Come and Gone

One more Year
has came and went
No I won't shed a tear
As a resolution is sent

Glad to say Good by to 2007
Hoping for better things to come
A decade of a man being in Heaven
He is better off says some.

Water & ice are melting
The polar icecap could be
the Earth tuning & shifting
'Fore everything becomes the sea

Just when things get better
They may get worse
Start riding horses again
Time will go in reverse

The world will begin again
REfresh and start anew
For the selected fittest
The survival of the few.

NOt in your lifetime
Or So you just say?
It's not like we commited a crime
Just ask the buried in Pompei.

painful as a gunshot, precise as a pinprick.

Pavlov rings his bell
ever so delicately
Pavlov drags me along
though I yearn to be free
and every sensation
with laser precision
haunts all that I do
an indelible derision

but even though Pavlov released me
long ago, before a world anew
all that I do and all that I see
feels, hurts, rings like that little bell
louder than the solace of time

Poetry on Tuesday! 12-4-07

REDEMPTION
12-4-2007


The reality of growing old,
Is one that haunts our thoughts.
We change our age,
Ignore our ailments,
Sit back,
And watch,
As others pass on to grace.
Funerals,
Don’t get so hard to attend.
Distance forms,
Between ourselves,
And the ones we love.
We can blame it on our work,
Or our absentmindedness,
Or some addiction,
And continue the walk of our choosing.
Soon you find yourself,
In that place of dread.
Loneliness abounds,
Fear strikes us,
Reality lands upon our head.
How can I go back?
The answer is simplicity itself.
Me.
I had the mind to follow this path.
I have the mind to turn around,
To follow it back.
It may get ugly on the way,
But Redemption,
Is not for the light of heart.
My mind won’t be haunted for long.

Bodies in Motion: A Double Dose of Prose

I

Eyes locking across the room
beckoning with one slow smile
bodies joining
heat rising
silk slides off
lace merges with satin
tumbling
falling
breath catching
sighing
limbs interlacing
eyes rolling back
overcoming scent
a burst
sudden silence
lazy laughter
desiring more
never fully sated.

~

II

It's all in the way you move
which fills me up
slows me down
never ending
creating that heat
we're craving
in one second
unifiying.

© Copyright 2007 Kathleen M. Wehrstedt. All rights reserved

The Writer

I need a muse

(The writer mused)

I've been betrayed

My mind is frayed

I've lost my touch for words.

Goodness only knows

What is a poet

Without his prose?

Upon the early morn,

Heavy lidded

And beard unshorn

I spied an angel

In the mist

The glow of sun

Would gently kiss

A golden curl upon her cheek

Eyes of blue, piercing, deep.

Oh! To call out to her

To run to her and reach

To touch that fairest

Softest of cheeks!

Those golden curls!

Unforgettable such entrapment would deem

My fingers could only dream!

Forage around the betrayal of my mind

I need peace and woe is mine

In the depths of the darkness there is something there

Burning and burning without hesitation or care

I do feel the warmth,

It encircles me

And quill to parchment

Finally beckons me.

I have become one with the words,

The world is on fire

For this fair maiden

Fuels my only desire.

Thank you, dearest one

Your kindness cannot be outdone

Within the scope of my imagination

You will always be immortal,

Not a centerpiece of infatuation.

lies upon lies.

building upon a foundation of nothing
the artisan's work collapsed.
surprise?--no, it makes sense.
for one cannot build something on nothing,
even if nothing has a facade
a veneer more glorious than even reality.
but that's what i did, foolishly misled
by the lying face of nothing, your nothing.
and though i tried to manifest
this nothing into something, still it
remained blank.

and nothing has changed, except now--
this tower has come crumbling down,
babel! babel! irrational belief in
nothingness.
and now up is red and down is eight
for nothing makes sense and we are all
from sodom, from gomorrah, and babel
and russia and england, and cultures
crash. the mafiosos line up only to vanish,
all because they lived their lives on this space
reserved for nothing but lying about everything
a regular siren.
but now the rock is on top and the siren beneath
so that all is an extension of the sweet song
that leads us astray.

epiphanies lead nowhere--realizing this limbo
is just that and nothing more is too much
and so we return to sodom and babel
to be who we were, ignorant and joyous;
puppets of the great mafioso in the sky.

