the rapscallion's lair

a.k.a. rabbit hole

6 notes

nothing new under the sun (in between a rock and a hard place)
i find strange comfort in knowing it’s all been said before
the same sun rises every day to watch us evolve yet leaves us in darkness the half length of night
the differences between us do not show in our shadows those shape-shifting liars we cannot escape
and we rise to every occasion donning hero aprons and pattern painted nails to whip up the false strength to fight or some new brew that will do the job for us alter reality just enough to make one of us believe the mirror is honest
but none of us can see what’s beyond that glare sparkling decoration conceals our blind spot
and history tells the truth every day even as we turn our bent-backed bodies because hope is the secret that leads to survival
while the moon reflects only true light
.
~Kelly Letky
.

(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

nothing new under the sun
(in between a rock and a hard place)

i find strange comfort in knowing it’s all been said before

the same sun rises every day
to watch us evolve
yet leaves us in darkness the half length of night

the differences between us do not show in our shadows
those shape-shifting liars we cannot escape

and we rise to every occasion
donning hero aprons and pattern painted nails
to whip up the false strength to fight
or some new brew that will do the job for us
alter reality just enough
to make one of us believe
the mirror is honest

but none of us can see what’s beyond that glare
sparkling decoration conceals our blind spot

and history tells the truth every day
even as we turn our bent-backed bodies
because hope is the secret that leads to survival

while the moon reflects only true light

.

~Kelly Letky

.

(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

Filed under poetrytuesday poetry poem photography

3 notes

poetry in motion: flowers for elinor
some years the monkshood never manages to bloom before frost bites into tender petal
this year an exception has been made and purple wins the prize of everywhere
last night i spent hours cleaning words blowing dust from ancient pages remembering who i was when i first read sylvia
there’s a book on my shelf called Nets to catch the Wind (just like that with a lowercase c)
from aunt blanche and uncle doc christmas 1929
an unassuming volume marked by a long ago girl who probably dusted once or twice herself
i have books signed by anne waldman robert creeley, olga broumas, diane wakowski and the one i bought when i took that class from ginsberg
but i am drawn to this plain covered slim dusty tome written by elinor wylie
DISCARD stamped just above the tiny handwritten inscription
as the monkshood sways in the breeze catching time in a net made of season
both wind and word whispering of days long forgotten
 . ~Kelly Letky .
 (via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

poetry in motion: flowers for elinor

some years the monkshood never manages to bloom
before frost bites into tender petal

this year an exception has been made
and purple wins the prize of everywhere

last night i spent hours cleaning words
blowing dust from ancient pages
remembering who i was when i first read sylvia

there’s a book on my shelf
called Nets to catch the Wind
(just like that with a lowercase c)

from aunt blanche and uncle doc
christmas 1929

an unassuming volume marked
by a long ago girl who
probably dusted once or twice herself

i have books signed by anne waldman
robert creeley, olga broumas,
diane wakowski
and the one i bought when i took
that class from ginsberg

but i am drawn to this plain covered
slim dusty tome written by elinor wylie

DISCARD stamped just above
the tiny handwritten inscription

as the monkshood sways in the breeze
catching time in a net made of season

both wind and word whispering
of days long forgotten


.
~Kelly Letky
.


(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

Filed under poetry poem photography garden

9 notes

Dear September,

How have you been? I’m sorry I keep missing you, it seems like every time you stop by I’m off doing something from the great list of needs to be done. It’s never-ending, that list, and even though you kept bringing me treats and good sunshine, I just haven’t had the time to come out and play. Your cousin, October, has already written and told me she expects better treatment. And I’ll try, I promise. Maybe I’ll even cook her up a nice pot of chili, with a pan of apple crisp for dessert. I mean, a girl’s gotta eat, right?

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for letting you down, I know you tried really hard. I’ll try to do better next time.

I do have a funny story for you, with your allergies being so bad, you’ll be able to relate. This morning I walked to the kitchen straight from my bed, just the same way I do every morning, and turned the stove on to heat the teakettle. While I waited, I talked to the animals, offered treats and fresh water and snuggles, and then I made myself a cup of tea.

