Prism Butterfly Odes
When I was a little girl, I would watch my mom closely, seeing her as a beautiful example of what it is to be a grown-up.
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For some reason I mostly focused on her hands wrapped around never-ending coffee mugs. Her slender, pretty fingers were so different from my short chubby ones. And the look of reflective calm that came over Mom with the first few sips of each steaming cup of that grown-up beverage seemed to me the epitome of adulthood.
Watching my mom, I knew that it was wonderful to be a grown-up! So as I sit and sip my adult coffee brew today and look far off into myself, I feel as though I am mostly grown-up. And when I look down at my still short and chubby fingers, I am reminded that I will always have more growing up to do. I see a bit of only me in me, and I smile. My mom taught me to be myself, and she encouraged that by exampling it always.
So now I am a comfortable mixture of us. I love that. Visit Brain and Body. The smallest, flickering moment — the turning-on of a lamp, the brewing of just one more cup of tea, the contribution of spare change because of one mention that it bought thrift store paperbacks;. Smiles in my direction crank up the atmosphere, wiping away the grime of my thoughts — listening, supporting, forgiving.
Love of a mother is sweeter than chocolate, stronger than hurricanes, thicker than blood, and ever-enduring. We had twenty years between us. It is a kaleidoscopic journey of self, brimming with raw emotion and truth. Some of these ramblings demanded to be heard, so she began writing to spread her thoughts in the hope that her words would resonate with readers.
Her writings are the culmination of countless sleepless nights, laughter-filled conversations, and painful heartbreaks. Her first collection of poetry, prism , recounts her struggle with the mind and the battles fought within herself. When she is not writing or overthinking, Katie enjoys reading other writer's poetry, watching classic eighties movies, dancing terribly, and singing along to whatever ear worm is stuck in her head at the time.
Customer Reviews Average Review. See All Customer Reviews. Shop Books. Add to Wishlist. USD Sign in to Purchase Instantly. Overview Prisms refract seemingly simple white light and expand it into its complex, colored components.
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The collection is broken down into eight sections, with each section representing a color on the spectrum, a uniquely assigned feeling: red- passion and fervor orange- warmth and bliss yellow- joy and exhilaration green- life and redemption blue- loneliness and sadness indigo- change and striving violet- self and empowerment rose- love and reflection prism contains stories of pain and healing, of loss and self-discovery.
Product Details About the Author. About the Author Katie Himes' mind works overtime, never ceasing to imagine new thoughts, especially in verse. Average Review. Write a Review. Related Searches. A Game of Life. I'm pleading at the "counter" -- sir I've nothing else -- to bring, You know We -- Bee and I -- live by the quaffing But it's many a lay of the Dim Burgundy We chant -- for cheer -- when the Wines -- fail Do we "beat" our "Wife"?
Bee -- pledges his -- in minute flagons Dainty -- as the trees -- on our deft Head First -- at the vat -- and latest at the Vine God calls home -- the Angels -- promptly You're right -- "the way is narrow" And "few there be" -- Correct again With but the "Discount" of the Grave Termed by the Brokers -- "Death"! Thou shalt -- thyself -- one day -- a Child If He dissolve -- then -- there is nothing -- more Till Hair -- and Eyes -- and timid Head That you -- so late -- "Consider" me And so I con that thing -- "forgiven" By my long bright -- and longer -- trust Kill your Balm -- and its Odors bless you Stab the Bird -- that built in your bosom He -- is more than a firmament -- from Me The Eyes glaze once -- and that is Death The Sound ones, like the Hills -- shall stand It is easy to work when the soul is at play It is simple, to ache in the Bone, or the Rind I'd give -- I'd give my life -- of course Then I have "shares" in Primrose "Banks" Daffodil Dowries -- spicy "Stocks" One hour -- of her Sovereign's face"!
But -- I can say a little "Minor".
