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.
sonic bullion:
coming to you live from sonic bullion radio, WKDC, juicy poetry and tales live from the crossroads. Sit a spell, enjoy a while…
If you like my poetry (and I hope you do enjoy), please do stop and sit a spell at my substack jukebox where I post recorded readings of my poems for your listening pleasure, aka sonic bullion.
I pray you are well, all ills sliding right past you.
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!
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.
jukebox
when KENDRICK DROPPED & Doechii’s Tiny Desk & the Angels Wanna Wear My Red Shoes:
hello folks! I am honored to share this notice with you: Boudinhas 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.
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:
Version I
’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.
Version II
’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.
Version III
’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.
jukebox
on repeat • repeat • repeat:
MEGAN ACT II
“Bigger in Texas” I mean, the rest of the album is spectacular, but this serpent has me in a choke.
GLORIOUS
“I LUV HER” T-Painnnnn. “I don’t wanna keep it on the low, I luv her. … Got damn I luv her.”
reactor compilation videos of Certified Boogeyman’s “Like That” > “euphoria” > “6:16 in LA” > “Meet the Grahams” > the three iterations of “Not Like Us” > “Watch The Party Die”
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:
A Love So Beautiful: Roy Orbison & The Royal Philharmonic Orchestra
I got this one on vinyl; long been on my list and when I found it at Val’s Halla (Thanks, Val!), I felt that thrill of meant-to-be.
I love how the music fills the house like a hearth. I love feeling it in my chest.
Born in the U.S.A.
Just listened to this the first time all the way through. An inherited album, I didn’t realize “Dancing in the Dark” (my original favorite Springsteen song) was on there!
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
jukebox
diary archive
for the curious, these diary entries (and jukebox time capsules) from the same time period in past years:
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.
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.
Lacerta, Cygnus, Lyra, Vulpecula and Anser”, plate 14 in Urania’s Mirror | Source
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:
kate carsella 
