old poem

Mar. 15th, 2017 06:30 pm
kyleri: (Default)
Something I wrote a while ago & posted elsewhere, figured I'd stick it here at least for archival purposes.



living in the cracks

cracks, crevices, spaces in between
art from trash
things others don’t want
‘but there is beauty here — ‘
beauty, yes, but
things are hard; do not romanticise this

it is hard, painful, ugly
i do not fit
i must bend + contort
myself small
to fit

i do not fit
kyleri: (Default)
2017-01-03 20.18.40

it's finished
you set down your pen
hit save & then close
tuck the pliers away

you are hollowed
echoing, empty, exhausted
you exhale
one long, shuddering breath
the well has run dry

you despair

numb
you see the chaos you've left:
inksplotches across crumpled paper scraps
(you'll gather those for the woodstove; good kindling)
scattered scraps of copper
(the junkyard will pay for those,
or sometimes -- they know you --
offer in trade an oddly-shaped piece,
something they haven't melted down yet)

hollowed
with nothing left, you clean
(it's cold this morning,
perhaps it would be wise to start a fire)
(here is that scrap, what does it
remind you of, when you hold it just right,
perhaps it is a bird)

empty
you rest
gazing out the window
the fire warms you as
you tumble the copper scrap over & over
between your fingers
the birds flock to the feeder
chattering the latest gossip
(the guys at the junkyard
as eager to tell the latest
as any goodwife over the back fence)

it reminds you of a story ...

of a bird ...

you dip into the well ...

it brims.
kyleri: (Default)
<input ... >

beauty-in-decay

“All through autumn we hear a double voice: one says everything is ripe; the other says everything is dying. The paradox is exquisite.” — Gretel Ehrlich

orange leaves, red crabapples
rust & ruin
harvest & plenty
fall alike to the cold ground
forgotten, abandoned
to crumble to nothing,

or perhaps to sit
awaiting,
to feed birds
& squirrels,
to sink into the earth,
fecund, ripe,
crumbled leaves to nourish the seeds
perhaps next spring
a new tree will grow

Originally published at The Vagabond Tabby. You can comment here or there.

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