Your Good Graces (10-26-07)

I'm always looking,
To please you.
I want you,
To be Happy.
I'm always striving,
For you to be proud of me.
I wish I could have somehow,
Earned your respect.
It's so hard,
To live up to,
What I think you expect of me.
Pushing,
And Toiling,
And Straining,
And Trying,
And Living.
These things I supposedly have to do,
Just to stay in your good graces.
I think I'll be myself from now on.

The Auction House

trinkets and paintings
old books and movie posters
marble figurines

the new and the old
items of great sentiment
once cherished and loved

spirits of the past
ghostly tales of times long gone
live in each treasure

the bidding begins
alacritous responses
and the gavel falls

My first post in awhile.

I saw you at forty years old today.
The age was clearly etched in your face.
I saw the fatigue, the
change in your presence;
you look...good...
for the time that's passed.

Any doubt about your
identity was erased when your
eyes--pure, clean, penetrative--
probed my soul, and you
laughed inwardly at my terror.

It isn't fair. Your experience
and full life is evidenced
in all your weathering.
But I--I am still young.
And empty.
It's so obvious
that in your life
you have moved on.
My heartbreak, however:
it is frozen in
an awkward adolescence.

"Psycho"

Psycho

The plastic is wrinkled
She screamed just a bit
The mop is dirty
On the floor her face sits

Oh, Mother is in her room
The cars sped by,
She fit into the trunk
Of the Ford he will hide

In the pond where no one will see
Not even Mother
Nor anyone ever will know but me
I could never tell another

Her eyes appeared as glass
As he found her on the floor
With her fine sweet ass
Naked as she bore

She shouldn’t have done it
What ever she did
Took the money
Folded in the paper to be hid

Mother knew about it
Mother knows everything
She knew to tell Norman
Not to give away any rings

Where is the money?
There is always something
Something about money
That gets everyone thinking

Norman seemed so young
Norman seemed so helpless
Seems so undeniably wrong
To pick on people’s weakness

The mop tainted with red
Blood it may be
Or in black and white
Chocolate syrup it could be.

Mother would be proud
I want her to be
Proud of me you see
So I can stand out
in every crowd
In my room deniably.

Fallen Leaves

F A L L E N L E A V E S
written Sept. 12, 1997


Gently fallen leaves
Broken amputated pieces of the trees
What stories they must tell!
Way up high
In the clouds--
Staring down on the world
Like a majestic queen.



What might they say?
Breezes thick with poison--
Cool drink from the sky burns...
Gently fallen leaves
Scarred--
Gently they fall in the poison breeze,
Whispering their tale to me...
What stories they must tell.

