"kathleen" poems
I am slowly learning to disregard the insatiable desire to be special. I think it began, the soft piano ballad of epiphanic freedom that danced in my head, when you mentioned that “Van Gogh was her thing” while I stood there in my overall dress, admiring his sunflowers at the art museum. And then again on South Street, while we thumbed through old records and I picked up Morrissey and you mentioned her name like it was stuck in your teeth. Each time, I felt a paintbrush on my cheeks, covering my skin in grey and fading me into a quiet, concealed background that hummed “everything you’ve ever loved has been loved before, and everything you are has already been,” on an endless loop. It echoed in your wrists that I stared at, walking (home) in the middle of the street, and I felt like a ghost moving forward in an eternal line, waiting to haunt anyone who thought I was worth it. But no one keeps my name folded in their wallet. Only girls who are able to carve their names into paintings and vinyl live in pockets and dust bunnies and bathroom mirrors. And so be it, that I am grey and humming in the background. I am forgotten Sundays and chipped fingernail polish and borrowed sheets. I’m the song you’ll get stuck in your head, but it will remind you of someone else. I am 2 in the afternoon, I am the last day of winter, I am a face on the sidewalk that won’t show up in your dreams. And I am everywhere, and I am nothing at all.
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 12:34 PM UTC
My First Day at Hogwarts
On a Saturday morning,
I woke up in pain.
Perched on top of my head,
Was an owl shaking its mane.
As I focused my glance,
the owl got clearer.
There was something clutched in its beak;
a pale yellow letter.
When I opened it,
words started to bloom,
Mr Y. Vartak,
The inner bedroom.
‘You have a place
in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,
Points will be taken for wrong,
and awarded for bravery.’
I showed it to my parents,
Who were not at all surprised.
They were in fact very happy,
I am a wizard I realized!
We took a plane to London,
Visit Diagon Alley.
In a hurry to buy my first wand,
robes and stationery.
It was the first of September,
so we hurried to Kings Cross.
We got to platform nine and three quarters,
after struggling through the chaos.
I had everything in my trunk,
I had nothing more to get.
My parents surprised me,
by giving me an owl as a pet.
I got a seat in the Hogwarts Express,
and put my robes,
There was a boy opposite me,
he was juggling bewitched globes.
We got off the train,
At Hogsmeade Station.
There was an amazing castle,
that was beyond my imagination.
We rowed across the lake,
sitting on boats,
It was getting colder,
so we pulled on our coats
We entered the hall,
Full of eyes.
There was a roof above us,
that represented the vast skies.
There was a dusty hat,
in the middle of a stage,
It had a rip near the brim,
so it looked older than its age.
A professor named Minerva,
Put that hat on my head.
The rip opened like a mouth,
Interesting is what it said.
The Sorting Hat as it was called,
said that he had to think some more,
After a while it yelled:
‘He’ll go in GRYFFINDOR!’
I joined the Gryffindor,
at the Start-Of-Term Feast.
We were so involved I talking,
we cared for our sleep the least.
After the feast, we departed,
for Gryffindor Common Room,
Outside the portrait hole, there was,
a shiny black broom.
I changed from my robes to my nightdress,
lay down watching the dying ember.
My eyelids were getting heavy,
I walked into a deep slumber.
This poem is written by me,
Yash Singh.
Specially written for my favourite,
Joanne Kathleen Rowling.
Sep 8, 2019
Sep 8, 2019 at 7:20 AM UTC
Shannon, Mariah, Serena, Maria
Meridia, Midian, Sharon, Alliah
Rochelle, Camille, Rose, Halo
Trenna, Jessica, Ashley, Georgia
Marla, Olivia, Sofia, India
Daniella, Diana, Christina, Caroline
Isabella, Amelia, Amanda, Matilda
Nadine, Haley, Bailey, Francine
Eliza, Annabelle, Kathryn, Sandra
Melinda, Audrey, Aubrey, Emily
Tara, Emma, Ginny, Kathleen
Josephine, Helena, Charlotte, Laura
Chelsea, Arkady, Megan, Kelsey
Kayla, Karliah, Moana, Vivien
Kaysea, Macy, Stacy, Lorraine
Theresa, Felicia, Cecilia, Darlene
Holly, Brianna, Alexa, Ariel
Marianne, Miranda, Jennie, Coral
Korra, Daisy, Penelope, Rayne
Zoey, Cassandra, Grace, Stephanie
Jul 27, 2013
Jul 27, 2013 at 12:34 AM UTC
March 26th my beloved and beautiful sister passed away.
