i have this sixth sense - knowing how things end before they even begin.
those anticipatory smooches, and nothing more.

i could tell you how the sun and moon can never coexist, but i'd bore you.
maybe, in your imagination, they do.

i could tell you how they were not meant for each other, but i'd break you.
maybe, in your secret confession, they really are.

but dreams always turn to dust, and i'm the one left biting the lust.
i could make a list of how you struck the match with your scheming tongue, just so i'd be the one left putting out the fire alone.

maybe one day, i'll get used to it.  
is it something i should get used to?

what could be harder
getting up before the dawn
beating a lone path

climbing into your cold cab

what could be cooler
sitting high above the snow
clearing a shared path

While passing by a great Gothic church,
I see sullen skies begin to glower:
a looming wicked curse
above the church corona’s tower.

With bruised blue clouds brewing black
in the bellowing wide heavens,
hearts pounding, all shrink slowly back:
Blazing bolts scream and threaten.

Here comes the gale force shrieking wraith!
Take shelter from the storm
in the stout fortresses of your faiths
built with those who keep you warm.

For though some tempests last
over rocky spans of fears,
all the maelstrom’s wrath must pass,
even if it lasts for years.

In these sturdy stones you’ve laid,
rebuild for the coming of new days.

Paralysis sets in,
A symptom of existential dread
How did we get here again?
How did people vote to
Make America 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘴𝘦 Again?

There’s nothing great about
Oppression or misogynistic expression
There’s nothing great about
The home of the brave
When so many don’t feel free.

No glory to God be;
Inauguration will be a day of mourning.
As I look for hope in honoring
The legacy of Dr. King.
May Civil Resistance fill the streets.

Let us tend to community;
For the next four years
Will require resilience and revolution.
Let us care for each other;
In numbers, there is strength.

May our sorrow and rage be a
Tool for Justice.
May we rest when we feel hopeless.
Democracy will not go down without a fight
The time to prevail is here.

© KSS 1/19/2025

Sadness and rage
Boil under my skin
A fear, a desperation
Festering within.

We will not go back.
How can we?
How did we even get here again
In the first place?

I'm so angry,
And scared and nervous
For my own body
For many loved ones lives.

That orange ******* man.
The weak minds of his following
So much hate within him.
So much evil lurking.

I can't sleep sometimes
When the stirring gets too vast
It sits deep down, down, down
Inside my belly.

Get your bans of my body.
Anxiety rings in my mind.
And I won't pretend to even begin to understand
How others feel because I get that my skin is white.

Too much to hold internally
My body begins to shake
My head begins to pound.
My blood begins to boil.

I feel like lighting **** on fire.
Deep breathing doesn't help.
I feel like screaming.
I've got to let this out.

Just then I start to hear a whisper
A reminder traveling on the
Rustling leaves.

T R A N S M U T E
this energy.

Move into a place of love.
Let the tears flow.
Let the brush stroke.
Let the earth heal.
Let the rage guide.
Let the anger speak.
Let the fear release.
Let the words out.
Let the drum beat.
Let the feet stomp.
Let the hips dance.
Let the hands give.
Let the heart hold.
Let the love grow.
Let it rise up.
From the depths of your altruistic soul.

We are not going back.
We will vote to win.
We will not back down.
We will stand our ground.
We will walk with strength.
We will be hand in hand.
We will cross that bridge.
We will see love resound.
We will lift one another up.
We will not let fear win.
We will not let hate live.
We will prevail again, and again, and again.

©KSS 9/29/2024

I came to the creek to talk to God,
But I'm not sure God is listening.
I used to see the world through rose-colored glasses,
But now my heart just aches.

I let my tears flow down my cheeks
Like the leaves flowing down the stream.
I release my anger and anguish to the wind
And as I look up and to my left, there a blue heron stands.

Deep breath in.
I watch a chipmunk scurry behind the blue heron
I watch the blue heron watch the chipmunk.
My dog sitting next to me is full of curiosity.

Grief and despair, sadness and rage
And all I can do is sit on this rock
Listening to the flowing waters song
And write some **** poetry.

I feel sick in the depths of my stomach
For my nation, for my neighbors
For so many loved ones.
For my own body and the choices I may no longer be able to make.

The warm sun beating down
Reminds me that it's too warm for November
Our Earth is crying out
And so are we.

I'm not sure what hope feels like in this moment.
I will give my body and mind time and space to grieve.
Grief turned into forward motion
Transmutes into Love.

I came to the creek to talk to God.
But I'm not sure God is listening.
So instead of talking, I will sit in silence
To watch the blue heron, to feel the breeze, and weep.

©KSS 11/6/2024

Wishful eternal sphere formed by emotion
Where shatters come together in love
A new day whispers promises of hope and dreams reborn
As cloudy purple skies dissipate against receding storms
New life blossoms into a new dawn.

A frail man stood high on a granite precipice
as rain lashed harshly his wrinkled brow.
His dead eyes stared fixed into the abyss
while the deep clouds held an intemperate row.

The powdery embers of his belly’s red fire
had dimmed to flecks of faintest off white.
But now, not far from where this had transpired
shone out a tall lighthouse streaming bright.

And in its arc light’s blazing blue beams
the haggard man saw past his mind’s edge
to see he wasn’t the only in a feverish dream:
Multitudes stood each on a dark stony ledge.

Just then the others saw too through the gloom
that they were surrounded in this bracken dell
by bleak fellow travelers of similar doom:
They shared in their bones that they all were unwell.

This newfound chorus sang their litanies all
in crescendos of crisis and depths they bewailed
but the more that joined in, the music recalled
how by sharing their song they’d over darkness prevail.

There in the bellies of each in the throng
once cold embers began to kindle a spell:
This company of the crushed composed a new song
whose magic this sympathy symphony cast well.