Swans in the Wind

c. Mary Kathryn Gough

c. Mary Kathryn Gough, Instagram


Idiolalia Poetry Collection Now Available!

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Idiolalia is available straight from the printer now at 3 GBP or 5 USD each (or a cheaper PDF ebook copy).

If you order from Lulu through the link provided here it should be sent straight to your house, super-easy.

The price may change in the future, but for now it’s a steal 😉 so if you’ve appreciated any of the poetry on my blog and might like to have an accessible 25-30 of them for yourself, please support my work.

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PS. I’m currently working on a new collection titled Faith & Forces

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The wild tossing
in the trees above me can be nothing but
an ancient dance of pure joy; lady Wind is
rushing through the scene, darting this way and
that, invisible to everyone. But my heart
joins in her feral laughter.

She is slim, kinetic, pale, and graceful: breath-
taking. Long, dark tresses flow as if floating in
water. Streaking with lighteningly quicksilver
movements, her bright, obsidian eyes glint out
from between-places, their volcanic treasure
somehow intensely cool and polished
like stars. An erratic comet weaving wildly
through the trees, she transforms the fields into
a blue and silver waving ocean.

All the way home, a wild, cleansing Wind
rushes coldly through my soul,
laughing for sheer joy.

c. Mary Kathryn Gough 3/29/03
edit: Mon December 5th, 2011 8.23pm wales

Liquid Language

two o’clock in the morning, dull and grey outside with the soft sound of (hundreds of thousands of) millions of raindrops
springing out of the air and coming softly to rest on gravel, grass, snow, leaves, dirt, and rocks.

Pitter-patterput-put-put, splish-splashand dripdrip-drop.


from a distance, the sounds run together and the resultant river sounds like
the spirits of gathering waves on a blue and misty ocean.

its rolling sound curls. curves. undulates, as though lady wind were struggling to find
words, but instead voicing pure emotion embossed with silver mist.

c. Mary Kathryn Gough
approx. 2002


a dusky-green hilltop at midnight,
on my back in prickly grass, gasping for
air, and wiping the sparkling sea out of my eyes
i feel the evergreens
sparsely gathered here by human hands
are buffeted by the same inexplicable
winds of indecipherable whisperings,
the grass shivers in silvery expectation. there
is a single star in the smoggy city sky.
i think we would all ascend above
if we could.

each stem, each leaf
– struggling–
for its next breath, to pull nutrients
from a parched and
poisoned earth
we must endure here
as we can–

take joy in each moment of green
each splash of cool
water each pixie-sparkle of Io-dust-starlight:
stretch out to touch the blessing of

c. Mary Kathryn Gough, 2002