I tried a little something different with the latest poetry diaries [September – October aka Libra season]. This feels right considering this is the time of year that started the whole bardic bullion project.
I hope you enjoy! For more, visit my substack.
after “The Song of Amergin” • I am aranciata soda, the taste of summer • I am ice, summer and winter • I am the raven on your shoulder • i am the brain drain giving way, determined, into generation into joy • i am the recommendation, a pixie for your lashes • i am the edits, deep into the wedding scene • i am the astrology of death, the head injury mapped into her birth chart • i am wondering, could this be avoided? • i am the reminder, «chop wood, carry water» • I am Gaia filling the void green • I am packing • I leave again • I rejoice in her jewels, her tongue • «plumsy» and «wormaids» • I am the prayer card falling from the visor • I am the lip-plumping goodness and the mirror • I am her namesake • i am the freckle • I am the sultry air refusing to storm, stewing the chaos of too many cooks, threatening your sleep • i am the quiet camp morning after • I find Taliesin once more • I am the hike, unraveled • I find Taliesin once more • What is this frenzy? • Why are you all talking at once? • What but fear? • Would it kill you to remember your wallet? your keys? • Would it kill you to get out of my way? • Who but the wife asking him, «Then, why are you telling me what to do?» • I am the sphinx in the cave of desire, on the roof before the sage • I am the repose the following day • at home, alone, bliss • I am the song of the river eddying me
cratered from impact, our only natural satellite • only place beyond earth where we have stepped foot • even if staged, our steps tickled with her magic dust • who else but the Moon? • explaining condensation; it’s the humidity’ll getcha • Mommy, can you clean this up? • Who else? • the film of beading water • Who else, but Midsummer?
what if it’s right to want what I want? • Revolutionary!
i need to learn the wolf’s language • Reading the dog-training manual • The Story of the Lost Child • Quilting • An Immense World • and of course, Mr. Putter & Tabby at storytime
before and after the river • and the lake • in praise of Kwik Trip, my nouveau White Hen • my indulgences: chasing good time, gas station cappuccino after noon • malts and mother meltdowns • what can I say? it’s vacation • and then I realized, watching you • putter and poke the flame • our last campfire • Drunking drunkenness drunkerie • I’ve watched your dance for years • Thank you for showing me how to build a fire • like swimming, bettering my chances of survival
the necessary resurgence of the guillotine • the people’s tool, whistling • it’s Mars in Virgo, we gotta organize, folks. • parties won’t save us • «No conteste nada no firme nada» • racial terror, starring sharks and gators • you were such a shit yesterday • all the yesterdays since you were born • you expect me to come to your birthday party today? • serving denaturalization and day old meat • Video from Associated Press showing American contractors as they cheer after shooting Palestinians desperate for food. “Hell yeah boy” • “American contractors” aka mercenaries • puzzling crickets and mold from the ruling class • the ill forecast, the flood carrying camp, the mystic, our children away • “budget cuts” • the net is cut • frayed into legend
today, a mentor mused we are all living in the past, time flows from that future back to us • waves from the future complete • her takeaway? Hallelujah • long-distance tantra • my high school crush debuted in my dreams • 20 years later • hanging a suit nice and tall; no chin, though • requiring my attention • being of service, I let my towel fall • I no longer desired • my shapely allure his cross to bear • tired, pressing on, drying myself off, worrying where the children are, are they hungry? are they ready for their nap? are their blankets soft enough? are their sheets cool enough? drink something
and now, pressing sugar into lemon oil • baby learns to muddle • learning the differences between fleur de sel, sel gris • makes sense. lessons during oceantime
there’s weasels at this ball • flagrant monocles, furry suits, squeakin • a symbol of breakdown
i was born just in time, the last summer of the ‘80s • if i had the chance I would • not go back there to live, to relive • the old mistakes and crises I survived once already • the present holds advantage • hope • building something
June-July diaries out of the past for the curious:
Cancer radio waves; ‘25 time capsule, for your listening pleasure:
I’m one of those people who could and has drank coffee all day long. I attribute this to my upbringing, my blood; my Italian relatives who took an endless cup with sweets and sauce after dinner, and my beloved aunt who always had a pot brewing. Because you never know. The taste, the scent of coffee grinding, brewing, steeping are all soothing to me. Even decaf! Coffee is a loving anchor for me.