And they -- were the little Hand -- that knocked Vespers -- are sweeter than Matins -- Signor How many times it ache for me -- today -- Confess And sweetest -- in the Gale -- is heard Had gone to sleep -- that soundest time You'll know -- Sir -- when the Savior's face. It might -- have been the Light House spark How many times they -- bore the faithful witness Would but the "Memnon" of the Desert When Heaven -- was too common -- to miss More Hands -- to hold -- These are but Two This -- is the land -- the Sunset washes These -- are the Banks of the Yellow Sea So -- many -- drops -- of vital scarlet And then -- the size of this "small" life And I sneered -- softly -- "small"!
His Gait -- was soundless, like the Bird Kept treading -- treading -- till it seemed. Yet small -- she sighs -- if All -- is All To tell one's name -- the livelong June With a departing -- Sapphire -- feature Where he turned so, and I turned -- how Itself, too vast, for interrupting -- more Unto like Story -- Trouble has enticed me Brothers and Sister -- who preferred the Glory Bent to the Scaffold, or in Dungeons -- chanted When they let go the ignominy -- smiling Unto guessed Crests, my moaning fancy, leads me,. By Heads rejected -- in the lower country Feet, small as mine -- have marched in Revolution.
Hands -- not so stout -- hoisted them -- in witness Let me not shame their sublime deportments One -- Birthday more -- or Ten? Let me -- choose! Ah, Sir, None! Morning means just Risk -- to the Lover Faint-going Lives -- Their Lapse from Sighing Unmoved -- she notes the Chariots -- pausing Then -- close the Valves of her attention Like Breadths of Topaz -- packed a Night The One who could repeat the Summer day The Lingering -- and the Stain -- I mean Straighten -- look cautious for their Breath Then stills its Artisans -- like Ghosts Earth would have been too much -- I see Deals -- One -- imperial -- Thunderbolt The Wind didn't come from the Orchard -- today And a hoarse "Get out of the way, I say,".
Patient -- upon the steps -- until then The nearest Dream recedes -- unrealized Like the June Bee -- before the School Boy,. Staring -- bewildered -- at the mocking sky The time was scarce profaned, by speech And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,. So instead of getting to Heaven, at least But we -- stood whispering in the House They looked like frightened Beads, I thought There are two Ripenings -- one -- of sight And thread the Dews, all night, like Pearls In Kingdoms -- you have heard the Raised And then -- he'll turn me round and round She -- each year -- leads her Daisies back After great pain, a formal feeling comes The stiff Heart questions was it He, that bore,.
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As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow First -- Chill -- then Stupor -- then the letting go Dominions dowerless -- beside this Grace The Ballots of Eternity, will show just that. Slow -- slow -- as feet did weary -- grow Confused by Sweets -- as Mortals -- are They're here, though; not a creature failed For doubt, that I should know the Sound I told myself, "Take Courage, Friend On Miscellaneous Enterprise.
But, lest the Soul -- like fair "Priscilla". Choose the Envoy -- and spurn the Groom If any sink, assure that this, now standing Failed like Themselves -- and conscious that it rose Grew by the Fact, and not the Understanding. How Weakness passed -- or Force -- arose Tell that the Worst, is easy in a Moment Dread, but the Whizzing, before the Ball With "This was last Her fingers did" But when the vivid Ore. How sick -- to wait -- in any place -- but thine I knew last night -- when someone tried to twine Thinking -- perhaps -- that I looked tired -- or alone Or breaking -- almost -- with unspoken pain One port -- suffices -- for a Brig -- like mine Ours be the tossing -- wild though the sea Rather than a Mooring -- unshared by thee.
Rather than the "spicy isles --". A precious -- mouldering pleasure -- 'tis And tell you all your Dreams -- were true Put from my simple speech all plain word I saw no Way -- The Heavens were stitched Her Progress -- by the Bee -- proclaimed There's been a Death, in the Opposite House,. It's coming -- the postponeless Creature It gains the Block -- and now -- it gains the Door Chooses its latch, from all the other fastenings