Tuesday, May 29, 2007

Mike

This is about one of my former students...PS. I have noticed that many of my google ads are about either God or grieving. What the F, man?! I grieve seldomly....I 'church' seldomly....is seldomly a word?!?!?!?....the answer is no. I just checked on dictionary.com. I feel sadness that I didn't already know the answer to that....too much rye tonight. Anyhoo....

Mike

Early morning -
sun cresting above the horizon
tinting the sky a cotton-candy pink.
Most eyes crusted with sleep,
most heads on pillows,
most voices silent.
You break the quiet of dawn
singing 'Layla'
with all your might
- without any inhibitions.
You amaze me
and I smile at you
through my sleep.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2007.

Monday, May 28, 2007

Princess Days

playandplayandplayand
pretend
we dance through fallen leaves
and "you be the princess,
i'll be queen."
in autumn colours
orange
(and tattered)
the dresses could never
come clean.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2007

The Call

Why just now did
you call -
to talk of
splashing in puddles,
waltzing in the Polish church,
and you and I
and that time we
held hands
after midnight?

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2007

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Your Laugh

I touched your face
- touched your laugh.
It felt like summer,
hotdogs cooked by campfire
and a sense of wonder
at the night sky.
I touched your face
- touched your laugh.
It felt like innocence,
blowing bubbles in gum
and walking barefoot
in the grass.
I touched your face
- touched your laugh.
It felt invincible,
a spandex-clad hero
in the sky
(or my love for you.)
I touched your face
- touched your laugh
- touched your soul
- touched my life
- touched you.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2007.

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

China Doll

China Doll

China doll with empty eyes
- hidden, secret, awful lies.
Ice cold skin, perfectly dressed,
a lonesome gem in the far, far west.
China doll with empty eyes
When, oh when, will we hear your cries?

Copyright © Catherine Young, 1997.

Friday, May 11, 2007

Meeting for the first time....again

Wander into me
- part my seamless soul
until there is nothing else to know.
Into the hollow
we dive headlong
crashing and bouncing
off quiet lonliness
listening to stories
and memories yet
untold.
To our ears
these stories are
- a mother's lullaby
- a cake on a birthday
- a dog welcoming you home.
Here we dabble in blue-green
daydreams
and forgotten lore
falling and
falling
and falling
beyond infinite time.
Into the hollow
we dove headlong
and ended up on
the bright side of tomorrow.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2007

Thursday, May 10, 2007

Skirt Weather

Skirt Weather

This is the time of year
when the light lasts a little longer,
seedlings grow a little stronger,
hearts become a little fonder,
and the girls come out
in their flirty skirts.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2007.

Wednesday, May 9, 2007

Crumbling

I wrote this about a friend whose parents were threatening to permanently separate after many years of marriage. (but they stayed together)

Crumbling

I'm watching your shore
- your foundation -
crumbling away beneath you,
and I'm seeing you swept up in the waves
hope and faith eroding into the tide
the relentless current of the waters
pulling and tugging you down
deeper and deeper into some
unseen abyss,
until you are completely submerged
unable to breathe
no way to reach the land that exists
just beyond your outstretched hands
and I stand here
helpless
useless
without a life preserver.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2007.

Tuesday, May 8, 2007

Cactussy Goodness....

The Cactus

Beautiful and dangerous,
with flowers as bright as the sun
and thorns large enough to
pierce the skin and
draw blood.
An enigma,
a puzzle,
a wonder to behold.
Fighting and battling
through the arid climate,
and the harsh, unforgiving landscape.
Dedication....(desperation)
striving to survive
in a world where
underdogs often
perish.
But here -
here in the desert -
the cactus
the underdog
is ruler of all the land
beautiful and dangerous.


Copyright © Catherine Young, 2007.

Ghosts of the Ganges

A work in progress below....don't think I'm quite finished with it yet...we'll see...

Ghosts of the Ganges

We are the ghosts of the Ganges.
Some years -
some weeks -
some hours ago we lived.

Our ashes
- our remains -
lay buried,
concealed beneath the eroding banks of
Allahabad,
Patna,
Bhagalpur.
Across the eponymous plains
we may travel,
shifting and moving
closer to the tides of Bengal -
farther from those who
loved us.
We may, we may.

We are the ghosts of the Ganges
-the memories of loved ones passed.
Some years -
some weeks -
some hours ago we lived.

I -
a boy who threw rocks
to menace the local mongrel,
who relished in (stolen) fruit
from the Jwalapur market,
who once kissed the neighbour-girl,
hair tied up in white ribbons.
I -
a mother and wife,
who pleased my husband
with a spotless home,
who left five children behind,
the oldest no more than twelve.

We are the ghosts of the Ganges.
Some years -
some weeks -
some hours ago we lived.

The living sometimes join us
to wash -
to bathe -
to cleanse their spirits of sin
in the arms of the goddess -
to carry away the blessing
of Lord Vishnu’s feet.
In Kashi,
they take the water away
in sealed copper pots
- the living.
But here we shall remain.
- the breathless
- the lifeless
- the dead.

We are the ghosts of the Ganges
- the memories of loved ones passed.
some years -
some weeks -
some hours ago we lived
- the breathless
- the lifeless
- the dead.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2007.

Monday, May 7, 2007

Experiment in Alliteration


Spring

Beautious blue skies
brimming with welcomed warmth
- wintery winds fast forgotten
by children
- joyous and jubilant as they
run
run
run
and tumble.
Laughter ringing - lingering
in the impartial breeze.
Lovers walk as
winsome wanderers,
lips faithful and feverish
when they meet.
And with all this
comes a subtle sense

of hope.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2007.

Tribue to W.C.W.

I really enjoy the poetry of William Carlos Williams. I find it simple yet complex, a quality I'd like to achieve in my own writing. To that end, and to amuse myself while I should be working, I have written the poem below, a tribute to the infamous Williams poem, The Red Wheelbarrow. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Red_Wheelbarrow

The Silver Tercel

so much depends
upon

a silver
tercel

rusting with the passing
years

upon the darkened
drive

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2007

Sunday, May 6, 2007

Tuesday Night

i smell the
country biscuits you
are baking for us.

...and i smile.

the familiarity of it all
wraps around me
like a worn, woolen blanket
- keeps me sheltered, warm

love like this
is second to none
(second to none
but you and i)

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2007.

I am from...

I am from
rows upon rows of post-war homes.
I am from
sitting on my Papa's lap on his 72nd birthday,
his sweater thick with pipe smoke.
I am from
mashed potatoes and typical vegetables.
I am from
"treat people the way you want to be treated."
I am from
the rolling, muddy banks of Loch Lomond.
I am from dancing with my husband, even when there
is no music
I am from
fishing on Long Lake in the shadow of the setting sun
I am from
sarcasm
I am from
living my life to the fullest
every chance I get.
This is where
I am from.