In praise of silence

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

It is easy to forget
the sound of one’s voice.

The peaceful practice
of silence and loss can add up to

forgetfulness and leave the mind to wonder
if anything is worth saying at all.

Consider the desire to end the silence;
to create clear and concrete language.

Do you dare
cause a ripple?

Practice  conversation, not just in mind,
but with tongue and air and the movement of lips.

And what relief, what glory, to speak,
to shatter silence with those well-chosen words.

But the more one speaks,
the more often one forgets what was said,

and there is always need for repetition depending
on who is around to hear.

Also, our message is so often lost,
what initiated that long ago lure of speech soon dissipates.

It is then a time to recall the peace of silence
and the ease of observer,

and once again, allow lips to seal and listen
to the mumbled murmur of the morning rain.

 

 

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In the Morning,

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

I am going to take my time
crawling to consciousness.

I am going to linger in bed
grasping for silvery dreams,
flirting with the gray light
of dawn outside window.

In the morning, I will allow
myself to fill my lungs with air
and follow my breaths.

I will leisure in sleep,

a curling cat in a cut
of sunshine on carpeted floor,

the last chill of morning chased

from my skin.

I will allow my body to find

its own movement and rhythm.

I will listen to the silence.

In the morning,
before the sun is too high
and the air too cloudy,
I will wander till I reach the river.

Maybe I’ll see the sunflowers again,
that little grove on the north side of the freeway.
Perhaps it will break me to tears
like it did that one day last summer.

Perhaps it will conjure
a release I didn’t know
I was resisting.

 

 

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A Reminder for the Frustrated Poet:

/ Katrina Kaye

Katrina Kaye

It’s not all poetry;
sometimes the words don’t have much
weight other than their grouping of letters.

Sometimes it is just the sound of a car door slamming
or a pale strip where the watch once sat on left wrist.
Not all birdsongs praise the morning or carry a sweet tune;
some merely squawk or warn the cat is in the yard again.

It’s not poetry,                        but a brick house,

all bones and no spirit,

with the phantom of history

pressing its nose against window glass.

Poetry doesn’t always appear at the break of day
or in the eyes of a loved one.
There doesn’t need to be poetry in all daily pondering,
and for many, there is little thought to poetry at all.
And even when a poetic sentiment is expressed,
the intent can be lost, miscommunicated, forgotten.
Poetry doesn’t always do what we think it should.

But, you have the power to create poetry:

to see the warped floorboards as a symbol of home,
to find song and prayer in the bloated squirrel of
the side of the highway.

What a miraculous gift to see a poem or two in a blade of grass

            a strangely formed cloud,                   an empty coke can.

It’s not all poetry, but if you are able

            to shift your focus,                              look between the cracks

            allow the mind to spiral and ponder,

                        poetry can be created.

Remember that the next time your heart breaks.
Remember that the next time the cloud blocks out the sun,

            or you forget your coat on a chilly morning.

Remember poetry is there for those who seek.

 

 

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