Her son found her in her bedroom in the morning;
the medics couldn't revive her and said her heart had collapsed.
My nephew and I are in a daze, the loss seems unbearable. She was a
very talented poet. Please go to her poems on hp and celebrate her
writing. She is listed under: Kathleen Myra Colby. I will always love
and miss her.
Adelaide Caron Dyson. (04/10/12)
Apr 10, 2012
Apr 10, 2012 at 1:01 PM UTC
I thought I had myself all figured out
I thought that when I was in one of these 'moods' or having one of those "days" I was only looking through a tinted window where I saw everything negatively
But I realized
that it is the pills that sugar coat my world in synthetic happiness
It's not what I look through, its me.
Its on my insides, the sugar has to slide down my throat
to make it all better
she said it would even me out
i thought she was right at first
but now i realized she was a liar, and only a liar
I'm the one that needs to be sugar coated for others.
I'm the sour candy coated with fine powdered sugar.
I'm the bad that the good is trying to cover up.
And that is sickening, but how do I react?
Take another pill, Kathleen.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 6:32 PM UTC
From my Dark Watcher Series;
Lost in a nightmare world,
tangled in a vine of despair.
Held tightly in it's thistles,
my heart has been laid bare.
Bleeding from the sharpened thorns,
tears of sorrow, run ****** down my cheeks.
Where is this merciful God?
Relief from this pain is all I seek.
Show me the door to eternity,
that lies beneath the towering elms.
For this world holds no more peace,
and bids me enter your realm.
Ripped apart by Heavens fury,
I travel the path of dark dreams.
For the light of this soul is lost,
floating amidst life's turbulent streams.
Cast out upon the crying winds,
beat into the rustic earth.
Enfold me in the safety of your arms,
and lie me in the place of my rebirth.
Kathleen M. Kohl/Levinski
Dec 10, 2013
Dec 10, 2013 at 12:27 PM UTC
"hello kate ," Jack delleto says and sits down.
"my name isn't kate. it's Kathleen.'" hello Dell. "sue thinks Dell is such a **** name. " what should I call you?"
"how about darling?'
she looks up from the whiskey glass "hello, Jack, DARLIN." her soft deep voice whispers.
Kathleen crosses her legs and the black dress rides up to the middle of her thigh.
Jack glances at the milky white flesh. she is drunk and Dell does not care. he leans forward, ''do you wanna dance ?
"but no one else is dancing."
"Well, we could go to the beach and take a walk on the sand.
"It's twenty degrees outside." she swallows the last of the whiskey. "we'll freeze."
"i' ll keep you warm."
"all right let's dance."
"jack stands up and takes her by the hand. she rises and jack holds her close to him. jack feels her heart thumbing.
she rests her head on his shoulder. "what matters most to you?"
"not giving up."
"what's important to you?" he asks.
Kate lifts her head off his shoulder and looks into his eyes. "I don't want to be on welfare, and I want to be able to send my son to college." she rests her cheek against his. "I lived in foster care homes all my life and I always knew one day I'd have to leave. do you know the difference between a house and a home?"
Her voice is a roaring whisper in his ear. "love."
the song comes to an end. kate takes a cigarette from the pack.
jack strikes a match and the light flickers in her eyes. "maybe someday you'll have a home."
"do you want me to?" she leans forward and puts the cigarette to the flame.
"Yes."
Kate blows out the match.
May 13, 2017
May 13, 2017 at 2:25 PM UTC
Lost your *** and spent your gold
Drunk all night and you were told
The Murphy girls have brothers ninefold...
So, have you an inkling this mornin'?
Don't say you had no warnin'!
Gee those Murphy girls sure are pretty
But now your listening to this "told ya so" ditty
Got a bit fresh and way too giddy...
So now your hurting this mornin'
At least last night wasn't boring!
So next year's the same when put'n on the green
Remember the date it's March Seventeen
Kathleen, Maureen, Colleen do preen...
Just to count your gold in the mornin'
So don't be a leprechaun hornin'
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 1:40 PM UTC
The air is brisk, all the leaves the color of flames,
as they send off sparks to incite the heat of desire.
Watching as they sway like lovers dancing in the wind.
The sun reflects off the pond as if sprinkled with glitter.
Ducks swim amongst the flickering lights as if they
were a ballet that never tires,
A path leads to a magical gazebo that has withstood
the hands of time. Etched into its body are the words
of lovers written in rhyme. What wonderful secrets
this old wood must have heard told. All the kisses
and whispered endearments of lovers so bold.
