I persistently graze words
Day and night
First I seek them
Recognize them even among lizards
Who announce misfortune
And even though they are vainly
You want time and roads
And blue circles above the wellsprings of rapid rivers
You children of moonlight
I a lonely stalk
You memorized colors
You poets, which I am yet not
I the amorous Pan
Not knowing how to say wasteland on your language
Marked to sing I yearn for East
Where I could burn myself
And turn into a star
(If I could only sway
for a moment
not even music is necessary)
First of all, thank you for your attention regards of my two Kat – poems. I put it twice on my blog, because there is Version 1 of the “kitty poem” and Version 2.
If it is confusing for you, or maybe someone amongst you thinks I put it twice by mistake or it looks like a mistake almost because they are so similar… I would ask you to pick the version you prefer (I labeled them “Version 1” and “Version 2”.. also, I would be grateful if you would tell me why you chose that particular version.
I stand naked
Wrapped in flame and smoke.
My long hair–
Oh, my long, flax fiber hair…
I forgot my hat and broomstick
I left my shoes in the chimney.
The trial begins.
The first witch wears labeled clothes
Her name is Margaret.
She claims she has never been to Oz.
But you can see the magic swimming eerily in her eyes.
“Sheriff Corwin, the black Tutuba, actually Succuba
the poet is from Barbados
The magic is swinging eerily in her eyes!
JUDGE: “Whatever it is…the woman it is!”
Abigail, stop twitching in your sleep!
Again, she is having nightmares, Judge!
Another wears pointed shoes, she is Edwardian.
She’s The Queen of spades with a high hat
“You do not have a husband! Who delivereth you? The devil! ”
The executioner and the victim“
“She does not deserve to live!”
The third was my mistress.
Stingy with words.
Goddamn my black blood
In the ludus!
Startled by a witch!
Back into the darkness!
“Go away, you’re dead!
She’s dead! ”
So I died.
Tomorrow I’m going to die
Tomorrow is going to die
Love will die
Between empty hands
(The absence between hands)
Eyes are for blindness .. a daily basis
I will be rooted deep like an oak
I will be that gentle, sweet sonnet
I no longer dream of poppies in wheat
Yes, I, A Witch in Salem’s village,
I listen to someone else’s breath inside me.
I burn in the fire and
The trial continues uninterrupted.
My ashes descend.
“The only real revolution is in the enlightenment of the mind and the improvement of character, the only real emancipation is individual, and the only real revolutionaries are philosophers and saints.” — Will Durant