Poems by Katherine Goodwin

Katherine Goodwin is a novice writer who seeks clarity and truth in her poetry. She has not yet published any of her work, but here is a link to her blog of a few poems. https://embodythesoul.wordpress.com/ Residing in Philadelphia, she is a certified school teacher and yoga instructor, and enjoys studying the philosophy of yoga and devoting her “Self” to the Divine. She is very grateful to be a part of this 30 day writing challenge! She hopes to expand her audience of readers and practice expressing herself out loud!

April 26 Write a poem about a voice that still resonates with you.
The Teachers Speak

I hear the voices
Of the people from my past
That stumbled into my story
Or perhaps I stumbled into theirs.
These teachers
Of all ages, bodies, sizes
With words of
Love, criticism, encouragement
Said the words I needed to hear
Those that have brought me here.
Without their voices
I could not exist and transform
And learn and grow
For the teachers of our lives
Mirror our flaws
And expose our beauty
All which have saved me from
My own downfall.

April 25 Write a poem as a prayer that begins with a non-traditional name for God
“Brahma” : (Hindu perspective) The Creator, the ultimate reality underlying all phenomena


All Mighty

I pray to Your astounding nature

Pervading all life

All existence

You are all that is

And all that ever was.

I trust in Your ways.

And allow my life

To unfold

In it’s imperfect,


April 24 Prompt: Look in a mirror and write a poem based on what you see.

What Remains the Same

I see fear
From the creases of my forehead.

I see the cusp of a frown
Into the chirp of a grin.

I see strength
In a falling tear
That is not a weakness.

I see vulnerability,
An exposed forgotten trait
Tucked away with a curl of hair
Behind my ear.

I see lies hidden
Truth revealed
Upon the youthful skin I enjoy so dearly

I can foresee it fading
And the secrets
In the wrinkles unfolding

But, these eyes.
They are the same

The only thing I see
Is that
The eyes
Remain the same.

Where I Took my First Step
I will always remember the checkered blue and white wallpaper in Mom’s favorite room of the whole entire house. Like something you’d find at a picnic. But, better it was stuck to the walls and seen through the doorway from my favorite chair. I can picture this place like a Polaroid picture. The laundry room. Where, in so much fear, I asked Mom if I could start wearing deodorant while she was bleaching a white load. I remember the gadget Dad mounted on the wall to hang the hell out of years and genders of lacrosse sticks. With blue mesh bags full of heavy balls. Yes, balls. And mouth guards. This is what I see through the doorway dividing me and this visual blue checkerboard of my memory. We used to undress from layers of snow pants, coats, gloves, boots and just leave them on the floor. Probably to race to the computer table for the first game of Backyard Baseball. Sorry, Mom. Sorry we didn’t help more. I hated stepping into surprise puddles of melted snow in only socks. Good thing there was a door. The door to drown the sound of the dryer while we watched a Friday night movie. Or to trap the heat in from the first winter’s fire in between Mom’s never ending trips to the garage with “Sort-with-Mort.” I love that old fireplace. I took my first step by that fireplace, padded with blankets to keep us safe. When I got older, I used to stand in the center of the living room and trace my toes around the colors of the faded, oval rug. And even though the couch got in the way before making full circle, I really loved it here. Where not a whole lot happened, but really, so much did. I am remembering it now. Decades later, I go to home in the memory of my mind and still find it all still the same.

Poem 21 “Cento” Found Poem from Jane Hirshfield’s work

I sat in the Sun
The great calm being
It slept where light could not go
Nobody plans to be a ghost
There are openings in our lives
Of which we know nothing
Is this why some choose solitude?
Today let this light bless you
Let its vastness be undisguised in all your days
Be gone, as life is short.

Poem 20: Something That Still Confuses You


I have heard
And read
And tried
To Believe
That we are reflections
Of each other
That everything
Is composed
Of specks of
The same star
But I look out
Across the ocean floor
And see
I am not there.
Across the driest sand
Stretching vastly
I am not there.
I cannot find my pieces
Hidden amongst the trees
Outside of me
Outside of me
Is what I see.
Is easy to
But Unity,
This I am still

Poem 18 & 19 A Villanelle About What I Take Comfort In
A new day arises, I breathe my first breath
And live out my dharma ‘til
Darkness stirs while dreams are cast

Rays through the window
The beauty awakes
A new day arises, I breathe my first breath

Winding down in a candle home
A glass of red calms the senses
Darkness stirs while dreams are cast

A sip of routine brews on the counter
Warms my spirit in the first hour
A new day arises, I breathe my first breath

With my toes in the tub
Release all tension into the salty waters
Darkness stirs while dreams are cast.

April 17: I love the Library because…

I like to find me
Down the hidden
Musty stacks
Of an old, tired

Where the
Eager minds study
For pleasure
And for future benefit

Where the homeless,
Warm their backs
In winter

And the lost,
Hungry souls
Like myself
Search for meaning

I like to believe
My previous lives
Are tucked away somewhere
On these dusty, remote shelves

I wish to read
And know these lives

Of which I may so recall
In a vague, enchanting dream
I have yet to see
But have always known.

April 16: A poem on Longing

Let me Cradle You

Another taste
Of Your sweetness
Down through my
Barefoot toes.
I am
Buried deep in
The parched, earthly soil
From Your Embrace.
I am dry and worn
Without your
Pour down
Upon me.
Relieve me
From shadow
And lift me towards
Pure Light.
I long to be with
Your gentle, blissful
In this realm,
I feel a drought.
Let me hold You,
Know You
And cradle
The pools of Your

April 15
Found Poem
A Snapshot from my Desk

April brings

Out of the box,
We take a picture
Of our selves


I announce my voice
Out to the world

Press play
And smile.
Sharing this invitation
With everyone.

