Melancholia

The death of summer has me desolate.

Verdure goes gold, then turns  to tinder on the ground;
warm-weather birds have blown away
with the winds of autumn.

I have put my dear friends to bed—
sheared off their heads and abandoned them
to their sleep.

The first snow falls, leaving me cold;
a crow’s call cracks the sound
of silence.

Winter creeps in.

I have no illusions;  I am housebound,
until spring comes back.

Kathleen Mortensen © 2016

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My world and welcome to it!

Today I ventured out for a walk into town.  I had a very important parcel to mail and the weather was gorgeous, so I put on my running shoes, grabbed my purse and my camera and headed off.  I thought you all might enjoy a little trip through my neighbourhood and into town.

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It was so nice to finally see some colour breaking through the dry ground and dead grass in some of the neighbours’ yards.

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Here’s a look up my street from the bottom.  You can’t see my house because it’s around the bend to the right way at the top of the street.

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The favoured destination of many a Canadian – Tim Horton’s.  Here you can get what some think is the best coffee anywhere and their donuts, muffins and bagels are pretty good too.  There’s a “Timmies” just about every mile you go in the city!  My usual fare is either a steeped tea and a banana nut muffin, or a black coffee with a multigrain bagel – lightly toasted and spread with lite strawberry cream cheese (easy on the cheese).  Surprisingly, although this TH is just down the road, we mostly hit the other ones around town when we’re on the go.

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Around the corner a ways, you’ll find this combination of “services”. I find it a tad ironic.

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I couldn’t resist this shot, because the empty billboard reminded me of a jail-cell. Juxtaposed with the wedding attire, it was too good to miss!

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I’m so glad those days are over!  (I’d be a little uncomfortable with an orthodontist by this name, wouldn’t you?)

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If I ever decide to get a tattoo, you’ll be the first to know!  What would you have as a tattoo? I think I’d go for a Celtic Cross (tiny) or maybe “Kat” in a Gaelic font. What do you think?

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“Mummy, I lost my dummy!”

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Here’s where I mailed my package.  They tried to upsell me to a pack of stamps or some Olympic coins, but I wasn’t buyin’ them.

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Here’s one for “Sparky” and any other of you bike fans.

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A few of my neighbours lost their heads.

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Who do we have here in the window?

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Donkey day is coming June 14th. Hooray!  I love donkeys!

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Duke Street – funky shops and a vegetarian cafe. My mom lives in behind at “The Regency” – swanky name, huh?

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This street is packed with churches.   I’m just around the corner from “The Regency” now.

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Here’s the local courthouse across from Mom’s building.  See that car on the right? If you kept going in the same direction for about 3 minutes, you’d be back at my street again.

Thanks for tagging along!

Kat

Dedicated to all who wait for Spring

crows

Photo courtesy of Flickr


Winter’s Wake

Ice spikes drip, at torture pace,

Pine-clumps plunge from upper place,

Minefield yard of scrap and scree;

More flurries on the way, I see.

Mounds of snow, rock-hard with ice,

Will not be moved, for trying– twice,

Porch is heaped with husks of seed;

Here nature’s hungry come to feed.

Rusty vines of leaves entangle,

Redbud’s rangy fingers dangle,

Limp limbs droop where once they bore,

Flakes, water-logged that lag no more.

Frozen fringes silent creep,

Behind the bushes March hares sleep,

The corvine crew morosely caws,

As winter hedges, hems and haws.

Kathleen Mortensen©2008

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Autumn Reflection

Photo borrowed from Flickr

The Fall

Imagine all the leaves on trees
Are persons waving in the breeze
Of Spring and Summer–soon to Fall;
They live in harmony with all.
Through sun and rain they float on air,
Extend to others, kindness–care,
Opening themselves, to shelter wings
Without complaint or any strings.

Come Autumn and our dear ones drop;
The wild-eyed winds each stripling, strop;
Then we step up to rake them in–
Souls of the Dead, removed from sin,
And toss them on their funeral pyre,
To watch their flames dance ever higher;
Float up to Heaven’s Gate, unbarred,
And rightly claim their just reward.

Kathleen Mortensen © 2008

An oldie, but a goodie…

I came across one of my old poems while working on my new exclusively poetry blog entitled, Poetikat’s Parlour of Poetry.
With this fresh season upon us, I thought it would be the right occasion to repost it for my readers who may have missed it the first time and for some who may like to read it again.

Tennyson wrote: “In the Spring a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of love.” In keeping with this notion, I thought that I would repost this poem as a word of warning to all you eager young lads, cads and roues. I’ve been on the receiving end of some ill-treatment and 25 years on, I still remember, and even plot my revenge!
Nah! Enjoy this poem for the lighthearted fun that it is. Just don’t drink any tea poured by your exes.

Teatotaller

In my imagination, I’m working on a plot,
Mashing up dried mandrakes, I put them in a pot,
And fill it up with water from kettle, whistle-blown,
Then steep until it’s ready for serving men I’ve known.

I fancy myself Alice, in my own Wonder world;
While hosting a tea party, my plan would be unfurled.
Eight guests have been selected, based on the role they played,
Each placed along the table, with china cups arrayed.

How truly satisfying, to have my brew on hand,
And pouring the infusion,“Do try it!” I’d demand.
Don’t mind the bitter essence; It’s just my special touch;
A little extra something, that makes the taste nonesuch.

I’d circle the assembly; with teapot I would go,
A- spilling out the servings to those who brought me woe.
Mick, who without warning, said, “Three years is enough”.
A cup of tea for you dear–we’ll see now, who’s so tough.

Sandy gave the heave-ho, for I would not “put out”
A nice strong mug for him please, so there’s no room for doubt.
A dram for Sam of Scotland, just sowing his wild oats.
He left me for a lassie, who bides in John o’Groats.

Cups for common cousins, who tried it on with me.
One from ma’s side, one from pa’s–both, in my family tree.
Christmas cheer for Jamie, who, ‘fore the feast went cold,
Begged off the role of boyfriend, for he was “hard to hold”.

Spot of tea for you , Nick; you needed your own space,
And early in the morning, me promptly, would displace.
“Oh, drink up! You will love it!”, I ‘d tell each one again,
Full-knowing I’d most likely, end up in Kingston Pen.

So, ladies, if you’re troubled with some cad who you know,
I’ll send you my elixir of herbal hash to go.
Just toss it in the Sadler, and steep it for a spell,
Then pour it for your fella, my lips will never tell.

Kathleen Mortensen © 2007