Her Muse

I know you are not gone

Your presence lingers here


Like the scent of Marlboro’s

To this battered leather jacket

Like autumn’s last leaf

Bravely waving in the wind

Like the ghost of your lips

Pressed to my collarbone


Do not forget, I live here yet

In the turn of a page, in a turn of phrase

In this muse’s deepest heart

I know you’ve yet to depart

For I still still feel you slipping through my veins, smoke curled essence of you curls round my brain and you never did say goodbye so I’ll hold fast and will not cry


I know you are not gone

~ kei

19 November 2014

Bleddyn and Sleeping kateri

Ink, Ex-lax and Ennui

So… seeing as I have nothing to say, I might as well clutter up the Reader with more annoying detritus.

Is it my imagination or are there less and less posts to read? I follow a lot of people, which makes that Reader a damnable taskmaster at times but there is less there. Has WordPress taken to “tailoring” our content a la Facebook? IE: algorithim’d – I’m a writer, I can make up words – what we are “permitted” to see?

Or are y’all suffering writer’s block like me? Not so much block as teenage rebellion of the pen. The ideas are there, a word or two but I don’t want to sit down and write, it feels a waste of time better spent elsewhere – antsy, bored, and disenchanted.

Speaking of that. Where did so many people go?

What happened to RJ,David Eric Cummins, Memoirs Of A Dragon, McFcWolf, Lady Day, Silkred, Miss Lizzy, Lovinchelle, Desires and Passions…?

Because I don’t miss nearly enough posts or already feel big time guilty about not reading what I can see!




Is it Friday yet?

Ever On Guard For Thee

In Flanders Fields

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae

3 May 1915

poppies ottawa


When you said that the rain followed you everywhere I was relieved
I’ve been wandering in this desert for so long now
My heart is parched and my soul is scorched

And baby, from where I was standing the tornado in your voice
Well, that sounded like a little bit of heaven, like a promise
To a body going too long on nothing

The rain started in the afternoon and I thought, I can hang on
I waited in the heat and the blast furnace of doubt and pain
The skies were open but you never came

My knees are bruised and bleeding from crawling across this lava floor
Curled in a ball trying to hang onto myself, don’t turn inside out
Shadows chase themselves across my fevered skin

Hours ticked down, the knock never came, only the lightning and the rain
Had you come, I’d let you in, anything to cool this fevered skin
Adrift.. Alone… Too bad I never learned to swim

~ kei
7 July 2012