Join the club
Of Happiness.

An unending waitlist
Never more frowning of folk.

April 14th Point of View Poem
Of the Same Wing

“It’s a tiny fir tree,”
Spots the hawk flying high.
While the mallard speaks in awe
Of the heavy silhouette perched above.
The neighboring friends
Simply see the size
Revealed in eyes reach.
Yet still, at level gaze,
Perception comes through a foggy lens.
It’s not until the birds sing song
And converse
That we ever truly understand
A flight of events unique to each
Species of the same wing.

April 13th

Do it,
Can’t you feel
This bobbing bait
Pulling on the
Reigns of your heart?
Follow that urge,
The primal intention
Stored within you
For life,
For meaning.
Off the edge of fear
Into the pools of
Let the water
Flood your ears
And rush into your nose.
Take it on
And embrace
The refreshing nodes of newness!
Here drains the time wasted
Of holding these
Reigns on loving your-
With ease.
And give yourself
Space to be
Softly selfish.

Look at the tear
Falling down my cheek
And dare tell me
You cannot see the ocean.
As it slides with grace
Into the crease of my lips.
The salty trail
Nourishes my pores
These waves of sorrow,
And released.
I adore the taste;
The sweetness of
Their melancholy.

April 11: Dream haiku

Distant world unknown
I roamed a vast fantasy
Lost, but found pure joy.

Where Souls Collide

Upon the spell
Of sleeps and dreams
I sit in silence
Slumber to follow
Is much awaited
Let it come
Let it come
These guides
The locked doors
I enter the realms
Of sleep
Where we all meet
Our souls collide
In vast ether worlds
And when the mix
And mingling fades
Return again
To to our earthly cases
The sun wakes
And conscious breath
Through me,
This body
And into yours.

April 9th : Cloaks

I have worn many a cloaks
in my time.
Different apparel
for every season.

Some cloaks warm,
Thick, but cozy inside.
Hidden from the world
I was
And safe

I have worn cloaks
Of another.
Always pretending,
The cloak would fit,
But it was never quite right.

My light hidden
I scurried through life
and misunderstood.

I see no cloak
Encasing the rising Sun,
For it lights up the world
From the inside out.
This is how I want to be.

April 8th

Let Spirit flow
A flood of purification
These waters bleach,
Releasing all impurities back to You.
Transform me higher
To the tallest ladder of consciousness.
Meet me there
High upon the throne of God
Where I can finally feel at home.


April 7th: The Magnificent One


She is the Magnificent One
Sitting upon the world’s highest throne.
Adorned in an orb of
Pure white light,
People come far and wide
To study her radiance
In hopes of
Meeting the incandescent gaze
Of Her two veiled doorways
Forever cloaked
In a gloss of obscure intention.
With eyes that will pierce through
To the core of your Being,
She is the Mother form
Cradling existence.
Loving you,
Loving me,
And all of eternity.

“I’m still collecting…”

Come follow me
And you will find
Pebbles and pine cones
All things Beautiful
And distorted
Inside my pockets.
This is where I hold my memories close
And treasure their goodness
In fingertips reach.
Some rough, Others smooth
But the good ones I keep
Bottled up in jars
Stored like photographs
Daily reminding me of what is True
And Good in this world.

On Resurrection

Despite the bitter, Boston winter,
I saw a small patch of  crocuses begin to rise.
From the earth,
And cold as stone,
These flowers return in my eye’s surprise.
Vibrant color
And bold aroma,
This light of a reminder,
Nourishes my soul.


Out beyond the channel of the television,
Is a screen of heavenly gems.
Look out!
To the sight
Of the elegant pearl of the night.
I watch her.
But consistent in rhyme.
Like the nature of my mind,
The irritable slivers
Evolve into into luminous, all embracing versions.
Sometimes silenced
She observes my cyclic nature.
In the calm fullness,
I bow to her presence.
Oh, pupil of the sky,
How you radiate
Pure impermanence!
Thank you for
And inevitable change.

Hidden in the safe cocoon of the present world,
Crowded wings are crunched,
Waiting for an
Exodus of self.
On the other side of the wall
Is a new era of life
Just a means of peeling away the impenetrable crust
And a letting go.
A rising evolution,
This butterfly
Into a fresh wind.
A breeze of freedom
Replenishes the spirit
And she can flutter upon the world,
Until the territory is outgrown
And a hibernation is
In fact,
Once again,

I want to say

That even though these soft rays of Sun
Warm my skin through the window,
And the two, tiny, red friends on the screen are greeting Spring with joy,
I cannot seem to find the ease to soften in this moment.
There must be a draft; for I feel a coldness lingering inside.

With the clutter in my closet and clutter on my mind,
I am nearly far from perfect,
These are the words I seem to find.

So I want to say
That with some loving kindness for myself
I draw it in the light I see,
For only me,
This being,
Can melt those icicles inside.

Somewhere hidden
Deep within the muck and mire,
There is a seed waiting to be loved.
A seed to be nurtured,
Nourished by Mother.
This is where the magic begins.
Where the soul fire is fueled,
And the flames begin to rise and grow
Out through the pores,
The tongue,
The spirit.
Oh, how it flows! And grows!
A flame so great one cannot bear to withhold it within!
Sometimes, I can hear them;
Crackles of orange creation
Whispering in my ear.
I write them down before they burn up without a trace
Except for the disappointed dust of a lost flower
Eager to be welcomed into this world
And tended so dearly.