularity.

You boost your immunity
with anti-oxidants, and supplements
and cut down on your smokes.
You say no! to that second and third glass
of wine, and that’s fine; your intentions
are good.

Trouble is, as time goes on,
your memory of the one who died
grows dim;
then, your complacency
sidles back in,
to seal your fate.

Either way, there’s nothing
anyone can do,
but wait.

Kat Mortensen©2012 Protected by Copyscape DMCA Takedown Notice Checker

 

image by Duane Michals

The above poem is a response to the photo above, but the idea of the poem came before the image was revealed, so I was delighted at the serendipity of the two coming together so ideally!
Please visit The Mag to find links to other interpretations of the evocative image.  She does look rather alien though, doesn’t she?

Theme Thursday: “mirror”






Cover The Mirrors (A Rondeau)

Cover the mirrors; she has died,
Despite the doctors having tried;
They bled her once and twice again;
But all for naught; she left us when,

Beyond the glass, where once she vied
To conquer death; she thought she spied
The shadows looming—we denied,
The whispering low, of knowing men.
                                         Cover the mirrors.                 

The clocks are stopped, their workings tied,
The doors are locked; the robin’s cried,
I’ve bowed my head and stilled my pen,
To bid adieu— to say, “Amen”,
To shape and soul, no more allied.
                                             Cover the mirrors.

Kat Mortensen©2010  Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape
Please visit Theme Thursday for other excellent posts.

One Single Impression: What’s It Like?

lipstick Click picture for source.

Sex Ed


Ooh, yeah!

Hey, remember that time

we found that stack

of Playgirl mags

all wet and raggy

in the middle of the wood?

Slick, but wrinkly,

sun-kissed bods,

appendages…

dangling.

Woowee!

Juice-inducing stuff.

And then

there was that blue movie

(when I stayed the night)

With the slattern

in the sleek car

her silk scarf

caressing her tresses

Slipping out of

her dress

letting it slide

to the floor.

What they were up to

on the bed

went over my head

but it was so cool

the way she wrote

in lipstick

on the mirror.

Kathleen Mortensen©2009 Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape