Hiya folks and Happy Winter Solstice!
I am humbled and thankful to report that my poem “Clearing” has been curated by the fabulous, fun, and superhot poets and folks of Poetry Trapper Keeper!
Thank you to Kelly Mullins and Larissa Fantini for all of your support and love!
Thank you readers. I hope you enjoy your time with my poetry.
Love always,
Kate
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:
Hey there neighbors!
I am honored and stunned to report that my poem “remember how you had me”, originally curated by manywor(l)ds in Issue 2, was nominated for Best of the Net (2025) (???!!!)
You could knock me over with a feather. Thank you, manywor(l)ds for curating and nominating my poem. I am humbled and grateful for your recognition and to be honored in such a stellar cohort.
I encourage you, beloved reader, to explore all of manywor(l)ds’ nominees for poetry, fiction, art, and nonfiction. As always, thank you for completing the poem with you care and attention.
Check out the poetry jukebox here where I read this baby aloud.
Love always,
Kate
Hiya folks,
I am humbled and honored to report that Boudin, the spicy online cousin to The McNeese Review, curated two of my poems—“a man of winter” and “tricky honey”—in their “Imagine: Summer II” issue. This is a dream come true. I love writing and I love sharing that with you. Thank you.
Thank you to Editor Vallie Lynn Watson and Managing Editor Abbie Skinner for considering and curating my poetry, and for putting this issue together.
Thank you readers. Without you, these poems would be incomplete. I hope you enjoy your time with them. I encourage you to pore over the pages of this and past issues of Boudin‘s riveting delights.
Love,
Kate
P.S. – yes, the monthly diary cycle has been on an impromptu hiatus… from publishing, that is. I am still writing and may have a surprise or two up my sleeve… Stay Tuned, love.
When the paperback is two backs curved gently together
Chests closing into embrace
a fire like Beltane, I fish
my nets only to stop and say cheers,
When it’s camping season, tents afire
and the kindling are the children
and the adults in the room hunger
for hot, young blood. Brutal gimmes.
When my motivation is desire, not innocence,
but my éclat. The benefics perfecting together
in my pasture. Ours to share right now. And I wonder
who else will find.
Time to burn the candle pink.
When age’s lip sync reveals down to legacy
down to a pair of fire bugs burning across the tree
us two, you and me, blood of Gawain.
She holds an umbrella when she dances
machucá lo. Machucá lo. Machucá lo.
When she dances, she stomps.
When I saw you, I knew.
When it’s pugilistic poetry rising
and I love that. Let’s keep that energy
let’s keep the flag flying. Let’s lift
our children, we are Mother. All these kids
are our kids. Look at our fortune.
When we are poetry in motion
in the face of pluto, giving face • face • face
Let’s get smashmouth.
[archival] for the curious, these diary entries (and jukebox time capsules) from the same time period in past years:
jukebox:
When it’s a playful sun. A fistful.
That’s how I clean now, with my fist.
When a friend brought me here.
1993 but I’ve been here before but
I didn’t know what to listen for.
The pink rotary phone
cradled to me with my patience and
devotion for you. Please.
When it was Jim Carrey, revisited, unbidden;
movies and acorns; a pocket
brought me here.
Eat your hat—a lotus leaf
—catching into jumping fire
into your arms, you fly.
When she can tell me herself her first
favorite movie,
favorite song:
The Dance of the Happy Forest Sprites
& The Monster Who Loves You
—When you’re not crazy, it is indeed
war crimes upon war
crimes upon war crimes upon
War crimes upon war—
spinning Sundaze with my pufffluff baby orange
tiger tree-watching under the orchid bough.
When the nickel jukebox takes a dime
so it’s lowpoly slowerpace and his green erotic
bray for me. Crawling home to me.
When I belong in ‘90s London [rave piano]
When I belonged—the canary horse cottage
working-dog-shattered windowglass-and-frame
When you belong you know: tears spring.
When you tell us you're above it all
you show us how boring.
Stay in the pocket. When you Stay
in the pocket surfing
barrels-to-thread out of pocket
slipping a stitch ride the needle singing
Now is the time to stand out,
Powerline. Now is the time to count.
When [REDACTED]
—that was some heat there.
