Your Secret is Safe

The sun and the moon,
they know where you roam
they know where you are,
and just how far from home;
the stars, they have seen you
so late at night,
they’ve tickled and touched you in playful starlight.
The clouds have whispered wispy hellos,
they too know where you’ve been and where you will go
(but you must listen closely
they speak quietly and low.)

I shouldn’t be jealous of salty sea waves,
save for the fact they have seen you for days,
they have smiled at the stars and shone back at the sun,
they have whispered to the clouds
and sung to the moon as it hung,
but as soon as the water touches down, reaches
the warm earth of home on the sand of the beaches-
all that is heard is a rush-

of hush.

For neither the sea, the clouds or the stars will reveal your secret,
with the moon and sun they’ve made a pact to keep it
safe, still, silent as stone
until you come back,
until you come home.


Overactive Imagination

An unexpected noise, a start
floods a fast and fluttering heart
with unnatural possibilities
the eyes can’t see
in a room painted in the night’s secret shades.

After a time of quiet the feeling fades,
but lingers still on breaths of imagination
the heart listens more softly, but quickly in anticipation
of the unknown just beyond the safety of the sheets.

Starsong Lullaby


Copyright 2017:  Kati Bergman

The night sings a song unlike any other
a gentle lullaby
to coax a cool and restful slumber.

She cradles an anxious world
under a canopy of stars
that remind us to pause
and listen
to the rhythm of our hearts.

The night sings a lullaby unlike any other
a song of stillness and peace
of hope to welcome a better tomorrow,
and then tomorrow yet another.

Daydream Memory


Copyright 2017:  Kati Bergman

Sometimes I think I’d like for just a day

to steal away

and sit upon some rocky shore

to listen to the gulls, the breeze, the ocean’s gushing roar

coaxing every wave to come back for more…more…

A day to bask in heated brilliance, light, and dare to play

some made up game of sand and sun and slip under the waves,

the salt of seven seas speaks to skin of adventure

and lands so far away

that, for the briefest of undulating moments, crest and stay.

And when the hours fill and pass,

when the breeze runs out of wind,

when the grains of sand cool again

and soothe my burning skin-

I will make a memory of all the life that day

and seal it with a salty kiss

and never let it slip away.

Not Spotless

I was having a conversation with my friend about how often I clean and she mentioned that my house must be spotless…but it isn’t.  I always have something to clean or improve, but it gave me an idea for this poem:

A spotless home is hard to find,
each day leaving pieces scattered behind
in rooms where clothes lie draped on chairs
left by tired arms too weak to care
about the closet and the empty hanger there.
Spotless eludes the bathroom too,
toothpaste that missed the sink decorates the counter top
in perfect unspotless minty spots,
the mirror reflects busy faces
and also shows that toothpaste has landed in other places.
Oh no, the kitchen does not escape
the dishrag limp and damp, losing shape
as it tries to hide the stains from last night’s meal
and the garbage disposal coughs up old vegetable peels.
Blankets and pillows lie perfectly still and cool
left tossed after the morning alarm
and covered in last night’s drool.
No matter how often you vacuum and dust and wash and clean,
a spotless home will never be seen.

On the Push-Pull Train

Only once before have I found us to be

so divided,

our train of thought derailed in defending

two separate paths as right.

Overturned, undone, and frozen

in year after year of bickering, blood, and bruised brotherhood.

I can only hope we have learned from the past,

that however long this conflict lasts,

it strengthens and teaches us to hear each other,

to pause and listen to neighbors, sisters, friends, and brothers.

I ask not that you always agree-

opinions, after all, are the sweetest kind of free-

Let’s not dismiss each side entirely,

declare our thoughts, actions, and beliefs to be more mighty,

ignore the left or right,

block our ears and blind our sight,

ignore the fact that life looks differently for everyone.

If we refuse to debate, to compromise, to learn,

if we refuse to choose

to listen, to share, to expand,

to grow from what we don’t know…

then we may derail again.

Let’s work to keep this train moving forward, on track,

because forward is all we have, there is no turning back.

Winter Whispers

There’s something in the icy whisper of winter

that tickles my memory

into thinking of days long chilled,

moments left

to freeze in time-

behind the heated rush to brush

into and past the promises of tomorrow

be they filled with happiness or sorrow.

Indeed, my memory has no right to reflect upon the frozen memories I borrow-

for they are not memories, but stories passed down by ghosts,

history whispering that we are but temporary hosts

that thrive

in the heat and light of warm and happy life,

but survive

in the icy whispers of winter.



Copyright 2016:  Kati Bergman

It seems everyone believes
the cycle of life ends in winter.
Days are shortened
as the crisp cold steals
motivation from movement
the pace falling, falling away
into sleepy stillness.

But life also begins in winter.

Life begins in sleepy stillness.
In the quiet cold we begin to find
motivation for movement,
and as the winter wind warms
the growing days
we discover ourselves bit by bit,
blossoming in the spring
and entering the cycle
as life breathes into everything.