Tag: poet

slouching toward bethlehem

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Crone, Crone Consciousness, Didion, Joan Didion, Life, Life and Death, liminal, liminality, Poem, poet, poetry, Samsara, threshold, time, YeatsLeave a comment

i resist stirring, opening my eyes, or thinking

as the dog wakes, and waits

i am in the center of another dawn-dream,
on the precipice of
experiencing some thing, of understanding some thing

but it cannot hold,

evaporating
with every
slouch toward consciousness

i open my eyes to
the grey of the room, to the dark white gyre of the sky through these generous windows
i open my ears
to the beat
of crystals pummeling these generous windows,
once and again, realizing
i possess slow thighs,
heavy lungs, a heavier heart,
an entire weighted mass,
and a mind — less than half-known / half-known

i want to re-bury myself in the warm sands of sleep, the enveloping weightless numb
and drift back to
the liminal/

this must be the
feeling
of the fully-gestated
unborn fetus, warm,
quiet, still
waiting to be born
yet resisting being known, moving on

Continue reading “slouching toward bethlehem” →

Poetry vs. Poems

On By ©️K.T. 2025In April, Poem, poeme, poemo, poet, poetry, U.S. National Poetry MonthLeave a comment 
for [US] National Poetry Month 
April 2024

many people write poems,
maybe even some good ones, maybe even a great one

but others,

they

speak in poetry
cry in poetry
illuminate in poetry
lust in poetry
revere in poetry
rage in poetry
survive in poetry
mother in poetry
love in poetry
critique in poetry
dance in poetry
inform in poetry
grieve in poetry
wonder in poetry
assassinate in poetry
expose in poetry
imagine in poetry
rebuke in poetry
teach in poetry
confess in poetry
resist in poetry
observe in poetry
exalt in poetry
mock in poetry
grow in poetry
die in poetry

&

live, and live, and live in poetry

these latter are the poets,

metaphor, verse, and prose
entangled
in every thought, in every experience, in every act, in every feeling, in every expression,
inseparable as breath and air,

whether ever read
whether ever recognized
whether ever published
whether ever paid
whether they ever write one poem deemed good by anyone — even themself

poetry
is
the breath
and blood
and milk
and spit
and piss
and cum
and tears
and wine
and water
and ink
and words

in which

poets

swim

not casually,

but as habitat.

Continue reading “Poetry vs. Poems” →

free palestine: “SHALOM not [A] napalm BOMB”

On By ©️K.T. 2025In anti-zionism, Chicago, Free Palestine, Joffre Stewart, outsider poet, Poem, poet, poetry, Politics, street poetLeave a comment

“SHALOM not [A] napalm BOMB”

– Joffre Stewart

Joffre Stewart,
Chicago
poet, outsider artist,
street philosopher & pamphleteer,
anti-political theorist & activist,
anti-zionist,
war-and-tax-resister
&
pacifist-anarchist
June 1994

“No state exists by right, they come to exist by force, and then justify their existence after the fact.”

- Geo Maher
Continue reading “free palestine: “SHALOM not [A] napalm BOMB”” →

“Forever You”: an ode to friendship at the horizon of loss

On By ©️K.T. 2025In childhood, Death, friends, friendship, Gold, illuminated text, Lajuana Lampkins, Life and Death, Ode, Poem, poet, poetry, Roses, Terminal IllnessLeave a comment
gifted handwritten poem art from one of my newest and dearest friends, Lajuana Lampkins
as my longest and dearest friend,
Jill Johnston Hayes
neared death

an illuminated scroll
drawn on gold metallic cardstock
with pen, marker, paint and crayon
Lajuana Lampkins
September 2023
FOREVER “you”… 
My childhood friend, and through the years, we've grown together, shared joy and tears, were bonded like the day and night, our hearts forever will unite, you've given me, a chance to be, a friend forever, most definitely, I am forever, there is no end, you'll always be, my most best friend, each day and night, I keep you near, always know, that I am here. Thank you for, the love you've shared, nothing else can compare, So much we've grown, and been all through, forever is forever you. 

Poem by Lajuana Lampkins
©️copyright Lajuana Lampkins
September 2023
Continue reading ““Forever You”: an ode to friendship at the horizon of loss” →

night falls, late july

On By ©️K.T. 2025In agraria, Arte Agraria, Arte Bucolia, Arte Ruralia, bucolia, Crone, earthlings, Garden of Eden, ki, kin, nightfall, outer rural, Poem, poet, poetry, ruralia, witchLeave a comment

nightfall
proceeds like this

small rodentia head under, in or up,
mourning doves perform a vigorous last forage,
hummingbirds, always reliable for last call, drink up/
rabbits boldly show out in numbers to spaghetti-slurp dandelion, plantain and clover stems/
barn and tree swallows own the lower troposphere

red-winged blackbirds
cardinals, and robins
in that exact order
loudly call everyone home for the night

the air surrenders to insects,
the sky — to bats, beautifully acrobatic /hey!/
cottonwoods or black walnuts will host owls on supremely, rare summer evenings

moths, beetles take the lamps
frogs take the sidewalks, steps, stoop,
walls, windows,
and eventually, the lamps too/
toads pace and post sentry on barn thresholds

