Kat Mortensen Poetry ...

I must be moving on

acadianeire — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 19:25:08 +0000

I’ve grown tired of trying to keep up with the way these “Theme” backgrounds keep messing up my poems and putting them in my sidebar.

Please follow me here:

http://katmortpoems.blogspot.com

Thank you!

P.S. It’s very hard to see what you’re posting in “Quick Press”. Hence the double “iis”.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: blog, moving, problems, themes

GEOMETRY

acadianeire — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 13:26:46 +0000

The room is square.
The ceiling is square.
The roof is a triangle
That intersects with
Circles of sun and moon:
The sky is an equation.

Eureka!
You are obtuse; I am always right.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: angles, earth and sky, geometry, shapes

WORM (just for fun)

acadianeire — Thu, 24 Nov 2011 17:35:47 +0000

I have a little worm;
Who sings a little song.
He sings it in the morning,
Right through the day, live-long.

He sings it over breakfast,
And when I’m having lunch.
At supper, it is endless;
He loves his song, a bunch!

He sings it in the shower,
Or when I’m on the can.
Tried everything to shut him up;
I’m not his biggest fan.

I really wouldn’t mind it,
If everyone could hear.
If only he were under ground,
And not stuck in my ear!

Filed under: worm, song, ear, fan

PHANTOMS

acadianeire — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 14:13:51 +0000

Where do they go—
those scattered thoughts
left sitting in a drawer;
are they drowsy,
or do they die a sad death,
as their paper hosts decompose?
I wonder if they are phantoms,
assembling on another poet’s page—
read aloud on stage,
to the thunder of
applause.

Filed under: phantoms, paper hosts, applause,

GROUNDWORK (For my father)

acadianeire — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 15:58:24 +0000

The bees are gone,
I am free to weed your grave.

Clods of turf snatch up easily
from between white rocks, yet dandelions
will not give.

Strands tangle in the rusting sedums
on her empty side. They snap, when I pull.

I wonder if you’re saddened that we’ve found
we have no common ground.
(Our Irish humour is my downfall. )

A shock of shamrocks beneath the headstone
on your side of the bed, seems
like clemency.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: forgiveness, gravesite, Irish, shamrock, weeding

Something’s happening here, what it is ain’t exactly clear!

acadianeire — Tue, 15 Nov 2011 02:04:20 +0000

All my widgets have vanished and a previous poem-post is now in my sidebar.

What’s up with that?

Any ideas?

help?!

Filed under: Uncategorized

HOMELESS v. II (a work in progress)

acadianeire — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 16:11:54 +0000

In some lands, you can live in old homes
still standing.
Keep company with spirits that seep from cracks
in walls and fall into the dust.
Feel their ectoplasm cool the tiles
under your feet.

In some lands, they tear down homes
still standing,

Clear the way for enterprise
to high-rise, or leave behind cold spaces
nobody can call home.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: ancient world, homes, progress, spirits

DETRITUS

acadianeire — Mon, 07 Nov 2011 14:34:53 +0000

It’s not pretty—
what we leave behind;
though we were beauties,
our rinds flake off
into a million tiny pieces;
our hair dams the drain.

We move from place to place,
day to day, year to year—
we unwind, and traces of ourselves
remain.

A coppery stain—
wax and mucous—all remain,
though faces crease and die.
We release those pieces—
they compose the galaxies,
uniting finally
to manifest as ghosts.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: bodily fluids, detritus, ghosts

WAFFLES

acadianeire — Sat, 05 Nov 2011 12:30:32 +0000

peanut butter drifts
hold fast in waffle’s windows—
foretasting winter.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: peanut butter, waffles, windows, winter

CHANGE

acadianeire — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 11:58:57 +0000

We are minted, single,
to be dropped in the pockets of life, where
we mingle—ministers with monarchs;
beavers with bears—the great and the small,
all come together in the same seam,
for a time.
We rub along—we gleam
until we tarnish.
We come face to face,
then turn our backs as we
rattle on.
We cannot stay;
a great hand waylays us
from our commerce.
One day, we hit the ground
and we are alone once more,
until we’re found.

Filed under: coins, life, pocket, relationships, death, rescue