When an angel appears to me,
I’m pretty sure I will have questions.

I will say
What do you mean?
What are you saying?
And then I’m pretty sure
I will lose my voice
like Zechariah.
I will be left mute
until it comes to pass.

Or like Jacob,
I will wrestle my angel
until I am left with a limp
and maybe a name change
and hopefully a blessing.

But when that angel shows up
and says
Fear not,
I want to be fear-less.
I want to live my life
and fear not whatever comes.

Today, I will pray for
ferocity of fearlessness
and be ready to roar
whenever that angel shows her face.

Second Sunday of Advent


I come from a family
not afraid of a little paint stripper
or paint.

My grandmother would paint old furniture
bright colors, red, fuschia, robin egg blue,
then make slip covers out of drop cloths or
old tablecloths.

Us kids would come home to Mom in the carport
in her work shirt and shorts, rubber gloved,
scraping old varnish into a metal coffee can.
Her style more conservative, dark stain or
antiqued paint, to mimic walnut or pecan.
Then to the fabric store for a remnant of expensive
upholstery fabric marked down to pennies,
to cover the seats with matching pillows.

Restoring perfectly serviceable objects into
something brighter,
more colorful,

Restore me, I pray,
into something more perfectly serviceable,
something brighter,
more colorful,

First Week of Advent


I like maps.
Gas station paper maps
that are folded in some odd origami
that once undone
can never quite be folded that way again.

I like atlases and old surveyors maps
with the keys to the different hash marks and dot dot dots
in neat little boxes in the corners of the page.

Pictures of newly discovered countries
when the earth was flat
and there were sea monsters
and undiscovered riches to be found.

Destinations, all to find a destination,
to trace our path, the turning point,
the crossroad to get us to that future place.

Take me to that ancient path,
set before me the way,
lead me to my destination,
where once lost,
I am found.

First Week of Advent


To breathe new life into

That is a definition of the word

Breathe new life into my life
establish new ways of seeing

Breathe into me that new green leaf
let the sap rise again
into these old bones
into this old way of being

Breathe new life
let it quicken
into compassion

Breathe into me
O breath of Life
Fill me with life anew.

First Week of Advent

*hymn, Breathe on Me, Breath of God
Edwin Hatch, 1878

Tiny Books of Poetry

2015 tiny books of poems

I love making these tiny books – they fill me with such joy. And I hope that joy shows.

I write each of the micro poems, print, then fold, using a semi-origami style, into tiny books. I then create the cover art for each tiny book. A little arts and craft project that is always an exciting creative outlet.

There are a few left so I thought I would share these with you.

Available are:
Love Poems – 3 left
Rain – 1 left
The Garden – 1 left
Morning on the Cove I – 3 left
Morning on the Cove II – 3 left
A Field Guide to Constellations – 3 left.

They are $3.50 each which includes postage in the US. For my friends in the rest of the world, I will need to get back with you about additional costs.

If you are interested, please email kathleengeverett@gmail.com Let me know which tiny books you would like and with your email address, I can send you an invoice thru PayPal.

Thanks so much – and I am already planning for more next year!