Ugly Beautiful

I am the Ugly Beautiful

Run your quiet hand over my cool veneer

Feel the places rough and worn by violent storms

That eroded my landscape

 

Follow the flowing edges

Smooth and resplendent

Cascading down the crack and crevices

That time has carved into my flesh

 

Move slowly and find the serrated boundary

Of the landslide

That fell down so many tears ago

Dropping you into my velvet heart underground

 

You are in my home now

Tread carefully on delicate ground

Do not take me lightly, or heavily

For I am the Ugly Beautiful

©Kathy Klein 2012


Alive

Alive

Aspen Graveyard

Aspen Graveyard

Row upon row, standing grey, stark and bare

Wood soldiers at attention saluted the sun

Against a perfect blue sky once painted by fire

I had touched your delicate white rice paper skin

That covered your rough brown surface

While a thousand shimmering leaves

Had danced joyfully on your limbs

All of you vanished on hot autumn wind

Her scars are deep in

The Natural law of the land

She, who is everything, endures, again and again

I hold her brave teardrops

In the vessel

Of my cupped weathered hands

Comforted in the thin indigo veil of nightfall

You course through my veins as I lay

On the cool damp ground

I send my silent prayers

On fast beating wings and a hoarse ravens caw

Her scars are deep in

The Natural law of the land

Hoping she will return, again and again

I hold her brave teardrops

In the vessel

Of my cupped weathered hands

©Kathy Klein 2012


Captive

Grandfather


The soft, small fingers grasped around his trusted ones.

Leading purest of heart

into a lair of treason

one minute beloved child of God

the next, a mongrel, cowering amidst

the rubble of his sin

where was  Grace, as she lay catatonic under the fringes of vacant eyes?


Floating above the carnage

Who is left below?

Pale white skin merges into

faded yellow paper

of the wall guardians,

passive sentinels on watch.

Witness to passage 

of light into darkness

day after day

night into  night.

 

Trembling,  little hand drug by his large forceful one.

Floorboards creaking and moaning

virgin wood held down by old rusty nails

hiding underneath, saved from the Crucifixion above

cloaked in a stigmata of his shame,

cries muffled by the anger of his blame.

 

Floating above the carnage

Who is left below?

Pale white skin merges into

faded yellow paper

of the wall guardians,

passive sentinels on watch.

Witness to passage

of light into darkness

day after day

night after night.

 

The warm sweet heart left shattered in the cold of his black one.

Fragments of splintered shells left behind after firing,

pieces strewn over the battlefield

under the shade of the Family tree

buried in the secret ruins

of 100 revolutions of silence,  never set free.

 

Floating above the carnage

Who is left below?

Pale white skin merges into

faded yellow paper

of the wall guardians

passive sentinels on watch.

Witness to passage

of light into darkness

day after day

night into night.

 

Kathy Klein

                  ©2013                  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

        

 

Paper Doll