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WHERE ANCESTORS ROAM
Generations have been born
far away,
families of children have lost
their way.
Proclaiming to be of the
New Found land,
yet something is missing,
most don’t understand
how loss of culture
creeps behind time,
before you know it
all that’s left
is
the rhyme, the song,
the
art. The pining of
the heart to know its’
home, a longing to be
where ancestors roamed,
lived and died.
Kathleen Morgan 14.2.05
HELD REFRAINED
What happens to the words
which can't
be written, said or heard.
The words which swim inside a head,
constantly begging to be said
but held refrained,
those which can't be named
or seen together
just in case someone
gets the wrong idea.
Even though
those words
may be quite clear
in their proper place,
hidden behind a face.
Once they appear
actually
written, heard or said,
it changes everything inside the head
of everyone exposed.
Kathleen Morgan 1.1.2005
WAITING
The poet waits,
until the day
when people listen to
what she has to say.
When people remember
the
importance of art,
the bringing together
of mind
and heart
to reveal a dimension
otherwise unknown.
Kathleen Morgan 8.10.04
ENOUGH TIME
Unlocking the window
to an open door,
seeing through barriers
intent
to explore,
finding some moments
to type up and bind,
the words meld themselves
in the depths of my mind.
In chronological order,
I travel the monthly
borders of bold type,
centred
by each year,
reoccurring themes
become clear, given
enough time.
Kathleen Morgan 9.9.2004
DIVERSE AND WILD
Once there was a forest
diverse and wild,
it was watched
over
by a little child.
He fell from the sky
into the canopy,
was taught by the trees
to be wise and free.
They
told him man
has a power so great,
with amazing ability
to destroy and create.
They warned him about
all the
harmful things,
which into the forest
man often brings.
The child grew older
began
walking the ground,
learning everything he could
about the species he found.
One day in the distance
he saw some boys,
rolling in the detritus,
using
sticks as toys,
they seemed to care
about the forest too,
they called him a man
he didn't know what to do.
So
he ran and he ran,
to the edge of the trees,
looking up to the sky,
he fell to his knees.
"If I am like them and
they
are like me,
what can this mean
for my friend the tree?"
In the depths of a forest
diverse and wild,
a man evolved
from a
little child.
Just like a seed
dropping to the ground,
through taking things in,
looking around,
he became
tall,
he became strong,
he knew how it felt
when things went wrong.
So he went to his friend,
the tallest tree,
asking
"Did you know that
man looks just
like me?"
Kathleen Morgan 10.7.2004
THE OTHERWORLD
The Otherworld is where I go,
it’s
where I get what
I need to know.
It lies behind an
invisible screen,
sometimes you may
see it in a dream
but usually that time
just between, when
nothing is quite the
way it seems.
I guess I’ve been going there
all my life, you could
say it’s the place from
where I came, where I
was before
my name
called me here.
Never one for letting go,
I’ve brought with me
the need to know,
which I now
must feed.
Kathleen Morgan. 11.6.2004
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