Poetry by Katy Crowe

When you wait for the right time,

don’t rush the moments,

for the beauty time brings

is everything.

So let your heart rejoice.

Call out my name

when each day feels the same.

It’s a dangerous game,

but I will wait

for the right time—

to kiss you,

to love you,

to hold you and bring you smiles.

Just wait a little longer,

and you will find the perfect moment,

to hold me in your arms,

where I will kiss you,

look deep into your eyes.

From the sand to the sea,

I have seen.

And everything I'm between.

The graveyard is not quite ominous

as a necropolis in the rain,

but far more plain—

within the oculus

of an ant, blood-red,

to the place where we house the dead.

It marches on, like Babylon,

a mighty city,

spiny, tiny, and fast,

to a place where we hold the past

so dearly.

And clearly, it marches on.

I see it like regret,

and sometimes I forget

what that really feels like—

something like a Reich,

fallen, an empire rotten.

All over you, all over me,

a regret

I’ve forgotten,

what the sea feels like—

lapping on my feet,

almost like concrete.

The ocean does not wax and wane,

but the high tide, the low tide,

absolve such pain

you can’t even wonder

when my feet go under,

the water pours—

eyes blue over green, bamboo,

the place where I recover you.

You have one foot in the water

And one foot on the land today

Kneeling by a small blue pool

that looks full, of sapphires,

in the sun.

Jewels that can’t be out-done, by any one

lone sapphire

wrapped in any silver wire.

Flashy rainbow quartz can’t go up against

its shine,

nor any sparkling yellow goldmine.

The water here is crystalline so as to

transmit light; an energizing sight

to behold. Something likened to the metal,

in brightness, preciousness, superiority,

Gold.

It is a very positive omen

with the upright Star.

A silver jug in each arm,

Your right hand

pouring liquid in the water.

Such lush land is your daughter.

Something so green signifies it’s working,

nourishing the cycle of fertility.

You've been looking for a little

piece of tranquility

With the container in your left hand,

pouring liquid on the land, in five rivulets.

Signifying the senses,

the best of which is touch, though I warn you,

Never clutch, to something you can’t

Eventually hold.

Today brings clarity,

and the scent of marigolds.

You are entering a peaceful and loving

phase in your life,

You will understand better yourself

and those around you.

You will find a sense of contentment,

and inspiration anew.

Your eyes are derelict,

mine are sunken.

My eyes pricked,

everything, heart shrunken.

Genuinely, I cried.

I’m starting to doubt the evil stare.

I know you absent fear.

I know you lick milk,

I know the skin

gets pricked—

succulent bleed in the desert,

that’s where you are, far from here.

I fear

your love is an open wound,

mine, a geode, hollow and crystal.

I rattle when you shake me.

You’re a place to rest my head,

I am sodden, already dead—

I am a pink petal orchid, refined,

sad about the way the trees pine.

I am mad about the way you miss

the honeysuckle.

Can you see the morning glory?

Thousands here, a growing vine.

I could strangle, a routine deceit,

perpetually sweet.

Showing courage in the face of danger,

I am plucky.

I’ll tell the whole damn state of Kentucky,

bury me in the hillside,

with needles heavy,

and cow-eyed.

A steel train for my lullaby.

Your eyes, an ocean spray,

Clear blue, wild and imposing,

Foaming at the edges—

Sands, hotter than hell.

My hands are water,

Salt bursts on my skin,

A shell, convoluted,

Intricate and occasionally devious.

Warm devilry, and slivery driftwood.

The crowing blue of your eyes

Is a commendation, a silent praise—

I’ve made you smile,

Made you happy for a moment.

It’s the first time in a short while

That I turned your head,

And your eyes lit up.

Like I did something right,

And for a moment,

The world feels right.

My hands dripping wet

With the sea’s embrace.

And you’re a fool, with me, again—

Somehow, I brought you back

For a little while.

I can see a clear, blue-green road

Stretching for miles.

I just want to be of help,

To be useful to you,

To anyone who needs me,

The way you’ve come to.

I want to be the ocean,

The clear blue,

The green waves pouring over me,

I liquefy inside your eyes,

And become the freakish sea.

Morphine, it tastes like peaches and honey,

I feel as heavy as the setting sun,

My heart, malformed by the left lung,

Strung on a fragile thread of twine.

I trace the latchstring, a simple sign—

A key to the opening of my mind.

I like to watch my money amass,

Spend my days in the orchard grass.

Look how quickly the hours pass,

Silent as a little newt,

Swift and sure, so resolute.

When it rains, I’m out in the yard,

But when I die, I’ll be brown and hard.

And I’m always changing,

This life, I’m rearranging.

I’ll return to my home-waters to die,

Like a little red sockeye.

It’s peaches, honey, everything I can smell,

Some take morphine until they fade—

I took it in a hell of a way.

And for today, I bid this world goodbye.

Your mouth is a citadel,

a place where I reside,

your crooked teeth, a serrated skyline,

with me safe inside.

A shelter we could find in battle,

throw your guns up,

and we’ll hide.

Your tongue, a colossus, a pillar,

beneath the moon to the West,

and rises beneath it, always toward the East—

12 to 13 degrees,

on the dome of the sky.

I see Styrofoam, tides.

And my eyes, deep-set as they are,

shine.

A sublingual jail,

surrounded by seawater,

flowing into the gulf,

into the mouth of the whale.

My soul left me,

crying out!

