Do not silence your life. Disregard fears of tonsillitis, laryngitis, infection. Sing. Sing what is, what was, what isn’t. Trill your years. Match pitch with decades, tone with seasons. Entice octaves with each drink of ice water, followed by spoons of soup. Sip. Hear how clear your truth sounds? Copyright Katherine M. Gotthardt from Weaker […]
It’s what happens when an orb flies freely, escaping the glass of a world glaring with human imperfection, industry, idols, what passes for intelligence and integrity– it oversees London, the iris of England’s art, the reputation of queens, the relaxed accent of ancient history revered or scorned or adored. A balloon– now there is something
by Katherine Gotthardt Through your ageless eyes, I understand your replies to what you most fear: trembling from the tip of the fuse to the cannon’s opening, the rip in the air of civil war, tear in the veil that lies: ‘there is but one truth.’ You can never know for sure where the dying
It’s hard to believe only last year Bury My Under a Lilac was released, and I’m already ready to release another poetry collection. But when you write for a year at least once per week and you take the time to go back and edit, it might be time to think about publishing – again.