Published September 15th, 2024
by Kate Greene
When I was a girl
words flowed like the mighty St. Laurence River in April
gushing and gurgling with the strength of hot sun on ice flows
rising tides of words dancing over similes like airborne contortionists
twisting and turning my childish angst into facsimiles of
enlightened stew –
the offerings of mystical grifters and gurus.
Scratched words on paper
the daily gruel to sustain a little solitary soul
from the brutal blows of irrelevance.
Adulthood claims reality, I'm told.
It faces fear, and forces truth
And that is how it stills those gushing words.
The great St. Laurence has melted and now it is calm.
No more tidal waves of feelings trapped in mystical memes.
Only stoic reserve now from its ancestral pot
Serving bare words that cover the banality of our cries.
In the language of Presbyterian ministers,
Hold not forth,
for the kingdom of heaven is for those who
suffer silently, bear the brunt,
bite bullets.
Clutch not the crutch
of eloquence.
Seek not the grandiose,
but find earthly comfort
in the prosaic.
Such sage advice may give entry
to heavenly Kingdoms
but I am not a seeker of hereafters
nor do I want to be a subject of a King.
I will keep my pen poised for a trickle, if not a flood, and
Blame my parsimonious dearth of words on
that great humbler
the crusher of vanity
the death blow to immortality
called Experience.
About the Poet
Kate Greene resides in Charlottetown, Prince Edward Island, Canada.
Read the poet's biography on Kate Greene's Artist Page.
This poem is included in Comet #3, published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in Canada Poetry Magazine:
Dead Thoughts (or, Moving On)
by Mary L. Robinson
Canada Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
- Visit the main Wax Poetry and Art Submissions Page to see all opportunities.
- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
- This website and all contents ©Kirk Ramdath and specified artists.
(Advertisements)