If you love coffee like I do, please drop your favorite spots and roasters in the comments. I love learning about and supporting coffee emporiums everywhere.
Recently, I tootled to the U.P., the Queen City, and had delicious coffee from these fine folks:
Snowbound Books on 3rd Street is an excellent place to bring your coffee and spend hours and good money on fantastic books.
If you’d like to materially support my writing and me (thank you!), please consider treating me to a cup of coffee.
Thank you, kind soul! and cheers ❤
Thank you readers and subscribers (!!!), for spending your time and attention here. Without you, my writing would be incomplete.
I pray ease and joy and love find you each day, along with whimsy and wonder.
p.s. I have not used affiliate links in this piece.
Hot off the griddle, Auntie Pancake’s poetry and moon are out of bounds and in Gemini.
After a useful sojourn to Ghost dot org, bardic bullion has returned to substack.
hahaha. the joys of being dual-minded in a dual season. I am grateful for the Ghost experiment and what it has to offer: a decentralized newsletter platform. Also doesn’t host certain buffoonery that Substack does. But!
I am grateful for the community on Substack I have been able to cultivate, and for the vibrant communities others cultivate there, too. To my subscribers—thank you!!! I deeply appreciate your time and attention and support, and your patience while I experiment.
FYI & for those who are interested in making a newsletter and/or already have one, here are some my trials and errors from my experience with Ghost dot org:
Ghost is not as user friendly: my radio show and mixtape links weren’t working in the newsletter deploys, which is no good since sound and music are such an integral part of my diaries and creations. I like to use a variety of media and Ghost’s capacities and flexibilities were not suited to my needs. The navigation for readers and subscribers was also disappointing, unfortunately.
More important than that—Ghost does not currently offer the vibrant community living and growing on Substack. I repeat myself, but: I am so grateful for my communion with folks. I read and subscribe to many substacks, follow many folks there (and more and more by the week). There are many beloveds and lovely artists and journalists there I love supporting their work and being among them.
Who knows, perhaps I’ll switch again in the future. I am fleetfooted, after all. But for now, I am glad to be back. Love you!
It's quieter in my head so far.
plucked your eye out • climbed up that hill to rest.
Who am I with complete rest? Correct • sleep cycles? • avoiding the truth? • my eyes, burned weary • Been dreaming of Grandma’s house • and her son called begging, • Save my life.
fresh from the vortex of devotion, soul oriented toward obsession, quest is consummation • when the smoke finally clears • my lungs, filler up • like John, I am a word slut, gimme that fucking word search and ooh! the fun I'll have—
Enough Preamble.
Yearning away • I wanna give Megan... pause • Next door, the shepherd • fixing your juicer.
Baby, what happened to you? • Happens to all of us, mutation’s painful • less so than nostalgia? • Honey, let the satire strike you • let the funny hit • too close to home.
When it’s false flags • close to home, • soldiers, spies dragged up
category is: diplomatic realness
category is: left their hoods at the cleaners, so masks'll have to do
category is: secret police & genocidaire
don't worry, shitbirds, we recognize you anyway. • blink, chicken! blink!
obedience is most dangerous, most violent.
People, let's commotion. • <<comfort the afflicted, afflict the comfortable.>> •
that nonviolence'll get you killed.
Grandma said, I’ll smash you! • Scotch on her rocker, Naples in her blood • Dal fiume al mare, Palestina sarà libera. • I sit, I swim in all the rivers my mothers gave me, give me, keep me • alive again and again and again • morning
when the baby is in her Nirvana era, led herself there to drink the blooms • what else is there but singing • singing with her • The heart of joy.
watching the mothers take down mirrors • portals, you know • who knows who watches • who is outside • now we know
before the ingress • the tide • my last question: what were those birds about • that crow flying • bumped his head in my window—twice!—looking for • my orange cat watching • gold eyes sweet honey mischief • slitted like a snake,
takes after his mother.
My last look: scissors and color flying, douse me • i'm going for rogue.
