Kathie-Louise Clarke
A poet, writer of fiction and artist based in Oakland, California.
What I admire so much in your poetry is how you soothe us into thinking everything will be okay and then pull the blood stained rug out from under us and send us toppling into a darker world. But so beautifully. Angela Carter vibes in this collection! – Allie Burris
Shared Human Experience is a the home of my writing. I am inspired to create pieces that interrogate and illuminate the human condition, with a focus on love, loss and the beauty of the natural world.
Although primarily a poet, I am the author of several short stories and am working on a full length manuscript in the Book Club Fiction realm!
My work can be found in various publications including, The Orchards Poetry Journal, Seaside Gothic, Tiny Seeds and Spell Jar. A selection of previously published pieces are listed below.
Who uses a typewriter anyway….?
Divinations I
“Live for yourself and you’ll live in vain
Live for others and you’ll live again”—Bob Marley
Pull the cards and see what the future holds, unless
you don’t believe and then it’s just a story. A story
that may divine your path anyway.
Suggestion is a power unknown, just as courage
is a virtue, but carefully measured else it becomes
recklessness. Act like you already
have the virtues you want. Take the middle way,
the golden mean as per Aristotle’s prescription
for a life well lived.
Travel from ancient Greece, to modern tarot via
the ruinously young Bob Marley, and
you may find truth.
Thirteen is a lucky number if you add the digits
one and three = four leaf clover, unless you are
Chinese and a’feared of the sound of death.
But what is death except a meeting with
the divine. Living in and with dichotomy, doing it all on
blind faith in a carefully measured
reckless act to feel joy, jaded sorrow, one for luck
two for a boy. Until you step on a crack or cross a ley line
and feel the divine shiver up your back.
Spy a black cat, eyes aglow with a joker’s gaze
and know you are a Queen of Hearts’ transcending
the cards of fate. A little too much and still not enough.
Forthcoming in Spell Jar May 2025
Nocturne - Tedious Monster
What waits under the bed for you to-night?
a ligature tied tight, or a claw'ed hand
that tedious monster positioned to fright
little children fearful of the dark-ness
dread night’s yearn-ing to bury them in sand
while adults seek un-lit rooms of dark’s caress
where nocturne is a serenade to night
humanity resists shadows that could command
thoughts despite what they might excite in us.
First appeared in Boudin Review October 2024
Daughter of Gaia
I heard your sister got verdigris,
a lonely burden for one so sweet,
to carry the weight, a coastal rhythm night after day.
Salt stained patina the surgeon can’t remedy.
I dig through the sand that weights my heart,
see cobble stoned streets licked with a salted tongue,
and look to the fathomless/fathoms of ocean,
I don’t want to share her sedentary fate.
Slick with the weeds of time,
that resisted so many waves of fury,
I see her, daughter of Gaia,
calamitous,
ominous,
wondrous being.
A watery commander of the greatest swells/swelling,
the purpose of those held aloft and dragged ashore.
Wrecked by low tide, skeletal ribs of wood
stand proud/proudly showing the intransigence of man.
I know that to set forth to a new world I must
absorb the salted tears of Oceanus.
First appeared in Seaside Gothic Vol 2
The mercy of nereids
Let me place you at the oceans’ depth
my sisters sit on your chest
their whispers have drawn down a thousand ships.
Together we have wrapped your mortal bones with silken weed
the fathomless blue of our breath holds you
lips pale in the green light.
To find the loss you suffer
we search your silted pockets
but fifty nereids are no match for the deception of a human mind.
When you sought the monstrous Charybdis
and offered the last flashes of your
sunlit
soul
she spun with such vengeance
you wavered at the surface
the treasure of Gaia illuminated
in
your final breath.
First appeared in Seaside Gothic Vol 5
Bird Party
After The Pool by Bryher
The wind rifles the leaves like a hand lazily stirring dried beans
setting in motion a kaleidoscope as they spin on the breeze.
Footsteps crunch the pine needles
as popping candy hits a tongue.
The trees idle open with the squeak of un-oiled gate,
as sunlight kisses the dust shyly in parting.
This is the twitterlight, where ‘white rush and silver rush’
to arrive on time.
So many voices rise at once — discordant and symphonic,
avian thrills over a tectonic beat,
ethereal bursts of soprano layer
grandfatherly bass
All hidden by reeds,
on a lake shore sodden by rain.
First appeared in The Orchards Poetry Journal Winter 2024
Light in the mist
my phone camera can’t capture what our eyes see
in the mist
luminous layers comfort the wet ground
dew drops lay
on leaves
like jeweled ladybird spots
once proud dandelion heads droop
their glistening teeth
curled inward
we walk past lighted windows
families at tables
couples in their kitchens
haughty cats
daring us to notice
their reflective eyes
headlights diffused to uselessness
bike lamps bob
like ancient trawlers in the bay
road barriers shimmer as they snake through the oceanic fog
looming dangerous
despite the safety they promise
the world is in greyscale
except at the end of the street
the one defiant red maple.
First appeared in The Orchards Poetry Journal Winter 2024