Motionless Revolt

Motionless Revolt

Katrina Boguski

(November 18, 2011)

Standing still upon the spot

Giving power to those who had it not

He sparked a motionless revolt

Dropping arms; he stood upon the holt

He stared silently waiting as he listened

Enemy blood, in noon’s bright sun glistened

Dripping, drop on dripping drop,

His heart now loudly beating; his enemy’s now stopped

Hearing the last pulse as that man died at his feet

His taste for war was made replete

Seeing life fade out from the eyes of that other

He realized then it was his brother

Looking outward to the shaking ranks of frightened souls

Seeing piercing eyes peering out of foxes’ holes

He steadied his resolve and sucked in one more breath of wind

In that moment he was all aware that all are kith and each is kin

Nodding as though bidding clan good day

He turned his kilted form and walked away

Hearing the knell ring out from the kirk

He washed his hands of the devil’s work

That day he stirred the frightened hearts of men

As one by one, he led them through the fen

By the ancient graves they passed

Then each went home to hearth and home to weeping lass

Home to oatcakes, stew and tea

Home to peace and home to Thee

Home to tend the field she sowed

Enmity to amity turning earth where blood had flowed

Dive Right In

Dive Right In

October 3^rd, 2011

Katrina Boguski

Sitting on the dock the other day,

I knew I still had more to say

Not wanting to rock the sea

I waited somewhat patiently

The stones that I once used to throw

Were lined up tightly in a row

Keeping track and keeping time

I stored them neatly in a line

All the rocks and all the words

All the bays and all the birds

Piled up filed up like they should

Feeling anything but good

Rock on rock, they mounted high

Brimstone falling from the sky

Then too much hale and too much rain

Just knocked me off my rock again

Salt of the earth, salt of the sea

A salty dog and a sultry me

Soon we all had more to see

And soon we all had more to be

Rock on, rock steady rock round the clock

Seemed like the wall of sea could talk

She said “Just throw one tiny rock

I’m vast and I can take the shock”

So throw I did, a word or two

And then I threw some off to you

Not knowing you that very well

I thought I might expect a swell

A seaside crash of criticism

A tidal wave of indecision

Splashing surge of pessimism

Followed aft by more derision

But somehow hope surged up instead

Different words than in my head

Meaning more than what was said

Hearing more than what was read

Changing out decaying rust

Replacing it with noble trust

Words just flowed; the speech just rushed

The final demon finely crushed

They started falling from my mind

Words were spoken now in rhyme

Sometimes painful, sometimes fine

Every thought a chant or chime

I’ve seen the tides of Fundy’s Coast

Met Father Son and Holy Ghost

Some tides change your point of view

Expose a different side of you

While turning water into wine

Woke prose and roused it into rhyme

He cast out demons far from shores

And whispered words to saintly whores

“Let he who’s sinless be the first to cast a stone”

With this my imperfections all came in

Reminding me of all I’d been

But insecurity nor duelling doubt

Could not change what I’d worked out

I could not throw more stones in to the sea,

Yet still Two Cents sang on in me

My sanguine side had been set free

So leaving rocks upon the pier

Leaving doubt and leaving fear

In that high tide of your career

Leaving sense and leaving sin

I found the answers deep within

With one fell drop and one fell sweep

Leaving past I dove in deep

Leaving current, leaving tide

I found answers deep inside

What priest once would not let you tell

Might still wash out with rhythmic swell

What confessors would not hear

Might still be whispered in some ear

So casting coins instead of stones or spells

I threw Two Cents into a well

Made a wish but will not tell

Depth of ocean depth of sea

Cannot contain the depth of me

Moving earth and rising deep

Somehow your song fit what I see

Like mamma’s, your Two Cents brought joy into my day

So tell your pop that you have earned your chance to play

Naming - God's Peace

Naming - God’s Peace

(November 16^th) Katrina Boguski

Every name contains a meaning

And a purpose to its sound

Every father has a hope

Even buried in the ground

Every child contains tomorrow

And a purpose he must find

Every father has a dream

Every one a different kind

Every traveller has a journey

And a purpose to his path

Every father has a memory

Which he stored up from the past

Never knowing when the path

Of the past and now might meet

Never knowing if his grave

Would be marking him beneath

Never knowing, ever hoping

Naming son for hope to come

Keeping past and future safe

He branded meaning into name

Never doubting your return

Never knowing his last day

He showed his wisdom

In the one word you might say

To hope “God’s Peace” might be restored

To hope “Son of God’s Peace” might be revealed

Wise James, buried in your grave

Dual purpose of a name is now revealed

Sleep James in the shallow of your tomb

Peace James to eternal rest be sent

The boys you raised now at last have met

Ending finally your very sad lament

Good James, houseboy to a nation yet to live

Deep eyes in your photo that they kept

Sweet James, keeping peace amid the war

Bright eyes smiling which once wept

"God’s peace" came and embraced your child

Undeterred by the jungle or the wild

Shooting photos of the child whom you did name

Teaching as you might have done the same

Know James, you raised them well

No pains, or tears or fears or war

Can destroy a person’s name

Finally “God’s peace” will have its reign

You Be My Village

YOU BE MY VILLAGE

(July 28, 2011)

by Katrina Boguski

You be my village

So I be a kid

You be my village as long as we live.

