A place for me to put my poetry and get feedback on it… I feel like such a big girl, graduating from surreptitious notes posted on FaceBook to my own real-life grown up blog. Thank you Chris (  http://cianphelan.wordpress.com/  ) for poking at me until I actually did it.


9 responses »

  1. She’s all grown up! Aw, thanks for the mention, Kila. Glad to see you joining the Blogosphere, and bringing some of your wonderful work to the rest of us out here. You’ve got too splendid a gift not to share it! Facebook’s really just a nice little stepping stone…welcome to the real fun.

    All the best – I look forward to seeing more of your writings!

    • Hey, Kila. Out of the blue, I know, but my efforts to contact you otherwise were stumbling. Idea: would you like to start a private, shared blog with which we might undertake our classic exchange of ideas and poetic analysis/craftsmanship, which have been so sorely lacking in recent years. What would you think of that?

      • It wasn’t so stumbly… I’ve just been spent out on emotional overload recently. AND… I can’t write. I’m blocked up so bad my brain needs a High Colonic.

      • In words much more eloquent than mine: this gives me much sad…Downright breaks my heart to know we’re so close, yet so far. All the hugs, Kila, please…return soon.

      • I’m trying… but everything I write lacks my usual flow and ease. it’s too forced. I’m getting brain hemorrhoids trying to push this shit out. 😛

      • Now there’s a visual. Alright, well…just know that my offer here stands, no matter where time flows to, or how much of it floats by. I miss our talks and I miss you.

        Come the first day of summer, I had wanted to send you a bit of your namesake to give you a smile. But where things sat, I was not sure if you would receive it. So I hope you don’t mind if I paint your wall with a little Keats now. I’m sure you’ll recognize the piece!

        Oh! how I love, on a fair summer’s eve,
        When streams of light pour down the golden west,
        And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
        The silver clouds, — far, far away to leave
        All meaner thoughts, and take a sweet reprieve
        From little cares; to find, with easy quest,
        A fragrant wild, with Nature’s beauty drest,
        And there into delight my soul deceive.
        There warm my breast with patriotic lore,
        Musing on Milton’s fate — on Sydney’s bier —
        Till their stern forms before my mind arise:
        Perhaps on wing of Poesy upsoar,
        Full often dropping a delicious tear,
        When some melodious sorrow spells mine eyes.

  2. the dreams of us were glorious
    animated stories of us
    splashed like wild color accross minds eye.
    last of the magic to make a bow
    last of the faith to make it glow
    hope shot blindly forward to slowly fly
    through time, through chaos
    rod and stave set by the bye
    desire fine, an albatross

    The flame roars again
    despite a few flickers and a try
    sparks to become greater
    a grand theatre
    a torch burning away chances to cry
    not perfect not everything.
    words come again despite ink being dry
    rythm checked, They sing

    A lullaby.

    Hiding this here so that you can be certain to take it with you 🙂

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