In the slope out in the yard,
there is a deeper slope
whose uneven slide
stows eventide.

I would like,
like a child in active play,
to roll down its twilit side,
leaf my hair with strands of grass,
land in a spin of laugh.

But I am the child
who lies down
in that depression,
hiding from those
who would seek her
even as she waits for them to near.

We are who we are.

The house by that hill
that holds a hill
is brick-faced, eyed
with glass that, in the day, looks black
reflecting back.

As night falls, some windows turn,
like the gaze of animals, yellow,
while others glower
a powder

blue, ice floes
above the wine-dark lawn, the ground moon
of stuccoed patio,
and the world becomes a sea,
wave-troughed, while you, me–

what do we
become?  We who are
what we are, we with
the contoured hearts,
the chambered darknesses.


Hi.  Sorry to be so out of touch!  This is very very much a draft poem.  I am completely unsure of the last half which I wrote many many different ways.  I wrote it for Grace’s prompt about James Wright, posted a few days ago on with real toads.  

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16 Comments on “Slopes”

  1. hedgewitch Says:

    Well, I especially like the last half of this, beginning with the hiding in the hole, and the glower of powder blue. It is not just lyric, but deeply resonant. The beginning is more expository, which is a nice contrast, a lay-up for the chill at the end, which yet leaves room for a possible warmth, since ‘what we are’ seems both companioned and findable, at least by someone who makes a we of the I of one child. A great pleasure to read your poetry again, k, however ‘drafty.’

  2. First I like the first part because the child you describe is someone that I know .. myself.. then that image of the house.

    The house by that hill
    that holds a hill
    is brick-faced, eyed
    with glass that, in the day, looks black
    reflecting back.

    To me this reflects so much into a past and into the present of the we of the last stanza.. so much to think of here.

  3. Kerry O'Connor Says:

    It is a rare privilege to be allowed a glimpse of how a poet sees the world. This poem opens windows and doors onto the quietude of contemplation, the ability to see beyond the concrete and the gift to express the vision in words. Remarkable work, karin.

    • ManicDdaily Says:

      Thanks so very much, Kerry, for your very kind comment and support. Sometimes we have to be thankful for our difficulties–in this case, I had an overly busy weekend and felt terrible not writing for a while, then kept scribbling parts of this but never had time to post, which probably ended up being good as improving the poem. (I hope!) Always hard to be sure. Anyway, thanks much. K.

      On Thu, Dec 18, 2014 at 11:59 AM, ManicDDaily wrote: > >

  4. brian miller Says:

    it is interesting…and a bit twisty at times….the hill holding hte hill stanza that bjorn points out in particular…we are who we are…does that limit us though from ever being something else? or are we a slave to ourselves

  5. Grace Says:

    I admire the short verses, sliding skillfully from slopes to depression to house, to windows to sea ~ Love how the leaf is a verb, ground moon, use of mirror ~

    Always a pleasure to read you K ~ Have a good week ~

    • ManicDdaily Says:

      Thanks so much, Grace. I have done something for your wonderful bread prompt but not yet posted it. Hopefully, I’ll get it up sometime. K.

      On Thu, Dec 18, 2014 at 7:34 PM, ManicDDaily wrote: > >

  6. Susan Says:

    Your poem makes me think of the troughs of waves and the ocean that back yards–even those with eyes–become at night. And so the yard reflects the inside of those depressive types like me, that peak out of our hiding places but prolong hide-and-seek until the game dies. There is beauty in the entire scene, and in the lonely wise hermit stances of many of us at the bottom of the wave.

  7. Jamie Dedes Says:

    A good poem and a good questions.

  8. Oh, I like the last half, the way it fits, or echoes, the first half–the hearts with slopes of their own.

  9. kim881 Says:

    I love the gentle use of rhyme that gives the whole poem a childlike quality that fits the poem perfectly. Lovely.

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