I walked into my studio to start getting organized for all the work I have today, and puttered around for a few minutes while I waited for the teakettle to whistle. (Wait, what? I know!) Finally, I figured I hadn’t turned the burner on again, I do that pretty regularly, so I walked out to the kitchen and saw that the kettle wasn’t even sitting on the burner–I usually get that far, just forget to turn it on. And it wasn’t until I saw the cup I’d just made sitting on the counter that I remembered I’d already made it. I think I might be losing my mind. How could I have forgotten something I just did five minutes before?

Apparently I need tea to wake me up enough to make tea. Not sure how I’m going to solve that conundrum, but I thought you might get a kick out of that story.

And just yesterday I made myself a cup without boiling the water first. I realized what I’d done before I took a sip, thank goodness, but still. I’m telling you, these allergies are a killer. I feel like I’m walking around in a fog half the time. Then again, that’s pretty much my normal state of being.

I haven’t been sleeping well either. Some nights I feel like I don’t sleep at all. Damn hormonees. (You saw that movie, right? My Big Fat Greek Wedding? I can never remember if that was you or January.) And have you heard the coyotes lately? They’re crazy loud and it creeps me right out. Sounds like there’s a million of them out there, trolling around in that field right across the road. It makes me worry about Naughty Kitten.

He’s been on a rampage, killing everything he can find. He left us a chipmunk by the back door just the other day, belly up and pathetic looking. Sorry Mr. Chipmunk. I always feel bad about the chipmunks, until I remember that time I saw one in the basement. Then I tell him to get on out there and find the rest of them.

Well, I guess I’d better go and get busy, I have a million things to do today before October gets here. I do hope you’ll come and stay with us again, next year. Maybe you’d like to come for tea. Ha ha.

Love ya tons,
Me
.
~Kely Letky
.


(via dear september - that’s mrs. mediocrity to you | that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

Dear September,

How have you been? I’m sorry I keep missing you, it seems like every time you stop by I’m off doing something from the great list of needs to be done. It’s never-ending, that list, and even though you kept bringing me treats and good sunshine, I just haven’t had the time to come out and play. Your cousin, October, has already written and told me she expects better treatment. And I’ll try, I promise. Maybe I’ll even cook her up a nice pot of chili, with a pan of apple crisp for dessert. I mean, a girl’s gotta eat, right?

Anyway, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for letting you down, I know you tried really hard. I’ll try to do better next time.

I do have a funny story for you, with your allergies being so bad, you’ll be able to relate. This morning I walked to the kitchen straight from my bed, just the same way I do every morning, and turned the stove on to heat the teakettle. While I waited, I talked to the animals, offered treats and fresh water and snuggles, and then I made myself a cup of tea.

I walked into my studio to start getting organized for all the work I have today, and puttered around for a few minutes while I waited for the teakettle to whistle. (Wait, what? I know!) Finally, I figured I hadn’t turned the burner on again, I do that pretty regularly, so I walked out to the kitchen and saw that the kettle wasn’t even sitting on the burner–I usually get that far, just forget to turn it on. And it wasn’t until I saw the cup I’d just made sitting on the counter that I remembered I’d already made it. I think I might be losing my mind. How could I have forgotten something I just did five minutes before?

Apparently I need tea to wake me up enough to make tea. Not sure how I’m going to solve that conundrum, but I thought you might get a kick out of that story.

And just yesterday I made myself a cup without boiling the water first. I realized what I’d done before I took a sip, thank goodness, but still. I’m telling you, these allergies are a killer. I feel like I’m walking around in a fog half the time. Then again, that’s pretty much my normal state of being.

I haven’t been sleeping well either. Some nights I feel like I don’t sleep at all. Damn hormonees. (You saw that movie, right? My Big Fat Greek Wedding? I can never remember if that was you or January.) And have you heard the coyotes lately? They’re crazy loud and it creeps me right out. Sounds like there’s a million of them out there, trolling around in that field right across the road. It makes me worry about Naughty Kitten.

He’s been on a rampage, killing everything he can find. He left us a chipmunk by the back door just the other day, belly up and pathetic looking. Sorry Mr. Chipmunk. I always feel bad about the chipmunks, until I remember that time I saw one in the basement. Then I tell him to get on out there and find the rest of them.

Well, I guess I’d better go and get busy, I have a million things to do today before October gets here. I do hope you’ll come and stay with us again, next year. Maybe you’d like to come for tea. Ha ha.

Love ya tons,
Me
.
~Kely Letky
.


