Damn you, Dementia…

Mum at Kai Iwi Lakes, January 2019

You’ve watched me

Grow up

I’ve watched you

grow old

And I speak for you

Now

When I used to do

As I was told

Your face is

Still the same

And your eyes…

They sometimes

know

But you words

Are lost on me

And you

You don’t want me

To go…

I kiss you

Many times

Touch your face

And hug you

Tight

You ask me

Where my Dad is

You’re shocked

When I say

He’s gone…

into

The light

Kait King 2019

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I wish I could tell her

I wish I could tell her

While she’s trying harder

working it out

all her problems, hangups, pity and

self-doubt

And she tries too hard to achieve

because she’s lonely, angry,

she’s had no love to eat

And as far as this woman knows

it’s like a picture, no – a painting

or a movie, too slow

As far as this woman knows

it’s like fighting the fight

but not a fight that you chose

So she’s crying alone

no sleep at night

I wish I could find her

and tell her –

it will all be all right

© Kait King, 2015

Wire & Skin

Wire & Skin

Pulled very

tight

in the dark

of a night

Wire & Skin

Razor or

barb

Put up

your guard

Wire & Skin

A killers’ tool

strings you up

not so cool

Wire & Skin

They find you

tied up there

in a place called

Nowhere

Wire & Skin

Wire cutters

are at hand

you fall free

where you land

Wire & Skin

Sullen faces

at the site

strangled with

wire

so tight

Wire & Skin

Kait King 2019

What I want to believe Real Women want

what i want to believe real woman want

I’m quite happy being a Woman

I don’t want to be a Man

I don’t want to scratch my nuts

or take out the trash can

I don’t understand the confusion

about the Man and Woman sequel

Of course we are very Different

Different, but still very Equal

I am proud to be the Carer

The Fantastical Giver of Life

the gentle softness of

a safe place to fall

When you return from

a hard days’ fight

My Man, the strong Protector

The Bringer of that Life

who will be Honoured to care for me Truly

and with Pride

would call me his Wife

© Kait King, 2015

The question of why I exist…

I guess the question of why would be relative to one’s beliefs, perception and world view. If the answer to the question is different due to this, then there are different results with each answer. Some might believe the why was: because they deserved it or God wanted it that way or human suffering is pay back or whatever other beliefs people have about the reasons why they want out. Do they exist to be beaten, maligned and controlled? Do they exist just to suffer? To be targets for predators of Child Abuse, rape and murder? We know all of the good things… Sometimes they get covered up in the bad. I think more than anything, people who want to die, ask themselves, the Universe and all gods “why am I here? For what purpose must I hurt beyond my control? Beyond what I can bear…”

But I’m still here, still bearing when I thought I needed to escape the unbearable. Was I a fool to hang around waiting to die or should I take the quick option and kill myself? Was that cheating? Not knowing is what keeps me waiting. Does that mean that those who do take their lives have absolute faith? Absolute knowledge? Or are they just in absolute Hell? Are they absolutely past caring? Perhaps there is no right or wrong answer…or maybe no answer at all. Perhaps we just exist to exist. We live we die – rinse and repeat…

Mother’s Day every day

My Mum and Dad in Queen St, Auckland 1956

I walk down the aisle

my eyes passing over cards

words springing out

about Mum going

the whole nine yards

And I stop to read a few

The words just seem

insipid

when I think of you,

Mum

A journey into the intrepid

Four babies later

and over 60 years married

Through wars, tonsillitis,

tears and love you tarried

Now here I am

a mother too

And these words I say: “I love you”

Have also come

from my son’s mouth

and heart

But to say them to you

doesn’t even begin to start

to express what a fantastic Mum you’ve been

You’ve done a good job,

I’m a good human being

So I tell you you’re an amazing Mum

and people are proud of the job you’ve done!

© Kait King, 2015

It’s Just Life

it's just life

I am lying on my bed

it’s too hot

and the TV’s too loud

Yet the noisiest thing

is you in my

head

I can hear the washing machine

beeping and beeping endlessly

WTF is wrong with those things?!

I know I should

eat something but

I truly can’t be

bothered

it’s just food

it’s just money

it’s just love

it’s just life…

© Kait King, 2016

A new darkness stirs within…

a new darkness

As a writer I sometimes struggle to write and other times it just falls out of me. Sometimes I wonder where what I write about comes from. I know I make a calculated plan – the skeleton or bones – of an idea but then the flesh just layers upon it, creating the monster. The words used, the feelings created and the imagery perceived is what the end goal is.

A new character with a new idea of the world and what it owes them or what they must pay to live in my book, emerges. I know the title, I know her, I know her story. I would like to share this journey with you too. The beginning of gods’ daughter…..

© Kait King, 2015

I need one of those dogs

i need one of those dogs

Listening quietly in

the dawn of the day

My mind playing games

that my heart won’t play

Watching us still

in the dark of my mind

waiting for someone I can’t seem to find

Holding this close

Not wanting to lose

Making the choice

and then having to choose

As the falling rain

dampens my heart

I can’t seem to see

Was I blind from the start?

© Kait King, 2015

His broken heart is hid

his broken heart is hid

Life suspended in a web-like hammock

the coffee smell not as nostril-curling as in the past

a homeless man stumbles along wet walks

dragging his sorry arse along the splinter lit streets

a reflection a sad life in a hard city,

his city a place where he lost his wife and his job,

a home, his family

where he nearly took his own

when things were darker than ebony

and he had to walk his walk alone

A bunch of aggro school kids

too brash and way too loud

disrespect his foul figure on the skids

he had no room to be proud

He seeks a place that’s dry

it won’t be warm,

he knows a place where he can cry

and his aching tears won’t show

© Kait King, 2015