Katie's Blog

Today's prompt was to rewrite a famous poem. I chose "A Supermarket in California" though I know them be some big shoes to fill. A Pulga in Alamo What thoughts I had of you this afternoon, Allen Ginsberg, as I strolled through the stalls of la pulga in Alamo, thirsty for shade, a sip of coke from a glass bottle, shopping for images and inspiration, hoping for a glimpse of holiness on the shine of a bruised tomato, in the penumbras of split papayas. Who built this shrine to life where abuelitas barter for cilantro plants that bound from plastic manteca containers. Nietos, palms outstretched for dulces smile and their teeth shine silver. Fathers wear cowboy boots and jeans, grip belt buckles, hold high their chins while babies ride on their mother's hips and toddler's grab a tia's hand, scream with songs of pirated cds, as loud as Texas sun. I found Neruda was there, in the nose of the mutt,in the smell of burning mesquite and carnitas. Whit...

Today's prompt was to write a love poem to an inanimate object. At first I wanted to write a sexy poem to my keys, but then I thought about this idea. Anyway, if you know me, you know I hate prose poetry in general, but I was just thinking about it today and thought maybe it was time I gave it a go. Here's my attempt: Love Poem to Raindrops You couldn’t write a poem to love so instead, you thought of rain and all the times you waited for its coming. One dusk, at fourteen, sitting underneath your parents’ porch, you watched a slate cloud roll in at dusk and felt the rumble, too, inside yourself, a warning that you’re not supposed to heed. Remember how the headlights of his truck illuminated mist, your face with gold against the bleakness. Remember running out into the drizzle your hand above your hair, a vain attempt to keep it dry. Remember that and realize the first drops of a storm will disappear into the thirsty earth. I want to work on this a little mor...

Today's prompt was to look out your window. I like always like that idea. A battle rages here, of loveliness Of death and of decay that brings the yard To life again. The aloe vera reaches Towards the sun with buds like little fingers Of the ravenous for bread. Lantanas, Smothered by their own roots in a pot That’s just too small, bound over the rim, their sunshine petals desperate for the fragrant scent of earth. The hibiscus that you planted springs Ago blushes full of life to call the swarms of honey bees into her blooms  that sag with untouched pollen every year a little more as honey bees and monarch swarms grow thinner by the year. And there I sit, beneath the great encino’s shade Amidst it all, sipping on a glass Of jasmine tea, thinking that the reason For these lovely blooms must be me.

Today's prompt was tough. I wrote a "Golden Shovel" ... a form I'd never heard of but I'm a bit curious about. Here's my poem: I’ll never understand the reasons why you Made that clutch of eggs the perfect size to fit into the nest’s palm, the nest into the branch’s crook, and me the one who watched the sparrows like a child watches caterpillars inside a cocoon, how you made our lives hook into one another, the birds’ into mine and mine into an emptiness. The corner of my eye was damp, a witness to a gust of wind. I held my breath, a fish dangling on your hook as you let it tumble an unthinking loosening, an open fist, a watchful eye.   (Notice the last word of each line)

Today's prompt was to write a lune. I wanted to write a little series of them. Here they are! Lunes for the Morning Commute   Begin with skeletons Of huisache in January, snapping Of twigs underneath Your weight. Stand, Taste sunrise on your lips Be a shadow The morning silhouette Surrendering to warmth, the green That always comes Almost a miracle that brings a yawn up from the belly of your being. The rain is only sweet At winter’s end, The water welcome only in your parched mouth, dry like Texas. This is you: A catkin on the branch About to burst Waiting for wind In March, for hungry bees, Swarms of monarchs that time brings to a trickle. The air is pollen thick, the heavy clouds hang above, a periwinkle sky slips its tongue into your mouth and lets the rain fall on thirsty ground.

Today's prompt was to write a "charm." It was supposed to rhyme. I tried and failed. But this happened: Charm for Brain Dust When hinged in hum-drum, shake it loose like pennies in a jar, like windblown hair that tangles perfectly. Seduce a stranger with your tongue, remind yourself of music: hurried words, what's said between his breath and yours, the silencing of mockingbirds at night, the moments stillness feels like death and smells like rings of stale smoke. Make thunder with the smacking of your lips, exhale the scent of rain. Remember all the reasons for your weeping. Find God in ridiculous places: split ends of hair, the hangnail on your toe the smell of sweat at midnight that reminds you, yes, you're body's still alive tonight.

Today's prompt was to write about mythology, but not greco-roman mythology. This is actually something I've been meaning to do, so I had fun with this.   While Slicing Apples  Time has swallowed Idunn’s apples But the hunger for them still remains Alive within the bellies of us all. Imagine this: the perfect shine of skin Beneath the moonlight, scent of apple blossoms In the air, and you let down your hair Into the wind without a sense of time Because the world is endless at the cusp June. Who wouldn’t give it all to have that feeling once again? When like a god, you stood before your life And saw it tucked inside a flower bud With petals neatly folded, ready to explode, Burst open with the scent of pollen on the air That perfumed your life with the smell of tomorrow.