Welcome to my page! K.D. Mallory
Author, Playwright, Podcaster
​
Three Ways of Looking At A Bluebird I
Sing on little bluebird
of the wistful whistler.
The weary night traveler
lonely but never alone
head bopping to Vivaldi.
II
Little bluebird sing on.
Love is a dogwood tree.
Sublime, silken blossoms
falling, floating, feathery down
fashion superb dressing gowns
for springtime lovers and bluebirds. III
An erudite woman
drank elderberry wine
ate poke greens too
cooked up so devine.
No one knew
a bluebird had possessed her soul..
​
Not Me​​
Silent seedlings sleeping
deep beneath stony ground
dressed in splendid dressing gowns
they wait patiently for spring to come.
In their dreams they climb upward
up
up
up.
I, knowing full well it takes a village
shout in sorrow:
“Did anyone make time to water the seedlings?”
​
Not me!
Said the Lady of Perpetual Pride
skin worn thin
wrinkles deep as roots
trophies she’d won
but never admired.
Just one more nip and tuck
and she'll be made whole.
"Did anyone make time to water the seedlings?"
Not me!
Said the Mercenary Man of Self-Interest
he must make room for
one more house
one more shopping center
one more highway.
Cry for him! he is soulless
deaf to the sound of steel blades
gnawing, feeding, crunching
on the ancestral bones
of those who came First.
They see! They hear! They speak!
​
I, knowing full well it takes a village ask:
"Will I make time to water the seedlings?"
Next spring, I say!
The moment of wonder
already eclipsed
by pressing needs of the day.
***This poem was inspired by the Indigenous Americans' continual fight to regain the tribal lands that were stolen from them.
A Love Song
Caught up in the eye of
your storm
you said you'd catch me if I fall.
Romantics like me
you see, we fall way too easily.
It’s true.
Elizabeth + Mr. Darcy
still gets me
gets me thinking about the times when
our laughter hit the same note
because our love just hit different.
But that was back when our love
harnessed the power of magic.
I used to watch you untie thunder from lightening
I used to watch you manipulate the skies
spin clouds into butterflies
Yeah. You were that kind of guy.
I guess it was my fault for believing all your lies.
I should have known
only fools believe in magic
and storms are never predictable.
One Snowy Night in Sweden
Evening bathed in
sapphire twilight
cradles a wintry chill
there waits a starlit cabin
lovers' dreams
Cupid yet to fulfill.
Not for want of reason
should comely maiden call
on that bewitching cabin
betwixt ardor and forlorn
Sit by the fire, says he
attentive in his art
varm glögg och Appelkaka
potent gifts for his dearheart.
What delightful decadence, says she
I see what you are after
warm your toes by the fire
whilst I go fetch the pastor!
