11/11/2017 Poetry by Kathy Gibbons The Climber by Ray Bentele In the Name of Propulsion And still we plod upon the hill upward always never down (that would be too easy) clouds beckon like there’s sky beyond and not the sudden slide that falls through empty air There's a light chasing us climbing faster than we can enveloping what's left to take the hill away lights should be more friendly but this light's not Exposure on the breast of brown shorn nap unwieldy burden to reveal no cover-up possible in the glare that swallows follows forms everywhere we stride There is no refuge but we trudge forward toward refuge anyway that's called desperation parked in automatic or maybe that's called hope Liturgy There’s solace in the mundane something about repetition becoming reparation becoming reverence despite the fact you’re sorting socks. Cleaning after animals takes on a sacred mantle wearing hair shirts as you sweep and scrub becomes a habit. Paying bills has a regularity that won’t diminish the necessary evil but becomes a way to take account assess the damage more precisely. Singing while you work works wonders. Or whistling. Gregorian chant and incense enhance the holy atmosphere. Forever and ever. Amen. It ain't perfect but we're working on it Will we ever measure up? When you turn around I will be gone on to the red-lit tomorrow you looking toward the past nose stuck up in airy distaste pointed the wrong way Will I ever measure up? I'd allow you to ride along on this star-crossing mission so you can try to fix what matters to you shattered memories clinging there awaiting restitution awaiting recognition awaiting respect waiting for what-the-hell-else honors or a place of honor a place reserved in Tomorrowland where all good boys and girls land their hatch hatch their plans cement their stand to see what Dreams May Come when we let go of the past not perfect--but it's a start Start Your Engines now. Heads up. Hold on. And don't look back. Lifer sometimes you drive and wonder where any road will lead the forks the curves dead-ends impede then morph the plan send you out-of-car out-of-body not here but tethered up in rain you’re hanging on spider lace today shimmer dance dangling a balmy breeze could blow you by out the window fly away itsy-bitsy gone and so instead you ride let wipers brush sky-tears aside then filmed thru clouded glass you see the pink-shot blue blue highway rising fast some new horizon always coming ‘til it’s gone ![]() Bio: Kathy Gibbons was born and raised in Philadelphia. In 1981, she migrated to Houston where she met and married a New Yorker. In Houston, they raised their Texan son until he went and became a Los Angeleno. And from Houston, she continues to write about these three coasts and the stories contained within and without. Her words have been seen in Creative Nonfiction's 'Tiny Truths' column and in Tuck Magazine.
Joyce A. Czarny
11/11/2017 01:43:40 pm
Kathy, these are great! I'll never forget our times together around 40th street in Philly. We both turned out very well!
Kathy
11/12/2017 06:56:53 am
Thank you so much, Joyce. There are oh-so-many stories to be told from those old days! <3
Naomi Rosborough
11/13/2017 02:02:22 am
Kathy, Your dreamy and floating images, grounded in the grit of everyday, always provoke and evoke. What a gift!
Brenda Bailey
11/13/2017 09:22:18 am
This is such beautiful poetry; I love them all. You have this way of taking emotions and memories and your unsinkable determination to stay present, stay IN the present, and open - and anchor them in concrete imagery; not an easy thing to do. The beautiful photo by Ray Bentele of the climber so perfectly goes with "In the Name of Propulsion" - well, all of them. Congratulations, and I hope to see more of your poetry everywhere! I hope you and Ray will do a book together.
Richard G Crager
3/19/2018 01:08:58 pm
Jerry hennessy sent me this moving message.
Naomi Rosborough
3/20/2018 03:01:25 am
Kathy, Comments are closed.
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