Gemini saison ‘25 time capsule, for your listening pleasure:
This beautiful spring shelf mushroom print featured in the mixtape cover art is by amazing artist Gabi Guerra, and used here with her permission. Thank you, Gabi 💕 Please check out her wonders and shop at malahoraart.com
May-June diaries out of the past for your reading and listening pleasure:
Royal star Fomalhaut • 2025 Finals • Mad Max interviews • I really miss MJ. • Carême and Stick • ReLiving Single, a joyous ritual • Reveling in the memories of Sly Stone and Brian Wilson • A gal who truly gets it. • Rest in merciful, loving peace, Parnia Abbasi, and too many others.
Thank you to my family, who shared with me their friend’s 1:1:4 for homemade lemonade:
Add fruit and herbs as you like; it’s gonna be a scorcher 😉
let's dance raw
Healing is fucking
exhausting.
It’s lay down your swords time,
No budget, no limit
ripe moments
Safe to be fertile;
Darlings, we are
Not property.
envisioning love that never speaks over
my songs on the radio,
rather, love's attunement casket sharp.
Speaking of love, watching you
question your greenthumb,
your withering distressed me;
so do the pigs,
so many more out there lately
voix magnetique
<<ce tout en sîrop.>>
it's beautiful here
learning I am capable of amends
hardly think straight • yet breathing, ink furious • tulipomania and <<Mommy, I love you>> with a tableful of flowers • "Violet" prophecy on the cans and The Neapolitan Quartet
Lesson: always bring a snack.
Nostalgia: red leather interior woody
wake up, be cringe. • the world is full of sufferers filled with unlived life. it's a poverty of spirit • you don't want no problems, you just talk like you do • lilac air in the yard and school bell bings down the road • It was my birthday again. I feel fortunate saying, "I'm still alive." Often enough, it is 1989 all over again • VHS Japan ジャパン 1997 • everytime i choose softness over suffering i surrender to giving myself back what I learned to steal
inside: coming home to yourself, keeping, going gently.
outside: the earthquake.
This last day is full of reminders;
the book says, Just be.
The sensuous pleasure of giving
yourself permission from guilt.
Thank you for your time and attention.
Stay wavy, love always,
Kate
and by “ghoul”, I am referring to the stockholders’ meeting from Monday, and all the relevant sycophants.
When, just yesterday
we were talking the King’s Disease.
When today it’s hot water
bathed and boiled in it
hot water, lemon, cayenne pepper.
Thanks, Honey.
When under the blankets,
Choose the one who gives you
giggles.
<<The way you treat others is a reflection.>>
What do you see?
When our touching noses
sparked.
When the sick and cold is too much
I can't touch grass
like I'd like, like you tell me I must. So
If it must be suffocation,
May it be
Trapped in an elevator—
Me, the Glory of spring
You, my Impossible crush
cornering me, daring me
My kiss a revolution daring you
Crack the window
—Sliding doors.
When I am Focus. I refuse to give
my fear today.
I got too many gals and babes
to rile up
and protect.
sonic bullion radio coming to you live from WKDC, juicy poetry and tales live from the crossroads. Stay wavy…
a time capsule
what these nets drug in, 2019 and counting:
'24 concordat
Studying.
All these hollowed out
crowns, so lofty it’s dangerous
You are vulnerable,
charlatan elite.
When it’s cookie baking day
And for some reason i always
Have to watch Steel Magnolias
Because of the women who taught me
Recipes to repeat, patterns to shake
Who are that strong
Who are dead
When it’s a daytime fire
When it’s a nap break
In between the molasses and sugars
When nothing says Christmas
like 19th century Massachusetts and March
When you best
Watch out for all these bugs
'25 Concord promise
Exalted, Venus came to town.
Under the covers in my dreams,
waking me up, an inside love;
No, not you, dear,
no vacancy for the past.
If you must,
you can watch.
Can you stand it?
I used to be
so grateful to give you
my kiss.
To make you laugh.
Anyways.
Nowadays, the dinner table:
‘It’s not the mindless consumption,’
I sit and consider the grocery list.
I’m building something.
Across from her,
plates and cups a spectrum, honey, hearty,
fresh water.
They say to leave the tree up
till January. Prosperity.
When those ginger snaps
carried me through—
stomach bugs galore.
A band on my finger,
—horns, strings, woods, drums
iron copper bronze
linens and lace—
The dance of time marches
When elsewhere, it’s a piss era
Shillery par excellence.
And then I realized, I’m on the roof.