A Short Trip

He sat uncomfortably in his car, in traffic, in the rain. His back hurt from pulling a muscle earlier in the week and it twinged every time he moved a slight bit. He was driving to see his girlfriend of many on and off years. More off lately than on.
He sighed at that thought.
Digging into his cd holder, he pulls out a cheaply wrapped cigar, unwraps it, and pushes it between his lips to look for his lighter.
The light changes from red to green and while turning the corner,he lights his cigar.
A puff of smoke and a slightly rolled down window later, he's cruising on his way to the highway through the small cow town he lives in.
The rain is beating down on his windshield in a slow monotonous tone. Too slow to even turn on the wipers at their slowest level. That irritates the man.
"Why can't it rain just a bit more so I can turn the damn wipers on and leave them on?"
He looks out the window up at his God and peers out into the darkness.
"This ought to be a fun drive." He sighs again.
Traffic on that Friday night was just lovely. Trying not to get too irritated, he flips on the radio, blows a puff of smoke from his cheap cigar and sits back, grimacing at his aching back.
"I shoulda taken some aspirin, dammit." He mutters to himself.
The music blaring from the radio is Motorhead or some such band and is really grating on his nerves. As he hits the highway heading north, he pushes the seek button on the radio until the sweet sounds of public domain music pings in his ears.
That's classical music, if you were wondering.
The nicotine from the cigar is hitting his system and soothing his irritations enough to let him sit a little further down into the seat.
The cruise control is set at 65.
"Yea. Granny driving in the rain, at it's best." He chuckles to himself.
Silence.
As much silence as the car allows, with it's wearing tires, the radio station forgetting to put more music on, the rain, now landing more frequently on his windshield, and his own thoughts of his life.
The classical music comes back on with an apology from a soothing lady's voice.
"Technical difficulties" she says.
"Right. Probably getting shtupped in the cleaning closet..." The man laughs at his own thought.
He flicks his inch worth of cigar ash out of the slit in the window frame, takes another puff of the cigar, and blows the smoke out of his eyes so he can see.
The rain on the windshield is blurred by the wipers, like the memories and thoughts pushing their way into his mind.
The music had a way of forming pictures in his head as he listened, and smoked, and thought.
"How interesting that music does such a thing.", he thinks.
"One wonders if it invokes in others the same thing it invokes in one."
Horns start bleeting their tune as a dramatic flare in the music builds.
A pair of dashing pirates sword fighting on an old ship on a stormy sea, comes to mind.
The music calms.
So do his thoughts of swashbuckling.
The show ends for the lady with the soothing voice.
The next show starts. The host with the nasal voice, is annoying, but the man pays no attention.
Nasal boy is explaining the evenings entertainment he is about to play for the riveted listeners.
Up next, an opera by none other than Ludwig Von Beethoven. His only opera apparently, by the nasally done bio of it.
It's entitled, "Fideleo" and it was recorded in 1962 in London.
The olfactory description of the entire first act is now spelled out by the radio host.
"Get with the effin thing already. I'm interested. I'm interested."
The opera begins as the man realizes that he's only hit the brakes twice in forty five minutes. The traffic has lightened on the highway.
Lightning strikes west of him.
He blows smoke in that direction to obscure it, just to see what it would do.
It does nothing but drift out the window.
Noticing that his cigar is now only about three quarters of an inch long, he puts it out in his makeshift ashtray made from an old mint can.
A lady sings with a high pitched voice as the opera plays in the background.
She's singing in German.
"I thought opera's were done in Italian?" he questions.
"Duh. Beethoven." He says to himself.
As the rain beats down above him, his thoughts drift from childhood, to adulthood, to his son and how much he misses him. He picks his cell phone up and texts "BEETLE BUG!" to his son.
They always played that when they were in the car together. They were together at that very moment. His son was with him in the car when that thought passed through the man's mind. He was sure that he himself would be with his son (in spirit) when he received the text. He knew his son would laugh when he got it.
Beethoven's opera kept up in the background all the way to his destination.
The thoughts of loved ones and friends, stayed with the man.
Blurring together.
Just like the water on the windshield.
He hoped they would never be wiped out of his mind.

endless sea of indignity...

endless sea
of indignity
caught in the waves
i almost caved
swayed by the verse
the sad, sad curse
played havoc with my heart
tears my soul apart
so i run from it
and alone i sit
away from the sounds
your voice resounds
inside my head
and i dread
that endless sea
of indignity
wounded my pride
so i tried
to inflame your ego
made jest your libido
all so sad
yet admittedly glad
that i found out
what you're all about
before i swam the endless sea
of your indignity

Daddy Long Legs...

a daddy long leg
casts the tiniest shadow
mirthlessly it crawls

Air

It’s all up to you, my friend.

In your eyes I see the weight of your world.

Large, caring, excited and yet, sometimes, dark.

Drastic it becomes until you can’t find the peace.

Pieces of the sky surround you.

The power you hold is immense, too immense for someone so young.

Swirling around your head, gentle halos of warmth,

Golden and red leaves sparkle within you and I see the light.

It’s possible to become what you are supposed to be.

Fear holds you back and you stop, suddenly.

Take a breath, become one with the air and realize -

It’s not something learned, it’s all inside.

