About odhran25

Writer on the wide plains. Here are working pieces, fragments, bubbles, ideas, snippets, blown leaves, and fallen petals. It's all true, none of it's true. Don't ask. Thank you for reading.

Passage

Touch some part of me
while we wait for my soul
to be taken and crushed
like petals for scent.

I will neither enter
nor leave the room again.

Each moment
is a snowflake transforming
into a waterdrop
on a green leaf.

The border to the next land
is invisible to the naked eye
music is the only map.

I have walked away
without a word of goodbye.

You must stay on
wakeful
counting the barks of distant dogs
and the songs of the souls
needing bodies.

Copyright Kay Winter

I Have Learned So Large

I have learned so large
the space open for my soul.
Clouds hover below
as I circle away
from the snow-wound expanses.

I have learned so large
the paths of my soul traveling.
Aimless Autumn steps
walking with you
until we are lost
and I think:
“This is it.
This is how the life goes here.”

I have learned so large the flowering
of my soul
lovely as wild pink roses
as dandelions seeding
miraculous as the five white petals
that turn to bitter lemons.

– Copyright Kay Winter

Mistranslation: Elapses

Lucky sigh, I am evening shine.

Dare thieves sing thanks?

Too alone at times.

Thoughts swiften over the sea:

Again to Greece.

Not first, one feeling man stands: lucky, earnest.

In late Autumn, his living all the life

in swathes, waves.

And his thoughts swiften

Again to Greece,

Toward arches

and men.

  • Copyright Kay Winter

Note: This is a deliberate “mistranslation” of a poem written in German by Seamus Kennan. 

A Letter Home: Korea 1952

 

All I can say

is that I was not created

to blow up bridges,

but to build them.

But brass wants them blown,

and the corps builds them and blows them.

I can also say

that it is cold here,

even for a Minnesota boy.

I can probably say

that after all this is over

And no one remembers us

that there will still be the space inbetween

we are lined up on now.

I can also say that nothing

is as big as the space in world

where we are not together.

I can say, just to you,

that I give myself a couple minutes each night

to think about

dancing with you in my arms

and the low lights of the dance floor

at the supper club

and you have just said,

“Oh, darling, darling,

it’s Begin the Beguine”

and laid your head on my shoulder.

I can say,

that in spite of myself

that hard on that memory

comes the memory of standing alone

quiet with the wind in the pines

after I walked you home.

Copyright Kay Winter

A Poem for Writing a Poem

Whatever comes to mind when
you see the word
Water.

Whatever comes to mind when
you write the word
Rain.

Whatever comes to mind when
the sign says
Go.

When the sign says
No Exit.

Whatever comes to mind when
you stand outside
as the evening falls early
in November.

When you wake just before first light.

When the summer sun on your neck
reminds you of
the last summer you saw her.

Whatever comes to mind when you think
about chocolate.

About coffee.
About whiskey.
About the small of his back.

Whatever comes to mind when
you write the word
Forever.

When you say the word
Never.

Whatever comes to mind
when you look down the long alley.

When the moon rolls above you
and the forsythia blooms as you sleep.

– Copyright Kay Winter

 

Readers: I’d love for you to take the
prompts in the poem and write your
responses (any, all) in the comments.
Do a simple list, write your own poem,
whatever you like!

 

Saint Margaret

That year was the year
I fought my way
out of a dragon.

Let me start:
I grew up banished to strangers
outside Antioch.

When I had to,
I chose purity
over expediency.

That explains the dungeon.

But not the tiny exquisite pain
in my fingertip
nipped by the green devil,
emerald-eyed, ashimmer.

That was my own story.

That year was the year
I let the devil swallow my body
into darkness.

That I gave my own breath
for the dragon’s flame.

That year was the year
that let me
sense light
through the belly.

A year
that faith
made sharp
my cross.

That year was the year
that I fought my way
out of a dragon.

That I sliced
through the
thick skin
severing scales
that fell away
like tossed coins
and crawled out
one toe at a time.

By the time I breathed
my own breath again,
and drew my soul
back in,
the dragon
was split
and wilted
at my feet,
temptless,
but for the
glitter
of white teeth.

– Copyright Kay Winter
written New Year’s Day, 2016