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

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

Let Me Tell You Something (spoken version)

MY APOLOGY: I went on a bit of a rant last week and deleted myself from a boatload of accounts that were taking up too much mental-space. Soundcloud was one of these accounts and therefore, the below recording no longer exists. I am looking for an alternative and will post the spoken word piece as soon as I find it.

Thanks for reading!

Kat

Let Me Tell You Something

A lot of us are liars,
telling tales long past our days
of being out of school.

We’re the quiet town criers
selling our souls
on every street corner.

You may think you know us,
but every word we say could be truth
or fiction.

Anyone who uses—
anyone who chooses
their words so carefully,
should arouse your suspicion.

And when the muse conspires
with us to summon up
some notions we want to disperse
(be it story, tale, or verse),
we must discern
if we even dare trust her.

Just because you follow
us in our addiction—think
you’ve got us sussed,
(maybe I’m the biggest liar—
or worse, someone else entirely).

Kathleen Mortensen © 2017

Surprised By The Battleground

This is an old poem that went missing. I knew I had it somewhere on an external drive, but that had gone missing too. I had forgotten the title and yesterday, I pored through the tags for this blog in an effort to find it, but to no avail.  Today, however, I discovered the usb thingy in my kitty-cat pencil case that sits to the left of me all the time. *smacks head with heel of hand

It’s not that it’s a great poem, but I like it just the same. I wrote it after reading the book, “The Drowned World” by J.G. Ballard. That was a bit of a triumph for me, since I’m not a reader of fantastic stuff, but I persisted and ending up really liking the book.

Don’t ask me what this poem means, I haven’t got a clue.

(A recording of the poem will follow as soon as I get my office relocated – very soon.)

 

Surprised By The Battleground.

We were comrades when the ship
went down;
our spirits scattered to the winds
like soaring gulls.
You wore a shocking white suit
and I, a red silk dress,
as we danced to marimba
in the midst of horrors.

We heard the buzz-buzz of the
giant bee,
as it made its line towards the
hardened ground;
our bodies blasted to the winds
like dirty gulls—
your white suit, smeared with
coffee-stains,
my red-silk dress blown up
over my head.

And we never saw it coming—
though we held the divination sticks
in our shaking hands.

Kathleen Mortensen©2010

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

Please be advised …

Please be advised that “Poetikat” is no more.
It was time for her to go to bed.

This blog is now comprised of current imaginings
and the chaos of the past ten years.

Dig deep enough
in the archives,
and you will find her

the person I used to be
when my home was somewhere else,
my father lived, my mom lived with him (not me)
and four of my now-dead cats made our lives
full.

Please be advised
that in these pages, some photographs
have been lost.

Inside, you might find,
a recipe, an ancestor, a piece of poetry
or a movie review. Or maybe a photo of my garden.

It is time to pull things together,
but not time to let go, entirely.

Please be advised, that things change
and so have I.

Kathleen Mortensen © 2017

P.S. Please be advised that some links may be broken. To view them, search the key words in the search box in the sidebar. 😉