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Best Poems Written by Kate Copeland

Below are the all-time best Kate Copeland poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Kate Copeland Poem

Wait

The realisation that this violent red came up in me, that it had put
itself out there, against a peaceful blue

hidden underneath my skin I thought, but once this disconnection
came up, an unsafety, the red escaped

and in an instant, alien became less distant, fluid in my daily
countenance. How I’ve always assumed you

were the rock and I the water, how it turned out to be all the same.
Me fully capable of standing on stones

in the fluidity of waves, in this distractive life. And even while 
I peak over the cliff edge, with the wind

in my face, drawn into depth & distance - I know the cracks of then
and the hills of now will become a passage,

a progress, through the fragments I breathe, for the joy I feel. You
went along with a trust to my inner world while

you wouldn’t anyway. So I decided to wend my place, to dream up
a furnishing and survive nonetheless. Once

your heart has jumped out of your body, the rivers & tides will
smooth over. Structured daydreaming will 

bring out the bright, fresh morning I need, to scare off the ghosts of 
my lost night, a subverted realism to coast through

a clear consciousness over the guilt and some uneasy providence. What's
done, is done. True. Time well spent.

Details | Kate Copeland Poem

Desert Days

Even now the crows
have chased away
the lemon yellow butterflies

Even now glasses
have been scattered
down the desert

Even now a road trip
on a small island 
is not as Fiona-free
as before anymore

The radio goes on
Volcanic black rests 
at her feet

Trash gets carried away
The rabbit hunters shall
arrive this Sunday

This is the wind
that makes her think straight
This is the day
to choose your roads carefully 

Her father warned her 
to always be on time

speed up, my little mate
and so the girl glides from the dunes' hollows

Details | Kate Copeland Poem

Isabelle

another time, in
another universe		

when you were supposed to be born
but then you weren't		

when I was overwhelmed you were here
and then you weren't

my words won't breed whispers
your name won't bear notes and

while the medic carried clean machines 	
my body kept on breathing					

					 a dead tiger

maybe it is not about another time
maybe it is just not meant to be 

and past the sound of rain, it sounds 
another universe.

Details | Kate Copeland Poem

Somewhere I Started Counting

Somewhere where nothing is more happening,
I feel the vodka roar, more than wine, 
where I don't care anymore inside,
so we buy another bottle at the corner shop,
to empty at the busstop, too stirring but 
better spirited than nothing more happening 
no more, or just will never be again. 
I hold out a match next to my bonfire 
and somewhere I start counting,
I started counting long ago without knowing,
knowing nothing more could happen
if I shouldn't sell my house to the lady
who won the lottery, and as the birds
stopped singing along the old coastline,
I drank to that too, since it was my father
who told me to do nothing more
than to celebrate a lot, to buy something 
precious of your first pay check 
and now I don't care no more, I'm out
of the old world of the well-suited,
the strong deals, the better coffee machines,
because that's just a somewhere 
where no more will happen. 
You let the people walk right through us
while I felt the tie, in the white bedroom,
beside a roaring sea. I still know you
are around, around the corner,
while I am on deck and you shake your head
like I knew you would, and nothing 
will happen never more 
for I don't care anymore, inside.

Details | Kate Copeland Poem

Right

Right 
where the road ends
rests a house
there 		is Rosa, sunrosed,
			is love, trust, life
A coffee in the morning
right before	marching the roadworks
			scooting the schoolbus
right like the hands of the clock.


Right
where the road ends
stays a mill
here 			my dogs, suninked,
		 	flowers, poems, life
A lot of coffee in the morning
right before 	storms set in
			minds settle down
right when	the thief of plants and apples arrives.


At two, cotton candy clouds
over a volcano that will always wink
at 			your grandson, curling up with gran 
			your grandgirl, herding goats with gramps 
Your roots stay in this village
right 
where your family eats your bread. 



At five, we will meet
where the typhoons twirl the desert sand
there		is coffee,
			cigarette smoke 
Mine in my world 
right  		
where we live.

Details | Kate Copeland Poem

Sweet Juice and Young Bones

Because today my hands
started to unravel the wires
of the telephone pole, the ones
in the middle of the street 
connecting terraced homes together.
Familiar facades showing familiar window,
showing outgoing smiles and orange evening lights,
yet when our night, the room blues in my face,
I play all the records of dead people 
while I wonder where my older nights have gone,
while your supernatural vision eyes are eyeing me
soberly, and my thoughts hit my head, cringe together
 like a family of birds
suddenly leaving me more peaceful than seasons,
than power, or your searching glances, leaving me
more private and unafraid 
because today I am 
from the sea and will laugh soon enough 
over your beige wallpaper and white bedroom, 
the sky calls and my young eyes
start being the weapons I need because of today.