Monday, September 12, 2005
Poetry, Stories and Art by Kathy Ostman-Magnusen
"Gentle Lambs Do Not Lie Here Anymore"
I heard an angel sing last night.
She used to dwell inside my soul.
She mustered up her strength to tell me,
pages turn and enemies can fold.
Flags fly at half mast,
spirits cease to be.
Creativity sighs a lonely call.
Gentle lambs do not lie here anymore.
Her calm swept across my face.
Her whisper had been lost.
I longed for when I really heard her.
I measured all and could not see,
not you, not me.
Accidents will happen.
I cleared my empty glass.
I bought a tiny ribbon
and tied it to my moods.
I cradled a stone of mercy
and carried it for penitence.
Apologies once freed,
lend hope to a careless loss of precision.
I found those leaves were hidden.
It felt so unkind,
I had nothing there to warm me,
no berries in my basket,
only feathers carved in stone.
There were blades of grass,
that reached the sky.
There were bodies on the highway.
I held myself as she turned the page,
you are not alone.
When someone comes along the path,
maybe they will pick up the cradle,
then with a softer vision,
find a lovelier candle.
I sat across the table
from a heroine of light.
The moon would not forgive me.
I had all the stories in my pocket
and tiny grains of sand.
I told her I'd been humbled
and I did not understand.
She set aside her book of colors,
kneeling by it's side.
There are cheaters in the closet she said
and vacuums down the hall.
There are prices for the wise.
If I lack the salt of luck
to throw across my shoulder.
If I wander through all the treasures,
If I leave these words,
commit their little spirits,
if I can, can you?
Hold me close dear angel,
muster up a little tune,
and rock me like a serpent
that rises to the moon.
"The Vacancy Left Behind "
It's hard to leave such vacancy behind.
There are qualities I may have missed.
Isn't everything more complex
than what was first observed?
How simple to decide this spot was useless.
This pebble, soft spoken stone.
This avenue that spoke of being no where.
I missed that it was adjacent to an explosion
of well meaning gestures.
I missed the sight of a hollow bamboo
that stood silent
before the ever moving currents of the seaside.
I missed the warm, breathing wind
that brought tiny grains of sand
and touched my skin on lonely days.
I missed the memories of reflective thoughts.
I should have measured them;
the treasures that unfolded while sitting still.
the vacancy left behind.
"Inside Of Me"
I feel lonely for the things I ran away from.
Everything feels so loud now.
The voices I did not cherish, then
are put in boxes
screaming to get out.
This piece inside of me
perhaps in you.
This mystery, uncharted routes
that lead to hidden closets,
spaces,voices. lyrical musings
hums and secrets.
Alone in deed and conflict.
I failed to find myself.
There are answers-- I know it.
There are ribbons and sequins
sticks and leaves
green under my feet.
I can make a little boat here.
Blades of grass will be my sail.
There is a ribbon in my pocket
and a note I carried well.
There are words that could not be spoken
that should have been given easily
replacing my tight and uncomely mouth.
There are moments in the note
that help me pace myself.
I can neglect them here
or I can feel them
On this night
She took her eyes from the clear flight
buried her dreams in a sons light
wrapped up in patriots marching.
the turbulent sound of a peace dove
handed her fate with a white glove
that hastily captured the moment.
....Hurry ....... hurry...
white doves were made to be trusted
stories were meant to be ended
she had her cause
focused on whole hearted ventures
always her lover would enter
climb up the mountain
and take her.
.....Hurry.... hurry .....
refuge is found in a clear rhyme
clouds should be noticed as dark signs
.... no time to waste
climb to the mountain
no time to waste
....so I'll ....