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The realisation that this violent red came up in me, that it had put itself out there, against my peaceful blue

hidden underneath my skin I thought, but once this/the disconnection came up, this unsafety, the red escaped 

and in an instant, alien became less distant, fluid in my daily countenance. How I've always assumed you

were the rock and I the water, how it turned out to be still and all. Me fully capable of standing my stones 

in the fluidity of waves, in this life of ebbs & flows. And even while I peak over the cliff edge, with the wind 

in my face, drawn into depth & distance - I know the cracks of then and the hills of now will become a passage,

a progress through the fragments I breathe, for the joy I feel. You went along to trust my inner world, while

you wouldn't anyway. So I decided to wend my place that provides me to dream up and survive nonetheless. 

Once your heart has jumped out of your body, the rivers & tides will smooth over. Structured daydreaming will bring

out the bright, fresh morning I need to scare off the ghosts of my lost night, a subverted realism to coast through a

clear consciousness over some guilt and uneasy vulnerableness. What's done, is done. True. Imagine that.
I reel off a little revolution...

I reel off a little revolution
I reel off a little pretty revolution
I am no longer of land
I am back to be water
I wear creamy crest on my head
and some shooting shadows in it
On my back a mermaid asleep
and the wind well at rest
The wind and the mermaid sing
of the rustle of the creamy crest
of the falling of shooting shadows

                   So

I reel off a little pretty rustling revolution
and I fall and I whisper and sing
The colours in my house
nowadays 
black towels in the bathroom
while kitchen ones in orange
midnight blue on my toenails
today is the day
for my best green dress while
my argent laptop provides me
with the best tunes of the world
so today it is
dancing on the wooden floor, like 
devils may care, crimson lacquer heels
and why not, no a silver lining setting 
these days
Kate Copeland Mar 30
Winter and my love are gone
a blackbird on my roof
her fauces moving, her beak
trembling as whispering to herself.

She listens: from the faraway tree
like a knock of rocks together
a bonfire of longing, so loud
so clear and so very terrifying...
The blackbird with a cry
dives into the spring waves
so full of wildness I can hardly
endure: winter and my love have gone.

M. Vasalis (1909-1998)
Kate Copeland Mar 27
March days have returned yet in
a completely different light than
in other years - in former times

now traffic noise has died
while standing on my doorstep
when looking at yellow flowers

new silence
green gardens
blue rooftops

Days are long and friendless and
I really need to dive in deep
to find the memory between all

this concrete, of the ocean
a smell of salt - sounds of
seagull cries. So here I am

in silence
green gardens
near rooftops

Close my eyes on the upper terrace
knowing the buildings and for a day
all has a blue peace while birds sing

full need to leave it all behind
throughout time it'll be clear
when possible turns doable
Kate Copeland Feb 25
Some coded emotion of a kind
not seasoned enough to express
if you mean to say no, just say no
just...
Some mid-morning of a kind
not timeless enough to enter
if you want to go, just go
just...
not going anywhere
not writing anything
not worth any lot
Some onlooker of life
just...
Kate Copeland Feb 23
She lies in bed
thinks about the
torturous times
- why do sheets
always seem to
coincide with
consider, relive,
thinking too
through?
She is good at
serpentness, her
suitors said she
always seemed to  
be at best when
unkind. It is just
hard to trust one.
It is just safer to
wreck with words,
he cried.
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