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…… Read more “vapour”
The world gets into our poresand writes on us lines with the clay ofearth, warmth of sunbite of wind caress ; sorrow & joy clog our faceswith…… Read more “Pores”
Empty pages are freakish. Too beautiful to touch, tosully, to fingerprint so casually. They are whole, andthe essence of words, writing,/ breaks that/ like speech breaks a…… Read more “Killing Clowns”
stark feathers rise in rows from soil soaked by rain a farmer's windbreak --- --- c. Kate Gough
smoking stacks weary my soul. — — c. Kate Gough Photo by Patrick Hendry on Unsplash
I want to reclaim so many words from the INDUSTRIES of today: — Reverberate is a wild, wide, ecstatic word that could cover the earth with waves…… Read more “reverberate.verb”
you're \ \ \ so carefully constructed flaunting what you \ \ \ \ \ \ \ \ think they want to see \ \ \… Read more "Constructed"
sooty secrets buried in black: bleak as beak. --- windswept wood, wild sweet orange, swan's neck swoops. --- carefully curated, beautiful mind hovers over clear blue sky,… Read more "Narkissos"
There are so many people, especially among our comrades, who imagine that words are nothing – on the contrary, isn't it true that saying a thing well… Read more "Vincent"
I can’t find my incense. I don’t want to write. I desperately want nothing more than to write. For ever. So then, perhaps I’m just a stymied…… Read more “The Ever-Processing Machine”
Oh! to make art, scintellant polished, lustrous a:blaze. Nothing could satisfy more, could matter more deeply than the warmth of those flames, the flight of those…… Read more “artless”
‘It is widely rumored, and also true, that I wrote my first novel in a closet. Before I get all rapturous and carried away here, I had…… Read more “‘If the Furies Should Take…’”
you could be heckler harpy or feind; i may lie derelict here but i draw the open sea to me. ~ Kate Gough, March 2015
I treat my stories like a bad case of the hiccups, swallowing, swallowing, holding my breath ( ) swallowing, changing position, swallowing… Perhaps this is why I…… Read more “Hiccup”
Wrinkles sagging with weariness, Gretel June seated her crooked torso on the last clear surface in the house: a padded footstool. The world swam in complete and terrifying circles around her, and closing her eyes only made it worse. She felt a lump in her throat that had nothing whatsoever to do with her heart, and much more to do with her stomach. Everything swirled so fast!
Ancient, knotted hands cupped a steaming mug of hot liquid, which she blew on periodically, but never sipped…
“I never feel that I have comprehended an emotion, or fully lived even the smallest events, until I have reflected upon it in my journal; my pen… Read more "Truest Confidant"
“The man who writes about himself and his own time is the only man who writes about all people and all time.” ~ George Bernard Shaw (1856…… Read more “The Only Man”