(via dear september - that’s mrs. mediocrity to you | that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

6 notes

sometimes it’s hard to see your shadow
It’s been a year of changes, small changes mostly, adding up to a slight shift in balance.
Mornings have been foggy lately, literally and metaphorically, which is why we have tea, and sunshine. There hasn’t been a lot of sleeping going on, so burning off the fog takes time.
I sleep, I don’t sleep, I discard, reorganize, tame the garden, again. I write, I read, I write.
Tiny changes becoming habits, shedding pounds and detritus, aging my way into a place less frantic. Some days it feels possible, others, not so much.
Either way, here I am. The view shifts with the seasons, the trees grow taller, the row of pines that died has been replaced by a melange of trees and shrubbery planted by birds. They did the work for me, made all the decisions, filled in all the holes.
I let them take back what was already theirs, and they know the truth of that.
We sing together, on mornings like these, and the mockingbird records us. He is the record-keeper, always claiming the tallest tree.
I walk through the fog and listen to the whispers of days gone by, roots and memory twining up my ankles.
The sun is my keeper and night is my forest.
I forage, store, search for more. . ~Kelly Letky . (via the blue muse)

sometimes it’s hard to see your shadow

It’s been a year of changes, small changes mostly, adding up to a slight shift in balance.

Mornings have been foggy lately, literally and metaphorically, which is why we have tea, and sunshine. There hasn’t been a lot of sleeping going on, so burning off the fog takes time.

I sleep, I don’t sleep, I discard, reorganize, tame the garden, again. I write, I read, I write.

Tiny changes becoming habits, shedding pounds and detritus, aging my way into a place less frantic. Some days it feels possible, others, not so much.

Either way, here I am. The view shifts with the seasons, the trees grow taller, the row of pines that died has been replaced by a melange of trees and shrubbery planted by birds. They did the work for me, made all the decisions, filled in all the holes.

I let them take back what was already theirs, and they know the truth of that.

We sing together, on mornings like these, and the mockingbird records us. He is the record-keeper, always claiming the tallest tree.

I walk through the fog and listen to the whispers of days gone by, roots and memory twining up my ankles.

The sun is my keeper and night is my forest.

I forage, store, search for more.
.
~Kelly Letky
.
(via the blue muse)

Filed under spilled ink photography aging

4 notes

how to be the belle of sanity’s ball
first, you have to dance arms flung wide with hope’s last vestige of abandon
you have to care and not care at the very same time drop permission from your vocabulary throat your laugh and hug the sky
your dress must be free and made of history your face must be painted with your own experience (hand-me-downs and borrowed wishes will be confiscated)
you must wear a ring on every finger one for each time you pretended to know the answer to anything and you must refuse to lick the plate of shallow dictate
this isn’t about being naked you can do that well enough on your own
this is about your true colors the ones you wear when no one else is looking because exhibitionism does not equal honesty and besides
it’s your skeleton that always tell the truth skimming shallow skin and baring marrow bone
but it’s your heart that hears the music and your sleeve doesn’t have to be fancy or short or even rolled up
if there’s lace, tear it off drop the bangles bare your wrist
and two-step the pattern of your flaws across the floor we all stand on
close your eyes listen
we’re all here
the beat cannot beat you or make you special
we’re all here
 . ~Kelly Letky .
 (via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

how to be the belle
of sanity’s ball

first, you have to dance
arms flung wide
with hope’s last vestige of abandon

you have to care and not care
at the very same time
drop permission from your vocabulary
throat your laugh and hug the sky

your dress must be free and made of history
your face must be painted with your own experience
(hand-me-downs and borrowed wishes
will be confiscated)

you must wear a ring on every finger
one for each time you pretended to know
the answer to anything
and you must refuse to lick the plate
of shallow dictate

this isn’t about being naked
you can do that well enough on your own

this is about your true colors
the ones you wear when no one else is looking
because exhibitionism does not equal honesty
and besides

it’s your skeleton that always tell the truth
skimming shallow skin and baring marrow bone

but it’s your heart that hears the music
and your sleeve doesn’t have to be fancy
or short or even rolled up

if there’s lace, tear it off
drop the bangles
bare your wrist

and two-step the pattern of your flaws
across the floor we all stand on

close your eyes
listen

we’re all here

the beat cannot beat you
or make you special

we’re all here


.
~Kelly Letky
.


