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.
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:
When the air is the high water. Your throat, your spine. Your nails a-clack and coffin-cut like the chasing paper’s tines. When heaven’s middle stills its clouds full pockets of currents; The riverbed we can’t escape. Only anchor’s my horns, my horns our roots now. Horns, promise me, for my parade. No grave, just currents; no spot —a Waldo in the bardo— An orchard, perhaps. The rain calling for bed. That way I will travel with you. That way I drowned will sing for you, my call ends At home with the world.
[archival] for the curious, these diary entries (and jukebox time capsules) from the same time period in past years:
Hi folks! I am thrilled to report that I have a new poem out, published in Reverie Magazine‘s inaugural issue! Thank you to Reverie for this opportunity; I hope you all enjoy reading.
You’re weird where I wasn’t.
Bold of you
to let it spill because I did
not unless it was tears.
When it’s been five years.
When you petrify
Them and I love that
for you. Keep going.
True blue you, how you bore
through me, darling. Saw;
you could not help but to.
I scared easily. I saw, too.
Your mistake was perfection,
an -ism I’m proud you cashed.
—You gave me such cushion
taught me the riversleep, recounted how
a lion played in the snow—
Your strength is you’re willing
to err often, and in the open. And to laugh.
How it spills, the land will decide.
—O! How you listened to me.
—O! You heard me like no other.
No matter the when, we will always
have the porch and our letters.
Rings of fire and cut glass passed
between us, a cackling
in the clair moonlight.
Our visions a shared music
over and over again.
Sakes, your name is mine
and hers, too. My pride.
I thank you
for carrying me along
for the ride.
Go forth, my love! Mistakes’ embrace.
You are never alone
when there are so many cycles.
You are just brave, which can feel
that way. The only way
to stay is weird.
Now, turn it all the way up.
[archival] for the curious, these diary entries (and jukebox time capsules) from the same time period in past years:
Sometimes you gotta cry, baby.
I know. I know. It’s okay. I understand. You go on and cry. We all gotta cry sometimes. I love you.
We’re almost there.
We’re almost home.
When you are suspicious, and yet, …it is catchy. Damn it!
But that doesn’t relieve the tension of my mistrust. What is your deal?
… oh, hell. it’s not similarity, is it???
When he watches the movie for the first time,
and says, what. a. Psycho.
When your murky undulations epiphany—I don’t have to
say it like it’ll start a fight. cuz it won’t. he wants it, too.
(Your soft has a nestle here. You built it. Well. And he cheered all the while.)
In fact, he’s hungry for it.
That beautiful twinkling hunger he has
with the devouring undertow.
When unraveling keeps popping up.
this week: for what it’s worth & tomorrow 2
when you need an emergency meeting of the midday society
and tooth 7 is coming in
and i shall know the glories of those sock sneakers Balenciaga
—you mark my words;
who knew?
when pruning and weeding in the morning
—sunsplash soothed—
i didn’t realize that my favorite morning glories
are invasive! … Do I mind? I do mind their throttle
of the others.
I give the purple blooms and snaking vines a talking-to
as I tend my garden.
We can’t be doing this, my love. You know that.
When it’s all moving so dreadfully
slowwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
treading water for a month
makes you remember calm and hoping it’s true
—the trust of unfolding—
and then you remember the hold Orpheus had on you then.
when it’s the psychopathy of society
or the classical descent
into madness by the sea.
when We’re Here.
when her teeth are finally ship-shape.
When researching the look of Ereshkigal for familiarity.
when the closer is so lame.
when you’re on the road to Boise—
named from the relief of woodlined water
for travelers, for trappers crossing
the Snake, the year I was born.
When it’s charm school.
When it’s the belonging of music
—that song of hers…
(And yes, the moon would renounce
her throne quietly if My Good Beauty Queen laid claim.)
When it’s the lewkiest lewks of all.
When beauty was invented, for goodness’ sake!!!
I want it,
I got it.
When roses
everywhere
are Roses.
kate carsella 