Tag Archives: poem

Wonderland

When I was just

a little girl

My mother showed me how to

sew seeds

so

I could live like Alice does

in a wonderland.

At the time we drew them blooming from the earth

Knees dusted in dirt

All I could hear were their howls and screams.

As a woman

thinking on how I am plucked and tugged and wrenched and dislocated

I pat the soil around my babies and promise they will

come to full term

Germinate

Pollinate

and, when the wind threatens to carry them away,

Disperse

and knit themselves into crusts and crevices

for you to wonder at

when you are screaming.

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Hilarious

You

Kookaburra

Cackling and snortling the arrival of another day

as if to say

‘Yup humans

You’ve got to do it again you poor fuckers’.

In his laugh the promise of a scorcher

An ear drum and nasal cavity of insects

And a crusted, headlong, headstrong bitumen to navigate.

I don’t know where he pisses off to for the rest of the day

But he sure as hell doesn’t chortle when he’s in the thick of it either.

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One day

We will crack peppercorns and rub them into our neck for perfume.

When we come to the corner where the stargazer lily edges over the fence

I will say ‘Lean in.

Closer.

Closer’.

At the point you wobble

Topple

over

into it

We will marvel at the tiny pebbles etched into your knee…

Until the sound of spokes and wheels meet your ears and I witness your ache for age to arrive

For when can you too pedal and glide?

As your body begins to weigh upon mine with the stories you’ve collected this, one day

Your hands will collect the back of my head so you can meet my gleam.

‘How is it…’

we will say

‘…all of this

is ours?’

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See you on the bridge

“Someone can be madly in love with you and still not be ready. They can love you in a way you have never been loved and still not join you on the bridge. And whatever their reasons you must leave. Because you never ever have to inspire anyone to meet you on the bridge. You never ever have to convince someone to do the work to be ready. There is more extraordinary love, more love that you have never seen, out here in this wide and wild universe. And there is the love that will be ready.” Nayyirah Waheed.

 

I was reminded of this talking to a friend yesterday.

This poem doesn’t need to come with a brittle ‘fuck off’ or a hazardous ‘swipe left’. A defiant and throw away ‘you go girlfriend / boyfriend’.

Though the way in which someones ‘not readiness’ can be exorcised in a way that causes great damage to self and other,  one can find equal parts compassion for the person who isn’t ready.

BUT MORE THAN ANYTHING this poem for me communicates a need for SELF LOVE out there on the bridge.

Maya Angelou’s poem ‘I shall not be moved’ also suggests such a thing. Know what you want and do not be moved. Know what you are worth and do not be moved.

It is not about looking for something perfect ‘because you deserve it’.

THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS PERFECT. WE ALL EXIST IN GREY ZONES.

But at the very least, having someone meet you with a joyous YES. Not having to ASK someone to meet you on the bridge, because, though asking suggests a vulnerability which is beautiful, it is crippling to have to ask someone to meet you there.

Do not be moved in self love…  say

‘I am something to meet out here on this bridge and I think you are something to meet here too’.

 

x Kate

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Untitled 

 

I want to own beautiful things.

A hardwood floor

to sprawl about in summer.

A needle

that peaks on vinyl

A rose

that animates the air

before it has been seen.

 

I want to reside as a dangling bra strap on your shoulder

My eyes to default to the furrowed creases between brow and bristles at your moment of O

My mouth to savour the bare breaths

when you part

my kimono.

 

I want every pen indentation

to arrest with intonation

that mornings lathering of soap

The groan you couldn’t help

And that era when my name

sounded like love.

 

I acquiesce

I don’t want

much else

 

Except perhaps

to see the lakes surface quivering above her privates

To feel

damp clumps of moss mat beneath my bare arse

And to curl

into cotton

And blossoms

as they drop

in the air.

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Untitled

* if you ever need help, dial 000. Don’t be a victim for too long. Stand tall. It’s unfair but it’s not your stuff. Speak up. Say no. Call people out on their behaviour. With empathy , of course, know people hold within them their own darkness. But that darkness should never be inflicted on someone else. I urge everyone to sort out their own shit so we don’t inflict it on other people. 

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Becoming 

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Halo

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Yield 

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Tides

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