(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

Filed under poetry spilled ink photography

875 notes

nine eleven
thirteen years later that’s what we call it
not nine eleven oh one not September 11, 2001 just nine eleven
two words
three digits
two towers
four planes
thousands
of
mothers fathers daughters sons sisters brothers wives husbands aunts uncles girlfriends boyfriends
not statistics
falling
from
the
sky
not dates or where were you’s
just whole hearts in odd numbers
each one
the only necessary
evidence
of love
::
.
~Kelly Letky
.
(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

nine eleven

thirteen years later
that’s what we call it

not nine eleven oh one
not September 11, 2001
just
nine eleven

two words

three digits

two towers

four planes

thousands

of

mothers
fathers
daughters
sons
sisters
brothers
wives
husbands
aunts
uncles
girlfriends
boyfriends

not statistics

falling

from

the

sky

not dates
or where were you’s

just whole hearts
in odd numbers

each one

the only necessary

evidence

of love

::

.

~Kelly Letky

.

(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

Filed under 911 poetry love

6 notes

fresh eyes
.
some days i let my camera choose the focus and fall in love with imperfection all over again
.
i dream myself awake and wander through corners of remembrance there is no hope there is only hope there is only keeping on
we all climb the same mountain weight-bearing and moon lifted
and the snail that eats the lily must surely taste sunshine
i cannot blame her for surviving though i admit there are times when i toss her into weeds
where she will climb and eat the flavor of absent-minded forgiveness
just as content with a broken down aster
alive . ~Kelly Letky .
 (via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

fresh eyes

.

some days
i let my camera choose the focus
and fall in love
with imperfection
all over again

.

i dream myself awake and wander
through corners of remembrance
there is no hope
there is only hope
there is only keeping on

we all climb the same mountain
weight-bearing and moon lifted

and the snail that eats
the lily
must surely taste
sunshine

i cannot blame her
for surviving
though i admit
there are times
when i toss her into weeds

where she will climb
and eat the flavor
of absent-minded forgiveness

just as content
with a broken down aster

alive
.
~Kelly Letky
.


(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

Filed under poetry photography spilled ink

3 notes

spider veins
all your flaws are evidence of irony
mother nature has a sense of humor but also, a quick temper
she sends flowers as apology on a regular basis
you have to cut your own path in the forest of existence, with a quick-sharp, heart-forged machete
courage is your metronome and labyrinth is another word for learn
live lost and laugh at life’s thunder
the sky remembers every flash of lightning
earth is just a pattern of old scars hiding shy beneath a veil of tattered stars
.
~Kelly Letky
.
(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

spider veins

all your flaws are evidence of irony

mother nature has a sense of humor
but also, a quick temper

she sends flowers as apology on a regular basis

you have to cut your own path in the forest of existence,
with a quick-sharp, heart-forged machete

courage is your metronome and
labyrinth is another word for learn

live lost and laugh at life’s thunder

the sky remembers every flash of lightning

earth is just a pattern of old scars
hiding shy beneath a veil of tattered stars

.

~Kelly Letky

.

(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

Filed under poetrytuesday poetry spilled ink

3 notes

methuselah’s last stand
if i could walk away from the answers my footprints would fill with more questions
i am held in place by the harpooned taproot of my own bark-coated existence
but the leaves i toss into the wind have every right to fly
the ground you walk on is made from the crust of today’s leftover uncertainty
nothing is real but faith and i believe in the sun burning through my temporary cloak
winter is meant to reveal what we’re made of and you think it should be more complicated
forever is time’s long lost daughter singing to the sailor of finite
what you see is only an echo
. ~Kelly Letky .
 (via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

methuselah’s last stand

if i could walk away from the answers
my footprints would fill with more questions

i am held in place by the harpooned taproot
of my own bark-coated existence

but the leaves i toss into the wind
have every right to fly

the ground you walk on is made from the crust
of today’s leftover uncertainty

nothing is real but faith and
i believe in the sun
burning through my temporary cloak

winter is meant to reveal what we’re made of
and you think
it should be more complicated

forever is time’s long lost daughter
singing to the sailor of finite

what you see is only an echo

.
~Kelly Letky
.


(via that’s mrs. mediocrity to you)

Filed under poetrytuesday poem spilled ink