Stolen kisses, forbidden embraces, anger, frustration,
laughter and tears. this place had to have seen it all,
in it’s many years. Touch the wood and feel all the warmth
of love and desires it holds. Each grain protecting a memory
of one of many in its fold.
So come with me my friends, walk along its trodden paths.
Stroll with me into the Realm of love and fantasies.
Listen to the winds of change, dancing through the leaves.
If you listen close you just might be able to hear, a lover’s
soft laugh or maybe the falling of a tear.
Kathleen Kohl/Levinski
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 9:55 PM UTC
Duke was admiring his puppy self in the mirror,
when upon his nose a bright red spot did appear.
Turning his head first to the left, then to the right,
studying his nose and this strange red dot so bright.
His young Master Ryan had red dots across his nose.
“Freckles” Ryan had told the pup, with eyes so sad.
So if it was a freckle it was also bad.
Ryan, his best friend was human, you see.
Duke was a puppy, one day a dog to be.
Humans sometimes got freckles.
Dogs sometimes got fleas.
He remembered another time,
When he had found a flea.
That was so long ago.
But not like this one, that
in the light seemed to glow.
Maybe if he barked, it would go away.
“ WOOF!” He said, and still it stayed.
Scared, his master Ryan he went to find.
lying his head in Ryan’s lap, he whined.
Ryan looked at his pup and laughed with glee,
a the red spot on his puppy’s nose he did see.
Duke looked up and was surprised to see,
that Ryan had hundreds of the same red fleas.
In the room Ryan’s Mother came,
“So this is where my glitter went” She exclaimed.
Ryan laughed at his Mom and Duke was relieved.
This strange red spot that had made him so bitter,
was not a freckle or a flea, but only red glitter.
Kathleen Kohl/Levinski
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 5:54 PM UTC
To Kathleen-
Nor I can give, nor you can take; endures
The simple truth of me that is yours.
Is not the music mingled with the form
When all the heavens break in blind black storm?
Are we not veiled as Gods, and cruel as they,
Smiting our brilliance on the shuddering clay?
Silence and darkness cover us, confirm
Our splendour to its unappointed term:
For all the men homunculi that dance
Around us shudder at our brilliance.
These puppets perish in the good grand glare,
Our sworded sunlight in the boundless air !
These bats need cloisters; these tame birds a cage;
How should they know the Masters of the Age?
Or understand when the archangels cry
Adoring us Ellên kat' asterh ei?
2k
*a descent
1000 feet down
to pristine silence
a Silence
on surface unknown..
guide speaks there of
miners and animals
struggles to eke
in candlelight
daily bread from
earth's stubborn veins..
encasements:
gold in rocks
ounces in tons
suffering and toil
in that Silence...*
Jul 1, 2013
Jul 1, 2013 at 12:08 PM UTC
A Mean machine in obscene gang green
The Candlelight flicker in busted T V screen
Scream queen Ilene in paralyzed dream
Dean Irene exploded her spleen
It seems when she ate some beans
Kathleen drank from a canteen of benzene
Said sardines soaked in saline make the best cuisine
Eugene came between Kristine and Janine
When they went to the ravine in Racine
Teens hopped up on caffeine convene
With Thirteen marines on Halloween
On routine to clean and preen the latrines
I’m keen to notice the things that you’ve seen
?
? ?
? ? ?
? ?
??
? ?
? ? ?
? ?
??
? ?
? ? ?
? ?
?
What if you could unseen what you've seen
Apr 6, 2012
Apr 6, 2012 at 9:54 PM UTC
I have a son
not too far south
of me, close enough
to jump in my car
and go speak of my love
but I won't put a bit
in his mouth or saddle
him with my troubles
We could cut our palms
open with sharp knives
and be blood brothers
the rest of our lives
and I could find another
woman in the mountains
instead of staying here
with his mother he loves
while he swims his own
sea of life without me
instead I drive long drives
and count the keys
on the black piano
of the highways at night
passing beautiful women
who wave and smile back
but I'm only dreaming
keeping night watch
over my bed, I dream
about old songs that sing
back to me like one
by Townes Van Zandt
about going down to see
a woman named Kathleen.
Apr 16, 2017
Apr 16, 2017 at 9:21 AM UTC
Still must the poet as of old,
In barren attic bleak and cold,
Starve, freeze, and fashion verses to
Such things as flowers and song and you;
Still as of old his being give
In Beauty’s name, while she may live,
Beauty that may not die as long
As there are flowers and you and song.
1.7k
The day was good,
the sun shining, a breeze
winding around the pines.
Two mockingbirds
were playing
guess me.
Cumuli loitered
above ground shadows
with cats jumping
from one to the other
in a game that only
they understood.
