Poems by Ken Cathers
the promise
the last surviving member
of Heaven’s Gate
reflects on failure
I thought you were
coming back
had wrapped up
everything
was ready
to be taken away
become one
with the pure light
as promised.
I had completed
the purification
recited the prayers
left no trace
to follow.
but I was deemed
unfit, flawed
an empty carcass
left behind
let others decode
that cold calculus
of stars
reveal the secret face
that lies
beyond
I ache for what
you have discovered
pretend to listen in
hear a voice
behind the silence
am a spurned widow
in a shadow world
burn with a cold fire
watch the sky
for your return
malice
violence is a language
learned from birth
that casual slap
on the head
an arm bent back
it is the first phrase
remembered
a rock thrown
in the dark
a complex syllable
a curse hissed
how easy the rhythms
come to us, the
smug cadence of lies
how helpless we are
against it
hand slammed
in a car door
the pain naked
beyond words
catch that quick glint
of malice
in your eyes
lazarus returns
four days is not
a long time
to be dead
but the man
you bring back
is lost, confused
a poor act
for the big stage.
he refuses to mingle
stumbles into dance
has started to smell.
he wanders off
and keeps going.
becomes an imperfect miracle
a minstrel
a voice in the desert
is seen in the distance
a tatter of rags
befriended by dogs.
there are no new lines
to the story, no roads
left to follow
only the shadow world
the stray Angel of sleep
that beckons
he is empty inside
returns to the cave
rolls back the stone
remembers again
what it is to die
About the Author – Ken Cathers
Ken Cathers has a B.A. from the University of Victoria and a M.A. from York University in Toronto. He has just published his eighth book of poetry entitled Home Town with Impspired Press in England. He has also recently published two chapbooks, one entitled “Kiefer” by broke press and the other entitled “Legoland Noir” by Block Party Press. His work has appeared in publications from Canada, the United States, Australia, Ireland, England, India,the Netherlands, Hong Kong and Africa. Some of his recent work has appeared in Plato’s Cave, The McGuffin, Acta Victoriana, Zoetic Press, The Carried Away, Wild Words and The Blue Unicorn. He lives on Vancouver Island with his family in a small colony of trees.
Keep Reading…
- Birthplace
It was the hayloft’s aerial devilry— stench of rot in the heat, barn boards strewn with excrement, swallow and bat, littered with too many winged corpses for a child to revive— that compelled her - Whispers
There are whispers. They call like echoes in empty space, So that we may find a semblance of shapes amongst the darkness. Only here, on the precipice of passing, are we forced with the honest truth. Like rivers, we ebb and coil and stretch far beyond the measure of our bodies. - Motherhood in the Plague Year
Sometime between the murder of George Floyd and the confirmation of Amy Coney Barrett, I started to think about killing myself.
Meanwhile, at Dreamers…
Fireside Writing Retreat
It’s simple; a set of prompts, a loose structure, and time set aside to move through it at your own pace. You can follow it closely or not at all. There’s no expectation to produce anything finished.
Dreamers Writing Farm
Dreamers Writing Farm is the physical home of the Dreamers community, a quiet, creative space on the Bruce Peninsula in Ontario. Writers, artists, and travellers stay here throughout the year in simple, literary-themed cabins, tents, and studio suites.