Wow, that’s bonkers, or
Sorry that happened.
Anyways,
Nowadays, I take my napping seriously.
Bury me in the earth,
my strong suit snakeskin
I transform like the year
back from the dead
a snake in the bed
again and again.
I open
unto my yearning—
I am in love
again for the first time.
coming to you live from sonic bullion radio, WKDC, juicy poetry and tales live from the crossroads. Sit a spell, enjoy a while…
what these nets drug in, 2018 and counting:
I.
When I am beyond vengeance.
A shine well-earned;
back on my
Head-in-the-clouds dancing
tongue, pen, and all;
Studying the greats like
Sade, Whitney,
All Hail Queens
Memphis & Texas & Princesses Diamond & Swamp
the old-school Gemini, reincarnated
When I learned some
carpentry, I have a gift
chopping wood and carrying water
my hearth is hot
I mop with hot salt and peppermint
It’s better this way. All the waxing
into balms now, all the stingers hot
honey in a cute little squeezy bear,
jars on jars, jars and jars.
O, How I’ve made comb.
When I am the cavalry.
II.
You make me hunger, study
devotion, sing my heart out
royally, Like Whitney or Mariah or Sade
thread the needle livewire—admiring Doechii
never reaching, only receiving
[nothing like your ex,
the company that sells
wooden hips where rhythm
goes to die,
a grift if I ever saw one
naked, unfathomable
mediocrity, protected class,
a fright.
Did it scare you?, my
Verse lover, my
dancing lightning bolt,
when she penned you down?
Some cheap lore for the store
What a bore. Like all that fame.
She bore the scent
of rank reputation,
the false reds, she claims the masters, but]
You can’t buy rhythm.
When your famously big
hands belong on my hips
again. I walked with you once,
It only takes one dream
To create eternity
not reaching, receiving
sharing our Lover's Cup
When I'll meet you
in the kitchen, sugar.
III.
when the assassin (decoy?)
is a cutiepie
when of *course* he's Italian
folks love when we plug
corruption. If the Mafia were
smart, they would rebrand
There's more where that came from,
the scourge of boardrooms everywhere...
When, come to find out,
We have the same birthday
mirrored years, must be cousins somewhere
of course we are, our understanding likewise
Let them think we cannot
walk in silence, caro fratello
Possa la tua schiena essere guarita
Per abbinare il tuo passo ardente
Lasciateli credere
che la violenza non è la risposta
quando La Violenza è La Risposta.
ci amano
perché capiamo
Silence is useful,
Those who fear silence, let them
Let them fear solitude
Let them forgo
the walk alone through the woods.
Let yourself be
Loved. Shine.
IV.
When you step into ferocity
candles and party, Chameleon
when I pop out.
Cocoontime over.
Are you mad?!
Darling, have some tea
While I loose this truth
enthroned in my bare breast
Now, eager student,
eagle-eyed
What have we learned?
In spite of everything to the contrary,
There are a lotta smart people out there.
Are you mad?!
I remain inspired.
V.
I deserve this.
I am a fiery vision
Autocorrect: furry
haha. Velvet, sure.
Quantum leaps. Get used to
being seen.
Can’t keep their eyes off you.
When the dream is
no longer a figment.
When I passed the test.
Congratulations! You’re a
MASSIVE THREAT.
When I haven’t even peaked yet.
Override your nice
for your intuition.
When I kiss you
unknown, my future encounter
I release you, then you arrive
And the radio says, Let’s dance.
You say, I couldn’t take my eyes off of you.
when the hogwash is hogtied
sewn up in this world,
a fiery brick.
When I don’t know what you’re still complaining about, but,
Be thankful, said Katt.
Be thankful for the haters,
a string of polo ponies;
Let them do their job.
When you work for me, honey,
cords cut regardless.
When you haven’t walked alone,
and it shows.
Do yourself a favor.
When this year stripped me bare.
I am raw, thank you.
Sacrificing my wounds for something greater, thank you.
Triggers and sparks both
medicine, thank you.
When I am shameless.
Thank you.
When life alone
is an invitation to dream
Big. Sprezzatura, moltomoltomoltomolto
Grazie, and a drink. and a cookie.
When it’s a turning point.
Are they really about to…?
When timing is sexual
tension between me and reality.
