Katie's Blog

I think this poem might need a little context: I'm writing it in response to this news story: Pablo Escobar's Cocaine Hippos Might Be Restoring Colombia's Ecosystem.  It made me think about mistakes, how good can come from terrible circumstances, and how maybe we have to blunder in order to create beauty, harmony, and salvation. Cocaine Hippos Let’s be honest: You were a mistake— Like a child conceived in the backseat of a Buick, Something that seemed like a good idea once Between puffs of a joint and swigs of Jack. And then, months later, there you were— The hippo in the room That everyone can smell But no one looks in the eye, The bastard child of bluster and bravado. Set loose upon the world, You had no idea how to survive In this kind of jungle, here, in the wreckage of a palace built on lies, and the ruin of love and money, except to be simply be yourself: large, angry, and always hungry. They said your presence...

Kissing the Blueberry Man My stomach rumbles with anticipation. This faceless man holds me in his arms As the early summer warmth streams down Upon us and this scene of pastoral pleasure. I would gaze into his eyes if he had them, But he does not. His face is but a piece of fruit— A blueberry perched on two broad shoulders. So much blue I lose myself in azure hunger. How strange. My body, today, ripens Not as an apple or a pear but as a human. He, for once, becomes the piece of fruit Made for my pleasure. I’m the one with the hunger. There is no tongue to taste me, Only my tongue to take in the nectar, Only my teeth to sink into the skin, Only my throat to do the swallowing of seeds. I know that sugar highs come to an end. I know that fruit can only sustain the flesh For a moment’s pleasure. But oh, The blueberry lying next to me Kicks his foot up like a schoolboy And reclines as though this pasture were his bed And he ...

It's Palm Sunday today, and I had a bit of a hard time writing my poem. Of course, I'm thinking about the coronavirus, and how much things have changed from this year to last year. Alas: Palm Sunday, 2020 This morning, my faith is a dying palm frond laid down on an empty road. On that first Palm Sunday, As Jesus rode into Jerusalem, Did he know what the week ahead Had in store for him? Did he think of this As he took in the sweet scent Of wildflower pollen in the air, Intermixed with the morning breath Of the devout? I wonder this On my own Palm Sunday, in my apartment, in solitude, as I usher in the holy week ahead With a cup of coffee and a solemn prayer for the sick. I take sip. Its bitterness slides down my throat. Most Palm Sundays, I sit in a cathedral Filled with dying fronds and smiling faces, And filled with faith, not fear, Feeling the gentle embrace of a neighbor, Listening to dulcet voices of a choir Singing H...

Today's prompt was to write poetry inspired by dreams. My dreams are always kind of disturbing and dark, and I really don't want to go there with my poetry at this moment. So, instead, I decided to use one of NAPO's tools for a little inspiration. They provided a Twitter account, @MagicalRealismBot, that basically tweets a magical realism scenario every few hours. It's really cool. The one I chose to write about was "A goose laid an egg. Out hatches sexual frustration." Geese are one of Juno's symbols, so I thought that was interesting. Juno is, of course, a kind of goddess of marriage. I started thinking about all of the problematic ways our culture views and thinks about women's sexuality, and used that as a jumping off point. Instead of writing just about sexual frustration, though, I thought to write about desire in general.  Anyway, here's my poem draft! It's a little weirder than I usually write, but I think that's a good thi...

Today's prompt was to play with rhyme and near-rhyme. I actually have come to like writing rhyming poems, especially sonnets. Today, though, I experimented with more loose rhyme. I wrote about a little girl I saw eating donuts at Krispy Kreme a few weeks ago, and in it, I played with rhymes and near rhymes within lines. The effect is more subtle. Later, I'll go through and pare this down a bit, but here's my initial soundplay draft: Little Girl Eating a Krispy Kreme Sprinkles loosed from chocolate icing, The risen bread of it all pocked and bitten, Crumbs strewn across the table Here at Krispy Kreme, A little girl in a snow hat picks At donut, her tiny fingers Creating crags and craters As she scoops out morsel after morsel And holds them between finger and thumb For but a moment before she devours it, perfectly, nibble after nibble, In tandem with her breath. She eats the white part first, leaves a carapace of chocolate That she l...

A few days ago, B and I had to come out of our social isolation and go on a bit of an adventure to pick up my car. This necessitated a trip through east Texas during this, the time of the 'rona. And it's spring. So goodness, it was absolutely beautiful driving through. We went through the Sabine National Forest and the Big Thicket. And then there was this sense of darkness, of foreboding, of uncertainty, that contrasted the peacefulness and beauty of the landscape. Nothing was open except "essential services." But the wildflowers were in full bloom. And since we're in 2020, there were a bunch of political signs, too. It was a little surreal. So anyway, that's where my mind was when I wrote this poem. Today's napo prompt was to write about a place and a mood, kind of a New York School sort of way. The prompt instructed me to write as many specifics as I could, especially road signs, names of trees, colors, etc. The Swamp Where the slashpines ...

Well, I would have never guessed I'd be spending my national poetry month in 2020 in a pandemic, but here we are. What a perfect time for poetry, though. I'm teaching online, I have nowhere to go, and poetry seems like a nice escape. NAPOing, I'm figuring, might give me some much needed structure, too. So, in these darkish times, I'll write. I'll be roughly following the Napowrimo.net prompts. But today, my good friend, the talented poet Julieta Corpus was giving a workshop on Facebook Live, so I used her prompt instead. It was to find an object and write about it using the give senses, to give it a magical trait and a human trait. I found a meat mallet in my kitchen drawer, and I figured it would be perfect. Here's my draft: Tender Oh, the strange contraptions Hiding in my kitchen drawers— A meat tenderizer, a mallet For pounding the toughest of bits Into something edible. Menacing, the heft of it In the hand, you can tell it wants ...