Kathleen Kirkpatrick

Pasadena, Texas, USA

Kathleen was born in Midwest City, Oklahoma; yet, calls Houston, Texas home. In 1993 she received her Associate's Degree in Social Science and plans to further her education in Sociology. She began quietly writing poetry in high school and has written for World of Poetry and The National Library of Poetry. Every poem written is an exercise in self knowledge. Her main philosophy is simply "If I must, I shall live by each society that I encounter so that I may live freely within me."

As I Look Back

As I look back
(One question grandma, were you really there?)
... Do come back...
On the eve of my indecision of my life when I
had thought to go, she did appear to me.
I had left it in the hands of whomever would come.
Her mere presence left me simply surprised.
Happily, at that, she showed me the importance of
life and inspiration along with her death and sweet
surrender.
Others came: yet, never inside, did they come.
Around if they might: but, never inside.
All that she spoke was..."Run, child, run"...

My Screen

There is a certain peace of mind
To know this place; to have this time
To be alone within myself Alone inside, alone...
so free: Here, is where I'd rather be.
My imagination builds a scene
Of which I usually heartily agree
Now my canvas is quite full with
Things of late and of things to view.
But, and yet, I open my eyes;
My screen has somehow been disguised.
Sometimes I wonder: I'm just not sure:
If nurturing this time could be,
Anything but a dream. I close my eyes;
once back again. I see...my secret heaven.
Oh, to be, so free.

Wishing Well

I know not the fate of what lies ahead
there seems such an emptiness instead.
So, here I'll stop to 'skent' a rhyme.
Traveling through time, to a certain place in mind:
the scenes I only portray, leave this to say:
When given a place to dwell: perhaps a wishing
well, toss fortune within: certain, untell
your dreams of tomorrow are born alive and then,
Commence with the lines as if known well.
What Lies Ahead, One Can Only Tell.
To 'Skent' the reality is perchance a token.
From within, soft words are gently spoken:
the promises to keep somewhere unbroken,
show symbols, a clear path to see:
a place in time to know instantly
Radiating throughout ... each thought becomes real:
each vision is realized; ... every dream a reality.
And yet, heed fast the fortune of tokens to spend.
For the wishes of time are yet merely to mend.
What One Can Tell.
May Only...Lie Ahead.