To Mum

I wanted to let you

know why there's no poem

to you -

it's because words

will never be enough;

so, for once,

let me get away with

not trying.

Copyright Catherine Young, 2010.

Leonard

Mr. Cohen,

Your Book of Longing makes

me tear my hair from

its roots, gnash my

vampire teeth with fueled

frustration, and feel the

pressure of a knuckled hand

tunneling into my gut.

Oh, this jealousy is a

determined affliction,

so I quietly request

a reprieve from your lines.

They are sheer beauty.

Copyright Catherine Young, 2010.

To my cousin Derek

I wanted to let you know

about how your dad taught me

to fly fish, when I had but

twelve years to my name

and didn't appreciate the art

behind our motions:

the subtlety of the wrist,

the grace of the arm,

the precision of the cast,

and the patience of the mind.

But I did love eating

Aldomak Snowballs

and hearing his stories,

wondering which were true

and which fictitious.

Two trout came home by

the end of my line

the first night, and we

had forged some bond

and grown more in love with

each other than ever before.

I wanted to let you know

about how your dad taught me

to fly fish,

but you are his mirror image

with his eyes looking back at me,

so it seems redundant to speak

of memories I feel you

have already experienced.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2010

Maelstrom

I love the way words

roll off my tongue

and make every

minute of expression more

meaningful

when the right ones

are chosen

just like yesterday, when I

used 'maelstrom' in relation

to my life

- it was so accurate

and tasted sweet, though

describing bedlam

and though it turned

the corners of

her mouth so far,

so far

south

and now, too

words flow from frantic fingers

like the furious whirlpool;

blind in direction

but certain in purpose

if ever you'd believe that true.

Copyright Catherine Young, 2010.

Letter to a Friend

Hey,

You gotta know something:

Your honesty always

broke my heart, man.

It wasn't easy seeing a

person's soul laid out

in chalk-white outline.

It wasn't easy hearing truths

I knew were true.

It wasn't easy feeling

your emptiness inside

of me,

as we huddled together

on that crafted rattan rug,

listening, as always,

to our music

and each other.

But, boy, was it easy to

do it over and over again

for you, brother,

because I loved you, and

still do. Besides,

when all is said and done,

I'm still pretty sure I got

the better deal

in this relationship.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2010.

Barkless

me without you, well,

that's akin to a

barkless dog;

if you imagine

a pitiful creature

lying on the front

steps of his master's

home, futile and

useless, void of any sense

of self.

But I saw a dog without

vocal chords

once,

and he was not

inactive nor useless,

and boy did he try

to intimidate

all those who dared

cross his front walk!

And Sami and I, on

a warm afternoon, found

the mutt not pitiful,

but unbelievably funny,

in so many ways.

I guess me without you

isn't like a barkless dog

at all.

Copyright Catherine Young, 2010.

Nights on Limeylands

first, the time i slept

just beyond my nana's

hearth, smelling

the charred logs, and feeling the

heat's sting upon

my cheek.

i curled myself up into

a woolen ball

on her sheep skin rug,

and committed myself

to the night.

next, the time

there was no room

for my older sister -

nor I.

so, we were sent

to the motorhome

in the lane

the giggles into the

night

ceasing only when

the drunken men

stumbled home 'cross

our path

our humble

sleeping place

and briefly muted our

selfish laughter

last, my cousin's wedding

and the first time wine passed

my lips

again, and again, and again

outside of my mother's eyes

and when I awoke with

a desert in

my mouth

she laughed, and

was shocked my punishment

wasn't more severe

each night is a memory

that feels more like

a dream each year i live

and this strikes and

strains me with

an unyielding grief.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2010.

Coyote

i stood, legs

astride

on the country lane

- having just lowered

my camera

after settling

its lens upon the

tree-umbrella-ed

road

and -

as i returned to

my car

you emerged from the woods.

shoulders lowered,

trying to appear invisible

on the open lane

skulking, and pausing

for only an instant

to glance

disparagingly in my

direction

before scuttling away into

the undergrowth on

opposite

side

your sighting kept

me honest

for the rest of the

dewy morning.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2010.

cleopatra

you are a cleopatra, my friend

and you wouldn't deny it

i can see it as i rub your legs

and you look

with smiling lips.

in the wake of your eyes

i become benevolent

desirous of fulfilling your

every want-filled wish

so ask,

dear cleopatra, ask.

and i will

be your servant until

the end of days.

Copyright, Catherine Young, 2010.

Do not be mistaken,

nor clouded by the idea

that you know this heart,

know this mind,

know this soul,

simply by reading the

pencil lines brought

to my paper's edge.

Antiquated at best,

this argument of professors

fulfills only an

inflated sense of self.

Please, pack up your

belongings, and

forget the page,

the pencil,

the person,

and all.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2010.

Admittedly

Admittedly,

I too am Icarus

flitting in and around

the rays of the sun,

dabbling in chaos at the

edge of self-destruct

Ever-impudent in

flight

a lead is followed

that I cannot justify.

Pray my wax be steadfast

in design!

The path is already laid.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2010.

Functioning Alcoholic

Since the earth was formed

by some unseen hand,

and since man first walked

it's varied shores,

have two words

ever been in more

opposition?

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2010.

Ever?

Have you ever fallen away

from yourself?

Beyond the reaches of

the light?

Beyond safety, lost

from sight?

Have you ever wandered

amid a crowd,

eyes cast aside

and head bowed?

Have you ever regretted

those cast away

by your obvious decay?

Have you ever found solace

in another shell?

Then find me, my friend,

for I've stories to tell.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2010.

Like the phoenix

in the sky

perhaps my ashes

again will rise

when it's my turn to burn;

my turn to die.

And amongst the awed

and muffled cries,

within the truth

we all despise

There. Now.

Become wise,

and lose my memory

forever nigh.

Copyright © Catherine Young, 2010.

Sunset

a prolific writer once

saw the sunset's glow

and defined her in tones of

vermillion splendor

but words are words

and life is life

and the sunset was

far out of reach.

Copyright Catherine Young, 2010.

For Jennie

Let us walk together (you and I)
toward the faintly moonlit sky.

The fire of the ice-cold night
in our eyes, burns so bright.

Fading embers turn to dust
your path, now broken, but we adjust.

And onward, onward you will progress,
This is but another test.

The journey can be a bitter foe,
But hand-in-hand we're strong (I know).

So when the dawn does break this dark,
And the contrast stands less stark,

You will emerge....not unravelled,
as a result of the course we travelled.

Instead, be aware that in the end,
You and I will always be friends.

Copyright Catherine Young, 2010.

Did God create us

just to hate us?

I don't think so...

I don't think so...

Will he forsake us

then return to break us?

I don't think so...

I don't think so...

Should we blame him

for our woes?

I don't think so...

I don't think so...

'Cause we all reap

what we sow.

Yes, I think so!

Yes, I think so!

But still we feel -

the "Sortasecular" -

That we'll never

really know for sure.

I'm coming

Your voice

tumbles down from above

cascading toward

me

beckoning for my company

and my legs can't

carry me

fast enough

The Tomorrows

Let go of the tomorrows

in your head

they may never arrive

and then,

if dead,

their memories you

cannot keep

so rest your eyes

and find some

peace.