Origami No. 13 "Untitled" by Katja Grace.

This poem was written by a very special person in my life - Katja Grace. She wrote it especially for me.


The dirt wore into the linen
always in the field
There were quiet signs of light
shining through the August tree line
The man stood upright
adjusted his collar to the bone
looked up to see a lady coming
down a dragged and filtered path
They stood there in the dream
the house beside them
towering like an American Taj Mahal
It was how hard his father had worked
labeling the effort seen by the years
And that he'd passed with little more than 'Goodbye'
was on the soil where they now laid each other down
Then – away with a lonesome cloud
the dream slipped from their hands
Although they held tight and tried
the roots where bound to earth
were released into the sky
And they woke on separate pillows.
One of well worn linen
the other a
tightly woven factory cotton
bleached out
against her head
suffocating the dream of that land
with Its worn and dirty hands


Origami is sort of my catchword for a featured blog entry that highlights my original writings - could be an excerpt from one of my plays, a poem, a song, a rant, a rave, a cursing, etc. Origami is the art of folding paper (the word is of Japanese origin). So, within the folds of this particular blog feature you may find something really beautiful, meaningful or poignant.