Wednesday, October 26, 2005


there's a beautiful cranberry bog behind our house here. i took a kabillion photos as soon as i got home and saw the man peddling around on his hover craft churning all the berries to the surface. having spent my life on cape cod, i've never actually been witness to the churning part of bogging--i'd always assumed that as soon as they flooded the bogs the berries just popped up.

Tuesday, October 25, 2005

bite size poetry snacks

been writing mostly in my new journal/book/thingy; so we're left with all of these 2 to 8 line minature poems, perfect for snacking. here are the ones i find particularly tastey...


tell yourself, you're supposed to feel like this.
everyone else does,
some must feel it more.

i tell myself,
i'm supposed to feel like this.
i know others do, some even more so.


my love poem to him
like all the others
begins with a metaphor
and ends with a promise.


my dearest robotic companion;

where have you hidden the extension cord?
and why can't i get the iron to steam?
the lawn needs mowing,
but the engine oil has gone missing.
can you help me? or are you too busy
building a girlfriend like in that movie we saw?


he has a distate for silicon
and you can't blame him;
not after what silicon did,
not after such a falling out.
i don't know the details,
only that she's quite slippery
(always has been, you know)


i lost the ring in my sleep
but lost more in my dream
only to find him sitll there
when i woke.


do you know where
we keep
the rolls of deductive reasoning?


third confirmation
with that crane
and that place.


next time on something katy you'll get to read two poems, the first called "leaves in my sandwich" and the second called "robots don't make good valentines". also in the works, the scrabble results poem (a poem constructed of words formed by an intense game of scrabble on the internet).

[see, by telling you what's coming up, it's like i'm promising you (and therefore myself) that these poems will be edited and posted.]

number 38

i made the list!

what else is there to say? my humble little blog is on the same list as ron silliman and the spamming poet... all thanks to one person's project to collect 100 blogging poets in 100 days.

i can't wait to see what else shows up on the list, maybe my friend arch.memory, whose poetry is an ever growing sorce of inspiration, or perhaps the virtual itch.

my blog is no better than theirs, perhaps i merely caught someone's attention, perhaps my blog is bloggerific and i didn't even know. maybe it was because for a few days there, it was pink (we fixed that), who knows...

anyway, i'm really glad and really proud and really tired and really pleased to be able to share the list with all (click on the post title). i'll be spending time checking out each and every one of the other listed blogs, in the hopes that others may do the same.

(some poems to come in the next post)


the profundity


no one know how to describe the date, nor time,
since our species has departed its land and its oceans.
our planet, once overwhelmed by us, is now recovering.
the process of growing back the smallest details... its what we wait for...
the first pearl means we can begin to migrate back, in phases.
until that anticipated moment, that discovery,
we wait abandoned and loitering in orbits around moons and unnamed rocks.
disbanded and all to blame for our separation and solitude.


p.s. missing polly

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

putting on perspective lenses

To make a point about gas prices… in 1866 oil cost approximately $31 per gallon… I don’t even want to think about how much per litre in pounds that works out to.

"In his book ''History of the American Whale Fishery,'' Alexander Starbuck notes
that sperm oil peaked at $2.55 per gallon in 1866, more than twice the price of
oil from other whales. Adjusted for 139 years of inflation, that's almost $31
per gallon in 2005 dollars. "

Granted it was no where near the same kind of oil, oil nonetheless. Perspective is pivotal in considering every day life and our tumultuous world. I don’t think we have it anywhere as near difficult as the Victorians must have. I don’t where a corset (also a product of whale hunting) and I don’t pay over $300 at the pump every time I fill up my car.