I felt the stirring of precipitate
motion on my cheek as a shadow
passed by whispersing the words
of an old song by Townes
about going down to see Kathleen.
I never meant for it to rain.
r ~ 5/7/14
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:36 PM UTC
If I when my wife is sleeping
and the baby and Kathleen
are sleeping
and the sun is a flame-white disc
in silken mists
above shining trees,—
if I in my north room
dance naked, grotesquely
before my mirror
waving my shirt round my head
and singing softly to myself:
“I am lonely, lonely.
I was born to be lonely,
I am best so!”
if I admire my arms, my face
my shoulders, flanks, buttocks
against the yellow drawn shades,—
who shall say I am not
the happy genius of my household?
1.6k
A day, not so very long ago,
our lives were made complete.
GOD sent us such a blessing,
a child so soft and sweet.
A gentle, pretty little girl,
With a smile that catches your eye.
Chestnut hair, and a button nose,
eyes as blue as the morning sky.
As he looks down upon this
Earth of yours and mine.
He knows he sent an Angel,
as a blessing and a sign.
As I watch you grow
I come to realize,
How very special you are
In your Grandma’s eye.
Kathleen Kohl/Levinski
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 10:42 PM UTC
I enjoy driving slowly
Up Kathleen Avenue,
It brings out my
Split personality.
The sun strobes
Through pre-leaf spring;
I remember a boy
Twirling on the dance floor lawn,
Then called to the back,
To the used nail pile.
There's gratitude for the rain,
Splash in gutters;
The weeds will grow.
The spades, like naked stick-children,
Are heeled into mounds,
Beneath the dripping clothesline,
Far from his playful sounds.
I am me,
I was you:
My cryogenic memory
Thaws to resolve
We two.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 9:23 AM UTC
“When” anger runs through me like a wildfire.
I have these Twisted thoughts come into my mind making me wonder if I'm rotten to the Core.
“Because” suddenly I'm not the nice girl from next door.
I'm a monster in a cage and that cage is called my skin and I'm itching to get out and to play with your mind as Revenge. Poem by Shelby Kathleen Nightingale
May 4, 2017
May 4, 2017 at 3:27 PM UTC
From my Dark Watcher Series;
A heart carries a shield, which to hold at bay,
the demons of the night, that want to play.
Warding off the tears, that joins the game,
with feelings of hate, giving birth to shame.
Swords drawn, the duel begins once more,
sheathes of angry words, slamming doors.
Ruthless sparring that cuts to the soul,
their points dipped in poison, take their toll.
Lethal cuts, rivers of tears that run red,
through gouged cliffs of unknown dread.
Spiteful jousting of controlling speeds,
that ****** deep, to finish the fateful deed.
Kathleen Kohl/Levinski
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 11:42 AM UTC
Kathleen
Crowley Born on December 26, 1929,
in the Green Bank section
of Washington Township, ( ),
[ , ], [ ]
Burlington County, New Jersey,
Crowley graduated from Egg Harbor
City High School in 1946.
On August 7, 1949, the 19-year-old
won the title Miss New Jersey
at a contest held at Asbury Park;
As Miss New Jersey, she entered
the Miss America pageant
in Atlantic City, New Jersey,
on September 10, 1949,
finishing seventh; [ ]
At the time she was a bookkeeper
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 2:14 PM UTC
Her words ignite a fire in his blood as
thoughts of possessing her fill his mind.
He knows not how she is able to touch him
with the miles so vast between them.
But her words are as fingers of passion,
leaving a burning trail across his skin.
She speaks the language of lovers as old as time,
with a desire so intense it rages beyond control,
filling his heart with a glorious love, and a warmth
that reaches deep into his soul.
He knows this to be the only way his love for her
he can embrace, for the vows she has spoken before
him she knows she can not disgrace.
So let it be here that he has her love,
for he knows he can never say goodbye.
She has intertwined her thoughts with his,
touched his heart with fingers of love and desire.
He understands that in her heart and soul a
lifetime of love for him alone resides.
Kathleen Kohl/Levinski
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 10:22 PM UTC
I cannot replace a loss like Kathy
Who inspired my world of rhyme
Who encouraged my neatest metaphors
And urged me take the time
She cheered me to the loftiest
And made me reach plateaus
I never even knew before
I'd have the will to go
She was a poet and an angel
This human in disguise
She touched my life and made me see
A world beyond my skies
She kept my quill original
And made my words more wise
She'll come by I know she will
Each time my fire dies
Copyright Louis Brown
Apr 15, 2012
Apr 15, 2012 at 4:47 PM UTC