SIX POEMS by CATALINA BLAKE

ALONE AT THE TOP OF THE PLATEAU


The fool is lost in the mountain

new dawns, he is to find, do not

always bring new meanings. But, for a man

who has nothing to loose and

everything to gain,

the clarity of his misstep

is to be his

Ascension


The woodsman toils

the baker bakes

the sparrows congregate to

watch it all unfold


“man,” they say, “was born free”

a common misconception


the common man is starved to death

one way or another

starved of sleep,

of food,

starved of esoteric ambition

soul blind yet

spirit bound, every man is

the common man,

no matter his wealth, health or insight


the king is lonely


IT'S WHAT WE ALL HAVE TO FEAR


They clog the streets, the sidewalks, the hiking trails

they come in packs of 1, 2 and sometimes by the dozen

they don't know why they do it

I don't either


their bath soap is brand name, their car the latest model

they drone from here to work,

and back again,

humbled by Christ

gliding through the fog of the hair salon

bargain shoes

maxed out credit cards

a yearly cruise, all included

the boring and the insane wander

they are aimless, caught in adrift


its hard not to get swept up with 'em


NEWSPAPER CLOSET


Once when I was a child, I heard a man in the downstairs closet

He was there all the time, but especially when I was home

alone

latch key kid, I was home all the time


He liked to read the newspapers that papered the walls in the old closet

The house was from 1812. He was older.


I never saw him, but knew he was there and could hear his old fingers shuffling,

between pages

his old bones creaking from exhaustion


That's a long time to stand in the closet, I thought


He never came out and no one else knew he was there, but I could

hear him reminiscing about old town parades

deals at defunct shoe stores

obits


Spiteful child, I tore it all down.

When My mother asked me why, I didn't have much of answer for her

How do you tell someone that?


Later that night, the strumming of an an old guitar was heard

ruminating through the walls and

No one believed me then, either


OFF THE BEATEN TRACK OF ISOLATION


The distance between

the buildings is wider

than you think and

some just don't connect or touch

or know about each other at all


my windows face the street and

I see you all, moving

to and from, with wreaths

or hand tools, but you are

like the brown buildings around me


I cannot touch you, I can

only see and I see

others who are only allowed to do

the same


THE SEED EATERS


Its taken me a few times to get this

exactly right and

under the foregoing circumstances you are

probably wondering what to do


Computers have replaced workers in some places

virtual realestate is a thing

When a place to live isnt


Yesterday I watched a starling try to

forcibly evict

a couple of homely little seed eaters from

the family home


It started with 2 against 1

until the smaller seed eater called out

steam in cold air

and the collectors

far

and

wide

came and the starling, who was at least

three times their size was out manned and

over powered


He will have to take the home of another

but not my little seed eaters


The vicious cycle will begin again, some day

somewhere

maybe now


So, if your still wondering what to do, try

to find the answer

the next time you talk to the seed eaters

who know enough to have a home

and a place to live

at the same time


THEY COULD BE TELLING THE TRUTH


I could never eat a snake

they spend so much time slithering from here

to god and back again


They rip through puddles

dripping water over long shiny bodies

they hide behind rocks and sometimes in garbage cans

they furl and bend

spy and report

they sleep all day and distort

gods plan of world domination


Sometimes they laugh, although I've never heard it

sometimes they philosophize the purpose

or their single length state


sometimes they lie,

sometimes they don't

To tell you the truth, they are a bit too “man” for me

 

Catalina Blake was born in the 1992nd year of the Common Era and grew up in the Pacific Northwest, where she learned how to hypnotize frogs and get to the apples at the top of the tree. When she's not busy writing presumptuous poetry (which her mother does not understand), Catalina likes searching for found materials, chance meetings and watching the birds tease the neighbor's cat. Catalina now lives in sunny Central Oregon with her husband, 2 dogs and 4 cats.