Tag Archives: August

poetry, station notes

station note: a man of winter & tricky honey

Photo: Roberta Sorge

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.

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diaric, poetry

’23 you didn’t read the book??

Photo by Boston Public Library on Unsplash
messy messy mess-mess
	mess messy mess

mess and listen run aground
messy kiss and lies
	
messy messy mess-mess;
	A pocketful of rye
messy messy mess-mess;
	And us an angel tie.

Four-and-twenty blackbirds, fenceposts of the day
messy messy mess-mess;
I keep what you say.

messy messy mess-mess;
baked it in a pie.
	oh-so-hot your steel-beamed truth
to be your reject is to be my butterfly

it's time to take to the bath. 
Timing just for redress.

When it’s time for the answers to all keys
And the fresh sack of flour is spoilt.
When I am the fire in the belly, serving
the witch that you need.

when baby needs a new pair of shoes
so we went to bed with six.

Monthly jukebox1:

  1. For some reason, everywhere I go, I hear “Hotel California”. The Eagles have something for me, it would seem. lmk fellas. ↩︎

[archival] for the curious, these diary entries (and jukebox time capsules) from the same time period in past years:

* ’22 B Sounds
* ’21 Even my silence is powerful
* ’20 Bagheera Chamomile
* ’19 The Jasper Vessel

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diaric, poetry

’23 Down Burns the House

Photo by Shot by Cerqueira on Unsplash
When the siding’s in cinders
and now I lounge on
warm rock warmed
too by my bones
my purring bones

Asleep in the day 
in the open—a torch
of rest daring you to 
wake me. Inviting you to
sneak past.

Or not.
Whatever.
I’m good either
way.

WHEN THE RENAISSANCE WORLD TOUR IS AT MY DOOR 
			!!! !!! !!! IloveyouBeyoncé
			humbledinthepresenceofyourprowessyourvisiontheinspirationyouare

When the world is my kind of pink
			IloveyouBarbie-O,therichgiving
			yougavemeyougavemeplaysandimaginingsOandIbrokefree !!! !!! !!!

Fellowhearts choose the dark 
paths, cross purposes
known as Unnecessary and Obligation.  
known to be rough.
known to take you from yourself.

There are too many nightmares roamin' around. 

Meanwhile, my quiet
observation is a trance. Takes note. Bears witness.
The white bear and the black jaguar 
chose me.

When a second Renaissance 
surprises; her sandcastles are built
together, and the joust was good and sun.
shadow dancing dapple 

When the letter arrives right 
before the double moonwalk. 
Signed forevermore, 
Stay wavy, peaches. Stay wavy.


A journeycake. A blown still.
The burning house. A mercy kill.
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diaric, poetry

B sounds

Itinerary, Inbox, Insomnia
get a hold of yourself. 🙂 / 😐

Increased core strength and she’ll stand.
In weeks, she’ll grip words, too.

Instead of that cold, drafty tower of talons,
House of Gucci again for me.
For they know best gratuitousness.

When you look up from your work and confide to her,
this working is not working.

When one story is about moon drops.

When inspiration sparkling at the periphery—a hummingbird
cake. Toasted pecans are a must;
a can of crushed pineapple
with the juices. WITH. Do Not Drain.

this is a picture of sparkling black sand, probably after midnight, on the way to your dream's fortune.
Photo by Adrien Olichon on Unsplash
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diaric, poetry

Heart: Start Ignition

when you’re blue, instead.
when you should take a nap.

Mooncats when the compass rose
meets the revolution. will no one
say it outright?

They’re there, roadkill
I’m here killing streets


I’m The Hottest.


When The Devil lurks
and the universe repeats itself: bend us to you
We await.

Also, RENAISSANCE,
of course, of course, of course
on repeat of course, of course, of course
because, once again, disco,
Disco never died.

Photo by Vance A. on Unsplash
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diaric, poetry

rest in power

so, this is on the horizon ….. !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

when it’s so many beings gone in the dark and more new ancestors permeating, when it’s always a good time to remember: ‘you can’t wear a crown with your head down‘; when over here healing generations; when it’s time for a red velvet radio redux methinks, children

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