Into the pits of Hell when I died,

and my soul escaped.

In the Old Testament, Hell is a place

where men go to die,

their emotions

foul, offensive,

arousing aversion, disgust.

Your lips are syrupy and unfermented,

a confection—

slowly gratifying,

the stronghold.

I’m like a little lynx cub—

baby, bobtailed.

When I inhaled, it was a vapor,

fucking dense and suffocating.

Full of heavy metals,

you are dangerous—

arsenic and chromium,

a brittle star on opium,

a paroxysm of the cosmos, an explosion.

Inside you, little bits of glitter

swirl around.

The nova falls down,

I count the limes and pinks

within its hues.

You are Jackson Pollock,

splattering chaos in your wake.

There’s an aftertaste,

like I’ve been flushed with saline,

the oceans vast and clean.

My fixation is chronic,

and the sea is pythonic.

Lithium and tourmaline,

I’m shiny and

tumbled, clear blue and green.

Find me sitting on the shoreline,

in solitude, crystalline—

a jar of cold fahr water,

pure Kentucky moonshine.

I am the

mountain’s daughter,

genuine and borderline.

I can be your little girl for fun.

You’re a piece of agate, full of swirls,

translucent in the sun.

Magnesium and poppies,

we are flowers and metal—

silver leaves and red petals.

If I could, I would marry you

outdoors,

beneath a sky that weeps—

stars spilled like tears,

moons adrift,

a distant, quiet planet,

words etched in granite.

With me in your arms,

your charm,

we are one and the same—

yet tears spill,

a planet spinning still.

My feet in the ocean

know its endless motion,

a rhythm that won’t fade,

won’t wash away.

It doesn’t set my face aglow,

but my love, like tendrils,

clings and grows.

My love for you is honeydew—

soft, sweet, and true.

And you,

you are bamboo—

resilient, reaching high,

rooted deep, bending in the wind,

a love that lasts,

against all time.

Do with me what you will,

anything you desire—

I am but a wounded creature,

a little broken,

missing patches of fur,

scars that sink to the bone.

Do with me as you will,

whatever you choose—

I am but a wounded creature,

a stray with tattered fur, scars

etched down to the bone.

I gather magnets, stones—

shiny fragments of a past

clouded in milky whites,

constellations of bright stars,

olivine,

and on Mars, I dream

the stars are made of bone.

The night we met, I didn't come alone—

I carried with me a lifetime

of heartache.

Heartache is a thorned vine,

tentacles tightening around my chest,

slowly, deliberately.

But in time, I am convinced

by you that I will grow back new fur,

that one day I’ll rise from the ache.

Thank you for offering me

a place to rest.

A gentle sweetness in your voice,

the soft brush of your hand on my face.

In the vastness of space, ammonia crystals, frozen ice,

clouds of yellow swirling on Jupiter’s distant skies.

I kiss you as the sun sinks low,

below the horizon’s tender glow.

Can you feel how thrilled I am—

so simply, so happily,

as if the sea were lapping at my feet?

I see an ocean, far and wide,

a place where I could forever reside.

Wherever you go, I’ll follow,

wallow in the sorrow of that sea.

I count one, two, three…

the things I want to be—

happy. I smile, my head tilted,

seeing shades of blue and chrome red

My heart floats,

hovering above the darkest blue ocean I’ve ever seen,

the scent of fresh-cut grass, old books,

and wintergreen..

I’ve hurt you, yet you smile,

the same as always—

broken, like a stray,

lost in some forgotten way.

Of all the things I’ve done,

I pray I never hurt you again,

not like that,

and I’m sorry.

My eyes, starry,

your black hat

a brown feather in the brim.

When I learned to swim,

I learned fast

your voice could chill me to the bone,

that stars are made of stone,

not fire.

It feels like I’m about

to relapse,

but I could be

a good girl—

with time.

Sometimes, I find

you’re too kind

to me and my soft spot

for the sea and the moon—

it pulls me in,

it causes me to swoon

at the sound of your voice,

my choice.

You’re the crow

outside my window—

so black,

with a white feather in your hat,

quite clever,

but not as dark

as the place where my heart

used to be.

My back aches,

but this—this is worse—

aluminum melting

beneath the sun,

and nothing to be done

about the hollow

cavity,

the depravity

deep within my chest.

My spine is crooked,

shaken to the bone,

as I trek these uncharted lands—

hopeless, alone.

Don’t you love

the way I’ve grown?

I haven’t been deceived yet—

I heard every word

you said,

singly to me.

Sweat

trickles down as I play dead,

grief

bleeding through, a bloodstain

on the terrain.

The earth moves slowly beneath me,

shifted by worms,

they move the dirt,

the sand,

beneath the seas.

They hollow out the trees,

devouring the leaves.

I can’t be myself

if you don’t want me

to be.

Shadows covered me like a blanket—

saddened, I was drowning in blue,

still trying to kill

the thought of you,

something

I outgrew.

Every now and then, I find

a kindness,

something true,

in the way a heart beats,

in the soft glow

of the light poles

down a winding street.

I count—ten, eleven, twelve—

but cannot find myself,

unable to breathe,

tongue stuck

to the back of my teeth.

You are something like a pillar,

or an obelisk,

and I will possess

your heart,

at best,

your magic—

something heavy

on your chest,

something tragic?

Something shiny

in a crow's nest.

In a year, or maybe two dozen,

we will rise from nothing.