In My World 10-02-07

In sync,
With Life’s vibration.
Being able,
To pay the bills.
When you’re,
Happy doing your job.
There is,
No arguments between your loved ones.
Your friends,
Don’t stab you in the back.
World War,
Doesn’t happen.
Soldiers,
Are actually ambassadors.
Everyone,
Is healthy around you.
Drama Queens,
Do not exist.
Your faith,
Is rock solid.
Your body,
Is just the way you like it.
The Mind,
Has the time to think.
The door,
Can remain unlocked.
Reconciling past,
With who you've become.
The singing,
Of nature can be heard.
That warm feeling,
Of being Loved.
These things,
In a sum,
In my world,
Are Peace.

I'm back?

I am remembering the days of old
Everything automatic, nothing in my soul.
So much to do, for what I have no idea.
My future holds the tabu of India

But a child I was mending film
to make a long reel for easy viewing
Now I am to the point of mental ill
that society has bestowed me with its quing

My father's favorite subject I was
for his photographic genious,
and the room with it's red light 'cause
If the door opened it might be dangerous

If I knew then what I know now.
What choices would I make?
A shit load different, Holy cow!
Then again, there are many things at stake.

"It's a Wonderful Life" a movie you must remember
If my life went a different route,
Who would my children remember
as their mother for the scout

The children are home you see
The house is busy now
I must end this and talk to thee
Good night and we'll see how

The world will take me and thee
In the realm of hospitality
So I may live in this world
Comfortably in peace and prosperity

Inspiring Actress from Afar

A lady visited a land afar
She had amazing brick red hair
And out of her mouth she said
Something to me that had to be insisted.

Never look back
It will drive you insane
The things in life we lack
Minus the things we gain

Mistakes will be made
Without them
Inventors wouldn’t have a trade

We have it good here
Like none you would ever know
And worry about stupid stuff
Like not paying a toll

While others cannot eat
Or have clean clothes to wear
Or not even a place to sleep

They would cherish the book
The text, urban kids scorn
They walk two hours to look
Some work almost since born

Yet they live with love too
They work and live different
Always busy with something to do
Always trying, trying to be affluent

People are busy here too
Always trying, trying to be affluent,
But, Working for number one, in lieu
Of trying to be considerate

It must be very different
Where elephants and zebras
Run free to mingle with thee
In the Dark Continent


So peel off the layers
Until you feel the core
Underneath the baggage
Do you remember who you were before?

Back to your roots
That is the answer
Before the pain ever came
Once again take control,
But, now as the Master.

Time to live, time to remember

There will be a time in my life when I will look back on my life and remember. I’ll remember the times I sat and wished for more time to do nothing, to think to ‘be’. To be whatever it is I thought I should be able to be.

There will be a time when I realise that it was all those decisions and actions that bought me to that point, to the time in my life when I can sit back and remember.

I live now to make the memories so when I’m in the time to remember there are good ones to fill the time that I can sit, there are sad ones and bad ones to remind us how good the good times really were.

There will be a time when I must make up my account, find out the tax due, the consequences of my behaviour. There will be a time when I can see what I have created and what I have destroyed.

There are no plans, no maps, no directions to follow, just intuition and good fortune, or perhaps just blind faith that the end will be that place, that time, when I will look back on my life and remember.

Keep Trying

I took journalism
When I was young
I needed work
I had only just begun

Things went askew
life takes many turns
giving problems anew
trying to mend the burns

Running my own business
And businesses of others
raising my kids with kisses
After burying my father and mother

Alone I feel in every way
with my children in tow
People judging me everyday
Looking at me, they don't even know.

Because I do not look down at you
Does not give you the right
To look through me,
Like I am not here, out of sight.

My dreams are relevant
My voice will be heard
If yours died in your office
I'm sorry, I think you are ubsurd.

When I work hard to perservere
At times my body grows weary
"Soon it'll be over my Dear"
Ha like I just want a life of dreary

To live to be just another wife
kept in a hole of a house
hidden away and not to live a life?
Just to keep quiet, quiet as a mouse?

Not for me, a partner is what I seek,
not a person to keep me in my place
A person who understands the leak
of emotions and equality of the race.