I fell in love with Poetry

A love story #prose #poetry

I can’t pinpoint the exact moment
when I fell in love with Poetry.

Somewhere between the summer nights
and the carelessness of his hair.

Of course, he was a musician with this
hypnotizing rhythm and a smile like Chardonnay.

Just the way that he knocked at my door that autumn day …
I must have known for certain that I’d never be the same.

How he waltzed right up to me and took me by the hand.
How he whispered, we should dance
and I felt so silly, only knowing a few steps
like the haiku shuffle, and the iambic slide —
but oh, the way he held me, right then I could have died!

All of it is beautiful, he said, because it’s you.
I swooned into his smooth talk, but deep down always knew
that my rhymes about my dog were only child’s play,
while a masterpiece he was, (but good heavens, still I blushed!)

On our very first date we hiked up into the forest—
and no, he wasn’t wealthy, but was richer than the royals
when he showed me all the jewels hidden, muted in my world,
and he listened ever gently to all my heart had to say.

To hear it as he did was like dining at the Ritz.
As never had I seen the sky in such divine array
in a morning glory apricot.

And music — how it just lit up like candlelight!

And all the late-night drives… where was he taking me?
A coral beach at sunrise? Floating on the sea?
Somewhere down the way to a love, complex and deep?
I swear the way he knew me was like I’d known him all my life .

But my dear, he was a heartbreaker…
He showed me what it was to cry through all the pain —
oh, the pain! His pain, my pain — it was all the same.
An unanticipated turn into a ping-pong game;
ending in a knock-down-drag-out fight within myself
pinned into a corner. I had to write to get me out.

Impassioned in our nights and exposed in all my scars
that he kissed and turned to stars while we held each other tight.
We forgave and fell asleep, only knowing I’d awake as a new unburdened day
finding beauty ever steady than it was in yesterday.

On my journey never knowing where all of this would land,
but always being thankful for the journey he began.

Writing & Photography By: Katy Claire Funke

Synergy & Seal Haikus

Synergy

Before the coral reefs felt pain
and the oceans could speak English

we were as one,
the mountains and I,
as were
the sea lions
and constellations .

Before our spirits
could be sacrificed
for jewels and false images

we exhaled
with the ebbing tides
in waves combined of energies .

God made us
to participate
one body
and one spirit

when stars were space
and space was not
we were
a knitted ball:
immaculate .

Can our molecules remember
through our inner cracks in concrete
that our seeds were scattered to thrive ?

Can our hearts
break our molds
like the ancient banyan trees,

their root-woven wisdoms
still in our eyes ?

I am on a constant quest for Banyan trees these days. Such incredible wonders! I found this beauty on the grounds of the Maui Country Club today.

Seal Haikus

from today’s run-in with an adorable sea lion at Paia’s Ho’okipa Beach:

Splash me with your pearls!
Oh! Paint me like your French girls!
Sea, make art of me!

Waves can’t crash my scene!
Watch me worm and wobble ‘till
I collapse dance shores!

Writing & Photography by: Katy Claire Funke

Poems on my heart

Five poems

My Dearest Crippling Expectations,

If I do more
will that be more
of what you like?

If I contour my armor
until it’s contorted just right?

If I suffer a death
by small paper cuts
and fold into your
most perfect origami

will that be
enough?

At least for tonight?

A Love of Learning

In love
I’ve :

bloomed in
irreplaceable
burning flowers

danced in
unpredictable
storms of lightning

swam in
unreasonable
waves of passion

and sang in
indescribable
winds of freedom

But it’s in the stillness
following the flames and gales where I really see

what love is teaching me:

to not hold too tight

to not hold too light

to choose
growth
+

to choose
balance
+

to choose
compassion
=

to choose
love
.
.
.
Every day .

Editing

I’ve become very good
at editing.

Of this,
I am ashamed.

If my work is seen as,
“mmm not quite”
I will detonate
that slate clean.

I will fiercely cut to
“wow, you’re perfect!”
or slam the undo key

until I get back to
“you’re such a good girl”
or other fairy princess
beginnings.

But today I wish
to own my work;
my every stroke
(and over stroke).

I want to pick up
that ball in the bin
and slowly begin
to uncrumple myself.

To-Do

My mother always told me
that I was obsessive.

Obsessed
with everything
I do.

My love language
is acts of service
because I love
to do.

To do do do
always doing.

Always doing
my to-do list.

But when I see
the beauty
of the simplest of lilies

I stop what I am doing

and I look at it
just being

and it’s then I truly see
what I was meant
to do.

Love,

If I could
I would tell you
how much you mean to me

but I can’t

there are
no words

not enough
time nor art

to ever explain .

There’s only:

breaths
to catch
on the wind

smiles
to spread
on the sun

songs to send
poems to write
flowers to plant

and the stars
that will forever
bear witness
to our love
set free

in all of its
eternities

Writing and photography by: Katy Claire Funke

Photos taken in Wailuku, HI and Baldwin Beach

Writings On the Mind

Moonlit

I turn the key and take a drive.

A watercolor childhood

fades into the rearview mirror

of my mind.

On unmarked roads by the sea,

I paint the lines dandelion

to glow beside me.

My hair soars in sea spray

and moonlit plumeria.

For once, the wind’s tangles

don’t bother me.

The night air is thick in unknowing,

but warm in promise.

We could go anywhere.


Angel in the Rain

The cloudburst cascades onto the shores

we all run to our cars —

all but one.

No doubt, she’s an angel forged in sun.

She’s a wild, sand-born diamond:

a pink pearl dancing in the heaven

of the human spirit rising.

This is the stage she has been waiting for.

Her soul’s music is turned up so loud

I can’t hear the thunder anymore.

& she’s flying like a bird to the rain;

spinning ankle deep in the surf.

Her hair flings the golden dapplings of radiant joy.

She’s the rarity that believes in eternal sunrises

& catches falling stars we don’t see.

⁃ Dedicated to the woman dancing fearlessly on the stormy beach today who needed to be documented. Reminded me of “Both Sides Now” by Judy Collins.

Wailea Beach 4/6/2020

Writing and photography by: Katy Claire Funke

I want your mind
I want your mind
for just a night

to see how pastels
weave with neon
& sparks spin with Dante
‘til stars fade with dawn.

I reach for such stars
from my finite cocoon,
but space just expands
falling back to my muse.

I make my calls to your
long distance depths

but the signal is busy
or echoing back...

(in the glimpses of eyes
in our same insanity)

So I just want to know
what it’d be like
to feel these depths

for just one night.