deer passage through — or bed down
in the tall unmowed grasses, now properly – a prairie, a meadow,
natural salt licks — and halved, quartered and whole apples,
are my selfishly generous lures ’til autumn’s own bounty

coyotes herald the Moon
or the first dark train,
depending on the phase,

lightning bugs mimic eye-level stars,
golden-gold like our Sun and in asynchronous constellations

raccoons strategize, then raid, but i know to expect them now
possums about their business — quiet, slow, sweet — these, my dear ones, stay a while, please

cricketsong
errant cicadas, what year is it, again?
and incessant croaking, banjoing, ribbitting

fog may appear,
then settle — or lift,

or maybe the night is sultry, still or clear

Continue reading “night falls, late july” →

venus 𝖗𝖃

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Poem, poet, poetryLeave a comment

and she and i were out of sync
and he and i were out of sync
and the crows and i were out of sync
and he and i were out of sync

and she and i were out of sync

and he and i were out of sync

and we were all,
out of sync

but mostly, i Am out of sync

so i stepped back,
and out,
then forward, and back, yet again,
then circled,
and waited, waded, treaded, floated

it

out

to keep from

sinking

for Christi:

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Poem, poet, poetryLeave a comment

inspired, in part, by a poem from Mary Oliver’s Drunk Cousin :

how can i “calm down” when all i feel is love and rage, when all i experience is beauty and pain/ no in-between / pass the cab and the kettle corn / and if you didn’t want me to opine on fresh-cut flowers and this film — then why, why, why – did you insist that my eyes see them – yes, i know there are flower farms —— but have you heard that pollinators aren’t allowed indoors around vases? it’s none of anyone’s business how many time i’ve seen “Almost Famous!”

yes, i am a mother, and i drink too much wine, sometimes — but he’s in Albuquerque not in a crib in the next room — i wish time travel were true // and other times, wine is not enough to squelch the pangs – of 18 years gone in a flash but thousands of hours wasted on PTA and homework — fucking homework ! /// i took my kid road-tripping and camping, sent him to the SCA and Grand Teton to keep him out of these systems — how many huckleberry milkshakes at the Pioneer Grill does it take to finally see mountains and bears and rivers and trees as persons? well, i can actually tell you!

we had our deep talks, but not enough, never — how can time spent philosophizing be measured? in life choices and paths — that’s how. and i’m proud.

can you make a pact with me and promise i’ll never have to eat these words – especially the rants — and when, not if, i say something really wrong — you’ll push bowls of fresh figs and olives in my face to shut me up as a signal? salsa and chips will work too

can i tell you i’m broken without you trying to fix me? can you tell i’m broken — or do i wear it well? do these big feelings make my brain look small?

never stop showing me the radiance of you just because i’m dark — someone has to be the shadow, the mourning veil, the contrarian — and i know i volunteered — a long time ago — but “at some point” i would appreciate a different assignment?

— by the way, your auras do wonders for this room

you’ll both never not be in cascade canyon with me

it was

fated, serendipity

song[s] of my self: epigenetic lamentations

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Crone, Crone Consciousness, Epigenetic, Essay, Finnish, Knowledge, Lament, Lamentations, poet, poetryLeave a comment

During the summer of 2017 – a time of significant change in my life – including the rupture of my marriage, an upcoming “milestone” birthday, and a relocation to a quiet rural place with dark skies and an abundance of fauna and flora — I literally heard myself: I had unconsciously begun a meditative practice of singing or humming verses and melodies of sorrow, wonder, gratitude — or simply, of the mundane. They were autonomic and presumably original, lamentations.

then, serendipitously, I retroactively encountered a May 2017 piece published in Yes! magazine about the revival and history of “lament singing” in Finland.

To find that I was unconsciously, but actually, participating in a Finnish tradition that I had never experienced or even heard of — but that was somehow still within in me — in some cellular, trans-generational or ancestral place — felt like a bridge to my lineage — to all my unknown women-kin.

The lyrics and tunes occurred spontaneously over several months, and I often automatically repeated the same one over and over while working, cleaning, cooking, gardening, walking or driving. I sung or hummed them mostly while alone, but sometimes they would emerge aloud in public places — and I didn’t even realize that I was in song or know how long I had been doing it.

People who laugh, cry, sing and talk to themselves aloud in the street are not “crazy” — we are comforting, raging, celebrating, mocking and mourning ourselves, our lives, our experiences and the world.

Continue reading “song[s] of my self: epigenetic lamentations” →

poem for poet: Nayyirah Waheed, Salt

On By ©️K.T. 2025In Poem, Poem for Poet, poemo, poet, poetryLeave a comment

[ The Lethal Salinity of The Truth ]

Her words are not for me
not about me
Her words are not for me
not about me
Repeat

am i allowed
To float Her words aloud
To sink them in my mind
To lap them from the page

i accidentally swallow,
then gulp down Her Salt words/
like when the surf breaks,
and surprises the exhilarated, Great Lakes girl
with a mouthful of seawater
during her very first swim in the Ocean

Her words were not meant for me
Her words were not meant for me
Repeat

but

they quenched then drowned me anyway

Continue reading “poem for poet: Nayyirah Waheed, Salt” →