Katherine Rose Whitmore

December 24, 2011. At noon.
_______________________________________

Bury this body feathers quivered and eyes hollow,
Grieve your wings and sanguine neck—
Marbled into death and soaked with cold—
Balanced by the wood,
and carried to a respectful mound to fall into the dirt and sprout into an elm
which carries the wind in a mournful tone:
This sandstone holds a secret too delicate to speak,
A fragile moment that echoes with weighted steps
And weeps into the wood
________________________________________

Text 22
Notes Past

April 7, 2011. In the late morning.

________________________________________

Beautifully lonesome and happily so

Green sunlight in dark wind bites at shoulders

Which fold into bones and shrug away cold

Bitter phrases on wood cut against eyes

To choke back their cries with a content sigh

________________________________________

#poetry #photography #nature #nature photography #barbed wire #loneliness

Text 2
Notes

March 22, 2011. In the evening.

_________________________________________________________

Love has done a terrible thing to me.

I’m happy.

Nothing hounds me and nothing haunts me. I sleep in the warm hearth glow of a man’s arms. A rhythmic duet tempts me to slumber. The notes course through our extremities and chimney snores smoke into my ears.

A lifetime ago cold apprehension of a lonesome future suffocated my sleep: a hollow pit where my thoughts ricocheted into my hands. Word scratches were produced both in brute periods of genius and time slogged through. But I no longer need the therapy of words.

I leave my happiness to find the pleasure of language again.

I slouch in the light of a dying bulb. A dark form shifts lazily behind me and wiffles. The bulb’s jaundice sours and withers my eyes, which suffer the scrape of each blink.

It’s been hours since a word has slapped onto the thick paper, and even that word was a swear of exasperation. The old words mock my past banefully. As I imagine my former glory gasping in emaciation, I hear the trill of my stomach warbling.

Emotion buzzes into my temples and behind my eyes. A stone is dropped into the well of my jaw.

The lamp flickers twice and leaves me in blue shadows.

The temptation of a man’s dark body dares my hands to be unproductive.

_________________________________________________________

#ohgeezihopemyparentsdontreadthis #poetry #prose #short story

Text 4
Notes Weep

September 6, 2011. In the late morning.

_____________________________________

Sweeping drifting delicate serenade

Pierces thoughts

Deepening in ocean darkened

pattering in slow climb to robotic inclinations

nostalgic scars well into my bones

your whiskers scratch into my ventricles

and my spattered blood sours the taste of the morning weeping.

Bear mother devouring your child

smells of a brighter spring in sinews,

and torn blackness dribbling into bare hope—

bone shattering across the galaxy

the melody of thunder gripping the machinations of child—

moaning air in collapsed organ

dying gasp of a clergyman spouting transience of life

tufted pink flesh dissolved into haunted weeping,

Forever weeping long.

_____________________________________

#poetry #writing #freeverse

Text 1
Notes Sculpture

Written at the Nasher Sculpture Center on September 23, 2011

in the afternoon

___________________________________

Transparent turned translucent

Aching in its pyramid

A monumental tomb to sand

Mankind is shaped by his containers

Tread lightly on this hallowed ground

To not disturb the thinking

The dreams and quiet blinking

A mouth of wood which feed the eyes

And climbing ancestral forms of the earth

Give way to beauty

Coupled forms eternally linked to find

The scalloped entrances of pink

Legs in waiting legs to pounce

To chase down the very thing it is

Stalagmites man made stalactites to bleed man

Who dares to try

Aching thoughts effort to breed but

Multiply themselves in singular form

Angular objects make liquid form

Chance turned to motion

Old wood riddled with awe

Do you see the hooks or the history?

What is uncommonly seen of the common becomes beauty

___________________________________

#poetry #writing #sculpture #prose

Text 5
Notes Bildungsroman

A sonnet I’ve been working on today.

September 23, 2011. Around noon.

_______________________________________

Bildungsroman quaking in a dry palm

Creviced and ravaged spiral fingertips

Drip deep purple to dust rolled wood. So calm

Are the marching marks across paper lips,

And weeping are the bibliophiles

Holding crackered pages once thick with pulp

Savored and smelt with spiced words and styles,

Now bloodied beasts bearing mea culpa:

Perhaps, beautiful love, you would cry now

Weeping to thin the stains of dead dissents.

But the radiated flesh clinging to your plow

Quivers into hungry snarls; pained content

In your synapsed organ spikes your old thought

That worthless is this book from darkness wrought.

________________________________________

#language #poetry #prose #sonnets #writing #books #reading

Photos

Hi, I’m Katherine. I like color, and kindness, and art.