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Kathryne Ankney Higheagle Poem
a. Perspective of Malcolm X
in the ghettos
like the reservations
white man builds
a separation of skins
hearts and minds
b. My Perspective
Malcolm Little born
to roll uphill
against all odds
a boy transmogrifies
into variable X
Copyright © Kathryne Ankney Higheagle | Year Posted 2015
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Kathryne Ankney Higheagle Poem
ode to shadows
as i peer out the glassed portières
penumbral visitations mock me; dare they
deign to scare this parched crypt of
adrenaline and cortisol, usurped by unquiet
scourges over lifetimes' rebirth?
steps shifting in the dark, familiar and
beloved; the shushing and stirring, commit
to draw me near; umbral amici and i
provide a panoply o'bosky trappings f'thee
a joinin' we, or off to obscure pastures
to wee thee pants for eternity!
Copyright © Kathryne Ankney Higheagle | Year Posted 2015
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Kathryne Ankney Higheagle Poem
Why Poets Dance
spending divers days walking through
once dormant delusions of my mind,
nights dancing in hold with ol' luce
his familiar minions cheer from the
periphery,
sets this mind to wonder why or
if i'm the only one and how to find
answers of this kind; like boats at
sea, possibly some code rendered
ably
even regularly, might attract a like
minded entity who would then wish
to dish their din back, have contact,
share code at least, then two-step
with me
aboard the apparition ship where
pain, love, gain, loss and how
we manage to remember or forget,
evolve, stagnate or die -- each
abductee
can share, compare, meld, and
often be alchemized to gold because
prized poets told, were bold enough
to find a way to reach those who
will read.
Copyright © Kathryne Ankney Higheagle | Year Posted 2015
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Kathryne Ankney Higheagle Poem
Spirits of the Nations
They say
spirits abide upon another plane
reside the other side of a universal rift
shifting in the lightness of ethereal heirs;
I aver
the eidols spare us leave, sidling aside
us when we least expect, but need;
on sacred ground death lady
parses time imprinting on
our minds aspects of
life - more death,
we are inclined
put off put off put off, until a drifting paradigm
pushes all the while onto a place where sanity is
faced, displaced or graced;
The cadence
in the aftermath movement imparts
both rhythm and mood the denouement;
drums and dancers' bells beat a semblance
evolution, born to rise and fall with emotion,
musician's imbued with ancient spirit's strength
wending all around earth bound integumental husk.
Copyright © Kathryne Ankney Higheagle | Year Posted 2015
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Kathryne Ankney Higheagle Poem
In childhood,
my near age cousin
well, he stuttered,
same's the sprinkler
in Grandpa’s garden.
Times my insides
stirred and shuddered, yet
tch-tch-tch-tch-ch-ch-ch-ch garnered
in this buddin’ gut
a calm percussion;
We two unique,
us ragamuffins,
only in communion
contra-crust of family cliques,
drifting in to tough'ning up;
I hated my red mane,
he hated talkin.
With cocked head, I said,
“Your twitched tongue is
awesome, like skipping rocks
at the lake."
An affected glance,
brief mutual look,
my red face matching pate,
awaited his lips to skip.
"Y-y-y-y-your hair’s
l-li-li-l-l-l-li-l-like c-c-copper,"
he smiled, like a rising penny sun.
He stood somewhat taller
then threw one last stone
into his Pa-pa's ample pond.
Thought we'd marry,
told’m so,
he was two years older,
I, in third grade,
had high hopes.
“L-l-l-laws against it,”
he explained.
Broke my heart;
two of us
forever changed.
Copyright © Kathryne Ankney Higheagle | Year Posted 2019
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