Africa, Africa dance in the sun

Africa, Africa your moment come

Children of Africa dance with me now

Children of Africa you show us how.

My weak granny mind me as long as she could

My mother she dead now, my papa be gone.

I sing to my village so they’d hear my song

But my village, my village it is all torn apart.

There only be fear now a pounding my heart.

Oh the guns and disease and the drought and no rain

I run to the next place looking for aid

But the sight of my body it make them afraid

So I run and run and I nowhere to go

I still be a child, I still need to grow

Africa, Africa dance in the sun

Africa, Africa your moment come

Children of Africa dance with me now

Children of Africa you show us how.

You be my village

So I be a kid

You be my village as long as we live.

So you be my village wherever you are

My days as child are already few,

How I do spend them is all up to you.

The white dove do tell me

You, run you no more

The white dove do tell me

It be different than before

Whom do you speak of?

Who is the dove?

I don’t know, I don’t know

I only know his love

The white dove he come to me

I lay on the ground

The white dove he say me

your village be found

Africa, Africa dance in the sun

Africa, Africa your moment come

Children of Africa dance with me now

Children of Africa you show us how.

You be my village

So I be a kid

You be my village as long as we live.

He sent me his village

To be my village too

He told me to play and to laugh in sun

He told me to smile child the village is come

He told me, he told me my village is you

He told me, he told me that you know what to do

He told me, he told me his village had it all

He told me, he told me you answered the call

I give you my hope now

I give you my smile

I give you my love now

It’s been here all the while.

Come, now, come one and come all

Come now, come answer the call

Come now, come near and come far

Come now, come play your part

Telling Time and Telling Tales

Telling time and Telling tales

Katrina Boguski October 4^th 2011

Telling time and telling tales

Searching inward for the grail

Breathing in and breathing out

Casting fear and leaving doubt

Taking time and walking on

Breathing meaning into song

Whispering streams into the rivers they become

Loving peace and finding hope in everyone

Hear compassion hear the pain

Weaving wonders from their strain

Working Ovid’s precious metas into song

Moving memory just to urge my soul along

Metallurgic metanoia golden changes

Charged with mystery of mind

Mining hope from every struggle I can find

Tragic moments so compressed by all the years

Now like magic have made diamonds from my fears

Could have laughed instead of shedding all those tears

Short of breath, short on sleep

Another song just seems to creep

Moving over, moving mountains in my mind

Could this be true happiness I find?

Making something out of nothing all the time

Finding meaning; beating rhythm; hearing rhyme

Raging river meets the ocean at the sand bar on the beach

Bonds of time, bonds of shame have all been breached

Drawing lessons from the mysteries that they reach

Tear or stream, river or sea they’re all water flowing rapidly to teach

Metaphoric deep description of the shore

Beating meaning into languages once more 

Between mystic invitation and a fearful hesitation

Lies a moment where the truth begins to dwell

Weaving meaning from the stories that they tell

Leaving space between the words, there’s a story undeterred

Only Cause can fill the void in with his Word;

Now and then within his voice is sometimes heard

 

As I settle into listening mode again

I begin to hear the rhythm in my pen

Static Inclination

Katrina Boguski

October 3^rd, 2011

If the static inclination of one misconnected being

Taught me players write their love songs in the sand;

Then the moving inspiration of a stable curing band

Taught me healers write their songs from what they’re seeing

He had played a thousand tunes piling rocks within his room

He did strum and play his heart out while he drank,

I grew tired while smoke filled rooms grew dark and dank

Going insane and dying in pain in his living room

Revolutions on the table turning tunes of every label

Sounding music from the left side of his brain

Cutting out the rightful muse with every strain

RPMS of REM moved his eyes but never truly moved his soul

But then again that never really was his goal

Exposing music to a muse in different form;

And in so doing teaching pain could be the norm

He moved mountains just to place them in my way;

Saying, “Honey I’ll love you another day,

But for now you just sit here and beg and stay”

Now those doggone years of loving fade away

As the mountains stood before me they cast shadows in their way

Storing sense in every word like “Bodega Bay”

Akin to frightening journeys with the Byrds

Poems can tip your head on what they say

Turning turn upon the turn of every word

So I capture them on paper rearranging what they say

Learning meaning from the point they leave my pen

Pent up symbols fuelling feeling now and then

I keep the shadows but the mountains fall away

Like the dog from RCA I incline my head

Hearing clearly all the words my master said

In the standing invitation of his voice

Now I feel that static inclination was his choice

Moving slightly to the right or moving rightly to the left,

He could have found his groove in very simple moves,

Turning baseness into bass or cutting tunes in the lines of the treble clef

Instead he kept the rut but lost the groove his face to save

The only thing that he could dig was his own grave

That was when I left for the other coast;

Trying to flee the ghastly shadow of his ghost

Which had moved in and then did live upon my street

Pulling heartstrings on the corner where we’d meet

Now I’m sailing most pacifically away;

No need to keep those shadow ghosts of mine at bay

But furling sheets of music penned from what they say,

At long last I’ve cleared the waves within my brain

I can finally hear the muse in every strain

Strapped unto the mast my compass I did find

Sailing past the siren voices in my mind

I find that finally I can see that I am sane

Like a pirate I have stolen all his gain,

Finding wealth within this treasury of pain

But he lost me when he got lost with Mary Jane