poetry~

untitled

making art:

metaphor,
metamorphosis,
metastasis,

m e a n i n g

c. Kate Gough

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vapour

again and again
overwhelmed by tears that do not come

heating my face, burning my eyes, stoppering
my throat like a cork in a bottle

the possible and the real take a back seat to
everything that is not
the darkness i feel, like

my soul evaporating within

c. Kate Gough, 17.11.2017

Pores

The world gets into our pores
and writes on us

lines with the clay of
earth, warmth of sun
bite of wind caress ;

sorrow & joy clog our faces
with our insides, the experience of
our lived Grind:connected.

Existentially, we are slow-born sculptures
that tell of a daring hand
a fiery eye, laced with Power and Love

Why hide it?
you can tell a lot by the face of a man
who hasn’t washed it all away.

c. Kate Gough

Oliver Wendell Holmes

–
When I feel inclined to read poetry, I take down my dictionary. The poetry
of words is quite as beautiful as the poetry of sentences. The author may
arrange the gems effectively, but their shape and lustre have been given by
the attrition of ages.
–
— Oliver Wendell Holmes, Sr.,

writer and physician (1809-1894)

hovering

I am gluttonous for life and all things
life.
—
Something,
/////// contrary to popular opinion,
never comes from something else
but always rather
///////// in some fundamental way
from nothing.
—
(hovering over the waters)
—
out of the emptiness
/////////////// comes potential
///// ——— realized,
////////////////// Now.
—
—
c. Kate Gough, 2015