Get thee to the riverbed,
you wildfire.
When you can just ask
the snakes in my hair
when I am ready to be perceived.
When I cannot even fathom
all the unkind things people do,
Thank you.
Sitting pretty, entertaining
my shadows.
Bulls-eye.
when KENDRICK DROPPED & Doechii’s Tiny Desk & the Angels Wanna Wear My Red Shoes:
what these nets drug in, 2018 and counting:
hello folks! I am honored to share this notice with you: Boudin has nominated my poem “tricky honey” for a Pushcart Prize in 2025.
Thank you Lynn Watson and all the good people at Boudin, for your wonderful support and recognition. I am honored. It was a dream come true to submit my writing to you, and the dream goes on.
Thank you all for reading. It’s my pleasure to share my writing with you. I hope you enjoy it, and I hope it spurs you on.
Love,
Kate
all this energy harvesting.
This poem died several times on its way to you. So here we are, gathered here today, on this day of kayfabe, pyro, and hogwash:
’24 Dedication: long game
When it’s still waters run deep
Happy Birthday, Baby. Hot
chocolate and Chicago hot dogs
under the cheese moon
my driving makes you swoon
… rather, green-gilled. Sorry,
Baby, roll down the window
A rank sulphur, I won’t hold it
against you, my little pooh-bear.
At the game, all the adoring fans
armed with the livestream
camera glued, a homemade poster
says ‘i love you, Please gimme
your puck.’
This gal ran all the way
from Vancouver, as
The Proclaimers sangeth.
She trembled with it
back to her seat,
before the drop
and I could not understand
why tremble so before any man?
Yeah, I voted.
Who do I vote for
to end this genocide?
When one of my least favorite
words is shareholder-I spit-
Dusty Rhodes warned us
about management-their gifts
after all these years of hard work
a cheap watch and a laughing
kick in the ass.
’24 cesspool
Acting so nice
before the circular firing squad
Crickets
and leopards eating your faces.
When we’re locked in, alright.
Yap-Yap-Yap!!!
all you ever do-
HUSH!
When being popular is so
passé.
Oh please, there’s always speed
laying around in this country
When it got so dreadful,
I threw on some Hank Williams to brighten the mood.
Everybody’s reaching for their cigarettes again.
When the house is burning down,
have sex in it.
[when it’s politicians and proxies,
I am also petty-You venal, hateful
rodent-faced • old bat • bigot • bagman • motherfuck-]
When they remembered the fall
of Gondolin, then rocked and smoked
by the hearth, singing merry
Goddamn, I love ya.
When she told me,
Mama, we all have hearts.
. . . Why are you telling me this?
.
.
.
. . . I need to get out of here.
’24 Dedication: The long game (redux)
When I grew to understand
the Menendez Brothers
a little better than before.
When I have seen
just how families eat
their young
at the drop of a hat.
suspicious, are you?
What am I up to?
why is she so quiet
all of a sudden?
When I am bleeding, too,
and that which must stanche
invades instead; banal cancer.
I'd cut it from the fabric
out like a cigarette burn
leaving scorch to mark your passing—
When all I needed was a walk.
When she asked, Mommy?
Do we have everything we need?
Yes, darling.
When I die, I know
it isn't over. I must
rest here a moment,
Before I pick up my quiver
wands, arrows
I look Death in the eye.
why is the grass so green
when it's gallowstime?
When I'm On FIRE.
on repeat • repeat • repeat:
I started buying CDs again. No commercials, endless repeats and skips. I can yearn and delve passionately. I can hold the jewel case in my hands, I can admire the artistry up close.
Some more albums I’ve been loving of late:
When push comes to shove
When you have to learn-
When in dignity,
Carrying with grace
people don’t even know
How difficult
When it’s
the gambler & the detective
The energy does not lie
You gambled
With the wrong heart
When the sun
bows to the moon
When it’s kinship
Pulling focus
How do you get your light
bright enough, the dragonfly knows, listen
she's popping. Beware,
the eloquent burn;
your heart may turn
to stone. stones can split
open, create rivers. stones
fall and bow, divine.
The Tiffany windows at the Met—
what the other realms
looking like. Beware,
How you spend your light
for the curious, these diary entries (and jukebox time capsules) from the same time period in past years:
kate carsella 