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She Was Tired Of Lugging Her Regrets Around

She Was Tired Of Lugging Her Regrets Around 0

by kckerrie

She was tired of

lugging her regrets

around with her

everywhere she went,

so she decided

to unpack them carefully,

one by one

and ceremoniously

bid each of them



submitted by cs murphy

  • Catherine Schmid Murphy
Poetry Is Not Remarkable

Poetry Is Not Remarkable 0

by kckerrie

Poetry is not remarkable.

Poetry is merely observation.

Poetry is narration.


Poetry connects Life, to the Living

and poetry connects the Living, to Life.


submitted by cs murphy

  • Catherine Schmid Murphy


by kckerrie

She enjoyed being a writer

more than anything else

and she took her craft, very seriously.


But occasionally_

she would find herself

randomly pressing keys

on her typewriter

and for no other reason than that

she liked the sounds that

the keys would make.


Tap. Tap. Tap.

Click. Click. Click.

It was like Music.

 submitted by cs murphy


  • Catherine Schmid Murphy
A Moment Of Revelation

A Moment Of Revelation 0

by kckerrie

and then,

a moment-of


came to her-

that chance

and deliberateness

had never been

in competition

with one another



  • Catherine Schmid Murphy
I Write

I Write 0

by kckerrie August 27, 2020


Some people shop, snack,

drink or complain.

I write.


Lamp Post Poetry by kckerrie

kckerrie on handesofawoman

submitted by cs murphy 9-27-2020

  • Catherine Schmid Murphy
I Went Outside In My Yard Today

I Went Outside In My Yard Today 0

by kckerrie

I went outside in my yard today.
or so I thought.
And I chose my spot.
I lowered my body onto that spot - and bending my legs, I closed my eyes and lowered my belly toward the ground.
My head to the green grass and my belly,
to the flat earth.

And there I laid.
Where willfully I surrendered for
a time
and with deliberateness,
I listened.

to the birds
Listening to the squirells jumping, swinging and shimmying.
Listening to the beating of my own heart
from just the other side of my pressed ear and just behind my right eye.

And heard the many sounds the traffic makes, from off and away.
I listened to the trains whistle as they’d move by; mightily, rumbing the earth.

I then yielded completely
as I welcomed the uninvited showings from many other sounds that had been tentative of me or unfamiliar;
all while curled up into a soft pulse of moving and shifting air;
of both highs and lows.

The prickling grass tickled my cheek as my belly grew warm and damp and soft.
All while I listened, still and purposeful.

I acquiesced to it all
as if to a test of my Restoration.

And so in its conclusion ,
having named each and all present and observable sounds — as my now reassuring Companions.


submitted by cs murphy 9-21-20

  • Catherine Schmid Murphy