Katherine Eileen Dowling Poetry and Thoughts

What is an Effelump? I had a dream and out popped the Effelumps, and I realized that they had no real bearing on reality whatsoever. I figured they must be practically human in form, for they had two legs, two arms, and one head. They were rotund figures—neither slim nor obese, just rotund, like pot bellies in the middle—with commonplace necks, heads, arms, and legs. They had ruddy complexions; neither brown nor dark, neither suntanned nor "other," just ruddy and red, but not unsightly. I confess that until this day I have never read The Hunting of the Snark , but upon reading such a delectable masterpiece, I realize that upon nonsense, stories do indeed grow—and grow they must. For if it’s not told a thousand times until we are old, then it’s a story neither heard nor told. So, as in the Snark , what is, was, and will be, no one will ever know. I encourage my reader to go forth and read the Snark , for it’s indeed what it’s meant to be, and so is my book. Well, what does it ...

  Vertigo: My Strange Bedfellow I sit here, staring at my webcam,  Under blue skies stretched above.  The mercury rests below ten degrees;  Spring is blooming, indifferent and cold.  Yet I remain, a silent observer, Watching the world go by from the glass. Vertigo is a strange bedfellow. It arrived as a souvenir from Rome—  Now I long for that Italian realm,  The golden light, the warmth, the Buongiorno .  Yet here I am, anchored in the Manor,  Sizzling and fading in the sudden glare;  The sun is a weight too heavy to bear. Pavements tilt and the traffic spins dizzy. Vertigo is a strange bedfellow. I read, I write, I repair my life,  Clearing the clutter, one byte at a time.  It is a quiet ache, this restriction—  Physically mobile, yet visually bound. Vertigo is a strange bedfellow. So I will wait for the velvet of dusk,  Before I dare to emerge from the hall—  Unfolding my wings like a bat in the Spring,  ...