In Midwinter, Geminids spark across the quilted night sky
To join in Odin’s Spectral Wild Hunt—
Ravens, Huginn and Munnin, encircle above high
to bring news of Midgard, back with a cry.
Each year, see me with telescope heavy in hand, as I hobble and grunt:
In Midwinter, Geminids spark across the quilted night sky.
Each year, the meteors fall faster, winds breathe a deeper sigh—
with more wrinkles on my hands to confront.
Ravens, Huginn and Munnin, encircle above high
to speak to wolves, Geri and Freki, of future carrion scry.
Hark! These tired eyes, this Wednesday, count 27 bright comet tails, blunt.
In Midwinter, Geminids spark across the quilted night sky.
But lo! This may be the last year that I
count their fiery spectral trails float back to front—
Ravens, Thought and Memory, encircle above high.
At least leave me, in this cold, open bower to lie—
under the throes of a final celestial punt:
In Midwinter, Geminids spark across the quilted night sky.
Ravens, Huginn and Muninn, encircle above high.
About the Creator
Kate Kastelberg
-cottage-core meets adventure
-revels in nature, mystery and the fantastical
-avoids baleful gaze of various eldritch terrors
-your Village Witch before it was cool
-under command of cats and owls
-let’s take a Time Machine back to the 90s
Keep reading
More stories from Kate Kastelberg and writers in Poets and other communities.
Gladiolus
Preface: nearly two years ago, my partner and I bought a house together. Both of us first time homeowners, we laboriously moved our collective possessions from at least three different locations into our new home. That Spring, though still in the process of unpacking and organizing, I made it a priority to plant many new plants on the property, still getting to know the land. My crisis of identity came from being a new homeowner with the realization that I was now the keeper of many of my dead relatives’ possessions and found myself accumulating even more from aging relatives in real time as soon as the purchase of my new home was discovered. The crux of the crisis was this: I am now the last of my living familial line. When I pass, who will inherit all of this? What does it mean to have a legacy and do we get to choose the legacy we leave behind? The below poem was originally two poems that I then revised to combine into one; I hope it gets at the heart of those questions, as the answers to them are in themselves a living document that is constantly being combined, edited and re-vamped.
By Kate Kastelberg 6 months ago in Poets
For the Love of Samosas
Prologue Today's post is short fiction in honor of all the hassled parents trying to keep their angsty teens in line. "Bye mum! I'm not coming home for lunch today. I'll be going to Mac's with Kelvin and his buddies before we head to his house to study for a test." With that, Adam Lim careened like the Flash out of his humble HDB abode.
By Michelle Liew5 days ago in Fiction
Comments (3)
The first bite of this was wonderful, so I took another, the second was as good as the first, but there was more substance with the second. I’ve read it through now six times and enjoyed it more every time. Splendid. I will be reading your other works as well.
Your imageries were so vivid and evocative! Loved your magical Villanelle!
I love how you put wonder and decline together like this.