give the pain a voice

this holiday season may you feel part of. not alone. and if you are in pain, what does the pain say to you? give the pain a voice so it can tell you what it needs to go away… then go ahead and give it what it needs because it’s the giving season, honey, it’s what we do!

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force me through the holidays

I could take my happy freshly home-highlighted head on a smiling walk down the road, the street flanked by sycamore trees and not so many post office boxes anymore, throwing all their skinny winter arms into the empty sky asking for what? Ya I could on a head full of Peruvian Oro Verde.

I am makin’ room for us so small in my head, I only have a cupboard left to rent  it’s like New York City in there. Ya but I’ll do it just to keep you. I could freeze and throw my arms up, too, and stand there until it’s dark and a Ford Explorer with one headlight takes me out — so how I feel is real —  I hurt the way you hate me, passively, denyin it all along like your some kinda saint cannot hate.

I love the way I remember us. I could continue, long past the ancient era of news and music and video on paper and tapes. Or I could shut the cupboard up and paint it, put the painting over it my friend just gave me. Something new, you know. Where love goes after a dead end. Left me stupid, left me dumb, left me empty at the end of a road, thanks a lot. Then told me keep going, right off the road. If I still loved you I could and you know I would.

How much silence is left to dilute the poison in a media concentrated mind. Give me an ugly sweater, some pumpkin pie and a league of national football and force me through the holidays. Honey, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to wake you…but… how much poison is left, is there enough to kill the silence?

No, no, fuck all that!

Gimme a broken home to fix.  I’ll take my memories on multigrain, multiplatinum, put it on a wall, behind glass. Then one night in creative impulse, after he chases up my skirt and back down into a dream, I’ll break the glass and pull the alarm, hover out on a hard drive’s shiny disc, slicing through an mp3 made by you and me. I’ll run away and then walk back. I’ll love you in secret. I’ll make love with a memory pulled out of a locket. I’ll stab the knife into the socket. I’ll pray for us in public. I’ll stare into the eyes of the baby tigers.

believer

They cannot hold a candle to you.
This must mean that you are bright.
For who would hold a candle to the sun?

You stay in your room.
You are a strange one.
They do not understand.
How could they?

The seasons are going round again. The harvest.
No one sees it anymore.
Like you at your work.
If they saw, would they believe?

I will walk beside you.
The journey will be long.
We can make it and more tolerable
If we sing a song.

-KatYa @ http://www.katyamills.com/

come on. december

Oh happy bedraggled

holy days

of three-legged canines

a-hopping behind

humans

Small yet mighty

effort in the rain

We broke the yolk

on eggnog lattes

the last day

of November

Broke the bank

of well-wishes

one day shy of dear

December

Come on, December

come on, now make me cry

you sure aren’t what you once were

when i was a child

And you. And you. And you

may you have

what i have not

Simple ordinary days

i share with you

leftover turkey in

the pot

Happiness? abundance?

I really hope they are!

If it helps

i can sing some xmas songs

on my guitar

For those left in the margins

i will turn it up a notch

awash in lonely visions

drowned in single malt

scotch

it is you whom i believe in!

my extra-ordinary bees!

it is to you my prayers go out while

down

upon my knees

Keep busy pushing visions

upon the streets tonight!

keep faith. keep faith. keep faith

everything comes out the wash

all right

I will be beside you

making colors!

out my mind!

With faith

we face the void

together

Though apart…

you are always

in my heart

fishing. indoors

a season
a reason
to get out of bed

a number
an order
a substitute
preacher

tossing
the thoughts
in my head

i’m hungry
i’m thirsty
predestined at last

i turn off the radio
deadbolt the doors
up on my toes…

then cast

my spirit likes soft light
and shadows
to play

even better if
it rains today

with knees to my chest
i sit barefoot
facing north

and wait for her
before

the sun up
lifts all life

i set the trap
in silence

Autumn is

A stretch of small city road, gone country under a blanket of fallen leaves. A crunchy bicycle ride over said dead leaves. A look all around and see colors. In a cafe, inspired to say, i love you, to yours, as you hold them by woven, heavy cotton and wool, at the arms just above a pale palette of wrist.

katyamills.com.       

Autumn was

What was this world where when autumn arrived…

How they harvested, by hand.
How they jammed the jam.
How they hunted the land.

Made wind chimes of bone.
Tapped trees for sugars.
Thanked the almighty.
Venison, quail, turkey and trout.

Facing the winter with faith and tobacco. Exposed to the elements.

Cooking the fats over a crackling fire, on irons they traded for pelts.
Chanting at sunset and dancing til dawn. Large fires contained within circles of rock.

Living a life ruled by water wind fire earth sun ice stars and great sacred spaces cast under moonlight ruled by the rhythms as of yet undisturbed and of wonders unknown.