How bout it, Laocoön? My teeth / like butter to flesh like you. / You won’t feel a thing.
Anyway, Thank you, Natasha Richardson, for saving my life every time with your hug.
Now that I’ve blown off some steam—
[archival] for the curious, these diary entries (and jukebox time capsules) from the same time period in past years:
jukebox:
[Scales I]
let it steep, let me weep
let me under
our birth swims creep
When the camphor tree spells
tells me <<we're home>>
When outside of therapy,
I still love me.
When standing, even alone,
I still have roots. They grow
When the horns become a ring
a big light monocle, I see.
When this baby calls out
the flight of the airplane
When the definition of moonfull
is the snow
When soil at the same time sings vetiver
straining credulity, springing too soon?,
straining seasons into new
expectation Which will confound you again.
Where I see strangers
She says ‘hey there neighbor!’
When I won’t wake, when i weep
from dreaming, the dream is decided
When your body is your mind,
So, move it, animal.
Orgiastic, his green branches
and his That Voice rutting with me
When we sang together feeling the swim
Coming for our bones, the hot dogs
of summer and the culling hounds
of winter. When the snow
returned to us for one—night of our first fire
borne sacral in our seasoned house,
the babe's a’rest at the top of the stairs.
Warm blanket, warm sun to rise in her corner.
[Scales II]
When you see me, cold
as stone, I'm still
your blood, now go on, go
Go ahead cry
with that lone eye
the other I plucked, trust
my warning was kind.
It's not for me to steal your losses.
When I run again.
My Hokas burning up
and my favorite music
when it's my pleasure, my strength
no escape.
[archival] for the curious, these diary entries (and jukebox time capsules) from the same time period in past years:
jukebox:
On February 25, 2024, Aaron Bushnell self-immolated outside of the Israeli Embassy in Washington, D.C. in protest of U.S. complicity in the ongoing genocide of Palestinians.
TW: image of self-immolation to follow in…
3…
2…
1…
![Picture of Aaron Bushnell self-immolating with the following text from the Economic Times article: Before his planned self-immolation, Bushnell reportedly sent a message to media outlets stating, “Today, I am planning to engage in an extreme act of protest against the genocide of the Palestinian people.” He also reportedly live-streamed the act on Twitch, which has since removed the video for guideline violations. “I will no longer be complicit in genocide. I’m about to engage in an extreme act of protest,” Bushnell repeated, as he walked towards the [Israeli] embassy, “but compared to what people have been experiencing in Palestine at the hands of their colonizers, it’s not extreme at all. This is what our ruling class has decided will be normal.” After dousing himself with liquid and reaching for his lighter, unidentified law enforcement or security officers could be heard asking off-screen, “can I help you?” After setting himself aflame, he repeatedly shouted, “Free Palestine.”](https://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fe7ee039d-5fcd-4b00-992b-2e03574689ae_1125x2000.jpeg "Picture of Aaron Bushnell self-immolating with the following text from the Economic Times article: Before his planned self-immolation, Bushnell reportedly sent a message to media outlets stating, “Today, I am planning to engage in an extreme act of protest against the genocide of the Palestinian people.” He also reportedly live-streamed the act on Twitch, which has since removed the video for guideline violations. “I will no longer be complicit in genocide. I’m about to engage in an extreme act of protest,” Bushnell repeated, as he walked towards the [Israeli] embassy, “but compared to what people have been experiencing in Palestine at the hands of their colonizers, it’s not extreme at all. This is what our ruling class has decided will be normal.” After dousing himself with liquid and reaching for his lighter, unidentified law enforcement or security officers could be heard asking off-screen, “can I help you?” After setting himself aflame, he repeatedly shouted, “Free Palestine.”")
I will no longer be complicit in genocide. I’m about to engage in an extreme act of protest. But compared to what people have been experiencing in Palestine at the hands of their colonizers, it’s not extreme at all. This is what our ruling class has decided will be normal.
—Aaron Bushnell
Video with segment of Bushnell’s livestreamed protest here; does not show the self-immolation.
I admire Aaron Bushnell’s code of honor and personal integrity and bravery. Rest In paradise, dear soul.
With love,
Kate
kate carsella 
