she’ mad but she’ magic. there’ no lie in her fire more »
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Kathryn Sweet Poems
In the house on the hill Near the stream that runs through Lives a cat and a boy And his name’s Isaac Blue.
The Old Poem
A heart thats severed right in two can still do what a heart's to do so let the years go, by and by you'll have yours....i might have my
little rain, i love you! how you fall upon my eager brow. whisper-soft as subtle breath that warmly falls, so light and deft
Frustration In Verse
it went like down town sideways frown
I am but a black bird Not the cardinal you’d like To eat from the feeder in your yard I am not a red-breasted robin
Wendy, I know you exist (and you are beautiful!) A beauty that takes their breath away (Their meaning: collectively, everybody) Everybody in the world, Wendy
Stout gray ass With hooves in need of farrier Eat the green-hill grass Your wary lashed eye lingers
Pine trees ungelate In the wind like Sea anemones So what is the sky but-
twinkle twinkle, little pen given to me yester-when black haired girl in day job guise loves-she loves office supplies!
i (on my own) & alone that day walked softly the jagged-beam shore, while the salt dried upon my ankles & that stranger sun
what about the way i arched and whispered 'my body is for your body' made you bristle
and that is Ok.
In the night I woke up And I heard you up too So I crept down the stairs And I talk-talked to you.
hillside-april-friday the mist leans over to mute the motionless still with breathless licks of grey
Piper (i met her) distilled enthusiam named like a bird in the sand.
Comments about Kathryn Sweet
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
In the house on the hill
Near the stream that runs through
Lives a cat and a boy
And his name’s Isaac Blue.
In the summer the cat
On the windowsill sleeps
In the house on the hill
By the willow that weeps.
Then the other trees drop
All their leaves to the ground
On the hill near the house
Isaac Blue can be found.
There is snow all around
And a stream made of glass
And the world’s wrapped in white
but the cold doesn’t last.
What a wonderful thing is the spring
So brand new
Said the cat on the sill to his friend,