Category Archives: Poetry

“Bruises fade father, but the pain remains the same” ~Christina Aguilera

As part of my reading deprivation, I’ve been listening to music. I’ve danced around the house, cleaning to Katy Perry and writing with the aid of Meditation music. My musical taste is ecclectic to say the least. As part of the excercise, reading deprivation aims to connect us to our own voice. When I listen to music, I do hear the other voice singing in my ear. I can hear the artist. Sometimes what the artist has to say is so powerful, so beautiful, so painful even, so true. I can’t explain why this song means so much to me, to do so woud be to unravel one of the biggest mysteries in my ongoing investigation of my life. But i am okay.

 

If you ever thought Child Abuse was something to take lightly. I can assure you. You are wrong.

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“Journeys, like artists are born and not made…”

Assignment #1

Journeys, like artists, are born and not made. A thousand differing circumstances contribute to them, few of them willed or determined by the will–whatever we may think. ~Lawrence Durrell

Thank you.
You stared up, from the bottom of the Christmas tree, dazzled by the blinking lights content with the magic scent of it all. The water drips from the broken branches you couldn’t avoid watering in your quest to complete your volunteered goal. Had to prove you were big enough to do it. You were big enough. (And just small enough)
You climbed up onto your window ledge, pretending you were on a cushioned window seat. The kind you once on a T.V show. The kind you wanted as your own. You rested your head against the cool pane of the glass. You stared down to where your mother’s rose bush once bloomed, watching the moon sparkle in the snow. The wind whispered with snowy dust and your mind wandered to the whimsical sky, the stars singing in silence back at you. Thank you.
You tucked yourself away in your closet, crammed in between your dresses and shoeboxes. Each of your stuffed animal comrades close enough to hear all your thoughts. Mr. Bear, your first love, cradled you in his oversized bear hug back to you. The green velvet ribbon soft against your cheek, and always coming undone. His soft brown hair was like a pet beneath her fingers, and his dark ball eyes providing comfort in times of fright.  He held your hand through all of the fights.
Thank you, Mr. Bear. Thank you.
Thank you for remembering the star filled eyes of Grandpa. For the time he pushed in you the cart over the wooden planks in the Ribbon and Fake Flower gallery in the little Nursery on the way to the mall. Ba Bump. Ba bump. Just like the cars traveling on Sunrise. Ba Bump. Ba Bump. Brrrrum brrruuuum. He pretended he was a car. Racing you through, stopping and slowing. Making you giggle out of control. Thank you for remembering the way your grandmother would snap. “Eddie, Eddie knock it off,” scolding a child who humble acquiesced his wife’s remark with a gentle nod and an affirmative, “uh huh.” He waited for her to turn back to your mother and ribbons and the motor would start again, quieter than before.  Thank you for remembering his whistle, the touch of his flannel shirts, the love swirling in his eyes. Thank you.
Thank you for your imagination. The fake tests and roll call you made for “School,” the fine French dinner in yellow Playskool chairs. For days tromping through the redwood forest, finding forbidden creatures beneath logs, leaves, and rocks. Thank you for the twirl of pretty pretty princesses, for the colored monsters living in the trees, for the flight off the swing, for the award-winning goal during recess.
Dear Child,
Thank you for painting my childhood with color. Thank you for tucking yourself away in the lost and found bin. And thank you more than ever for waiting patiently among the lost in order to be found.
Thank you inner child, for showing me the Way.
Peace,
Kris


“Not all who wander are lost” ~Tolkien

It’s the beginning of the week! It’s been an interesting previous week both in my personal life, as well as the artistic journey I’ve been on. I’ve decided (after a week of trying it) to track my journey through “The Artist’s Way.”

Week one was successful. I took a looooooooong walk as my artist’s date and had a wonderful time. I found different pathways to the ocean, which made my creative spirit dance with glee. I found a house not to far from my home, built with architectural mastery and beautifully landscape. Upon seeing the house, I thought an artist must live here. It was that little artistic nudge on the inside, that feeling of being in the presence of art. As I walked closer to the mailbox, I noticed a giant rock marking the driveway in an artistic landscaping design. On the rock was painted a beautiful mural of a lighthouse and a calming sea. From now on, my camera is coming along with me!

Each morning I began my day with writing. As part of the program, Morning Pages are part of the deal. 3 pages, front and back every morning, right after I wake up. I have to admit, sometimes I have to convince myself it is for my betterment, but usually feel lighter when completed. I also noticed the clarity that comes from doing them. No longer sitting at my lap top in the middle afternoon attempting to write but getting held up on the issues of the days past or the issues at hand, I now, after a bout of yoga, a healthy breakfast, and a morning meeting with the trees in my back yard, am able to create.

One particular writing session produced an essay that was more than just a rambling of past transgressions. I had written it as an exercise assignment from the book. Who knew how creative that assignment could be! I’m considering editing it and sending it off for publication. I’ll let you know how that endeavor goes.

I also had the creative editing spirit and looked at one of my old poems. “Mother’s Advice” was written about a year ago in a Creative Writing class at school. The assignment was to write a poem using a metaphor. I was pretty proud of it when it came time to sharing and it was received well. It was also the poem that warranted a surprise meeting after class with my professor. It was the first time that any one said I needed to get published in a literary magazine. My poetry had caliber. It was a nice feeling.

Anyway, I digress. I originally started this post to tell you about the status of my book! I’ve finished the prologue and am trying my hardest to not to go back and rewrite but rather rewrite. Tomorrow I hope to at least finish a quarter of the first chapter. I also have been having little brain blasts of scenes that I want to try to develop more, the scribbled on napkins and random post its are starting to clutter up my desk! I’ll give you a little insider tip, the invocation of the heavenly muses has been called after the description of the Great Orchestra! 🙂

As Always guys, Thanks for stopping by. See you next post.

Peace,
Kris


“Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.” ~Robert Frost

~ Ladybug  Ladybird ~

"A scarlet Lady with blemished wings"

A Mother’s Advice

She flies free, this lady with blemished wings;
a scarlet lady in a field of Greens.

She climbs–He bends–The wind begins to sing:
“No M’lady there are still more to seek.”

She’s re-learning to fly, happy and free.
Suddenly–FLASH– she’s netted down by Red.

His scent was strong and his beauty screamed,
but the guard of thorns made the tears she bled.
“No, M’lday, there is still more to seek.”

Carried to limbs, wings weary and broken,
he sways from his roots to lull her to sleep.
She sleeps while love’s words are at last spoken,

“Lady bug Lady bug you are not alone,”
“Lady Bug, Dear Lady Bug, Welcome Home.”

—  Kris E. King —
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