Truth Shining Brighter: Kilby's Poetry

Truth shines the brighter clad in verse.
~Jonathan Swift

Ever since I have known Kilby she has had a way with words. Though the days when we would write each other thirty-page letters are gone, the gift of her words are still with me through her poetry blog.

Below is my favorite of her poems, but you can browse her blog for the full collection here.



Silent Tears 
(January 2006)

Ah, I could weep my spirit from mine eyes,
but all my tears are silent, all my sighs
are spirit-still and none must ever hear
or know that I, I make my bed to swim with tears
or that my heart's great thunder is a moan
suppressed behind my closet doors, that none
should ever know that lightning struck my heart
and striking, made it burn--or crack apart
(for if it's ashes now or sundered rock I do not know)--
but either way, I must not let it show
by broken tears and wild cries, whose only noise
can be within my mind. For outward poise,
hiding the shame of deep despair, must make
my darkness worse, because I'd lack
all pretenses of stillness, were I all alone.
Oh, wretched state! My lips are made of stone,
and so my spirit, crushed, must weep unknown.

But, however silent I may be, He hears.
With His own hand He wipes away my tears
and puts them in His special phial, as though
they were His precious ointment, which I know
He'll pour out once again upon my head
when all the sorrows of the world have fled
with all the tears, and joy is free,
and day is new, and I shall never be
alone, nor ever silence torture me.

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Spring Flowers (a poem)

I'm so glad that spring is finally here! Thought I'd share this little number I wrote in elementary school to celebrate. :) (The lovely photos are from Deviant Art--click on them to see more.)

The periwinkle’s pretty blue,
It hides among the green.
Along the road plays peek-a-boo,
And always it is seen.

The trumpet creeper plays a tune
Upon her orange lips.
This insect comes in month of June
And from her nectar sips.

The morning glory hides her grace
Until the sun awakes.
And when she opes her dewed face
She then the sun intakes.

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As the Sun Dances on the Water: Herons at sunset on Flickr, with a poem

by Michael Oberman

by Java Cafe

I wrote this poem after hiking the Billy Goat Trail along the C&O Canal in Virginia, many years ago. Thanks to the amazing artists on Flickr for all the lovely photographs. :)


Nature I Have Seen
Have you ever seen the silver trees of winter ablaze with the fury of the evening sun?
I have.

Have you ever walked beside a river so still, that bird and rock and tree and moon cast their bold beauty upon it in perfect reflection?
I have.

Have you ever heard the water as it roars so silently over the stones and boulders that dare to oppose its passage?
I have.

Have you ever felt the icy water that now rests so quietly by the rocks, yet that once tumbled with spray and foam and wind over lofty waterfalls?
I have.

Have you ever seen the heron, so graceful in his flight, so splendid and majestic as he soars above the river water?
I have.

Have you ever sat in awe of nature's beauty so bold, and then in greater awe felt the presense of the One who spoke all this to life from nothing?
I have.
And He is beautiful.

by Alan Willis

CLICK HERE for the rest of the post

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The Dying Tree (a poem)

artwork by ~q-t-r-nevermore

Rarely has one of my poems been abandoned and returned to so many times as this one, mostly because of the stupid meter. Let me know what you think.

The Tree
The tree stood straight and tall and fair,
In youthful days that since have passed.
For if you were to wander there,
You'd see its strength has failed at last.

Its lofty crown of living leaves
That bathed in golden sunshine
Has gone, and now, the forest grieves -
From crumbled stone to clinging vine.

Its bark succumbs to cruel decay.
Its feeble branches weak and frail.
The once fresh sap is old and grey.
Its glowing life now cold and pale.

The tree once sang the song of life
That echoed through the wood,
And taught the songbird and his wife
To sing along as best they could.

The tree now weeps the song of death.
Its mighty branches drooped and bowed.
The wood, now silent, holds its breath,
The ancient trunk is bent and cowed.

A fatal shudder rents root from earth,
The dying tree's great strength has gone,
Rot seeps throughout the tree's wide girth,
Its will has fled to carry on.

A thund'ring crash echoes through
The shaken, trembling wealds,
The forest floor its boughs bestrew.
The ancient tree its life now yields.

As wind and rain and snow and sun
Knead the tree into the earth,
As one life dies, one more’s begun,
The death of one brings another’s birth.

For buried there beneath the leaves,
Where once the tall tree stood,
A tiny shoot, a bud ensheathed,
Grows, and carries on the wood.

~Emily Stevenson

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Morning Stroll (a poem)

(I've tried to write a little poetry now and then even though I find the muse quite fretful.)

photo by ~edoaja

Hey there, may I help you?
I couldn't help but notice
That you're walking with a limp today.
Is everything alright?
Can I help you? Here, sit by me.
That's it, slowly now. Careful,
There you go, watch for splinters.
You know these old park benches.
Yeah, it really has gotten warm.
Crazy weather huh, for being
Yet so early in the spring?
I guess the birds like it.
Yeah, it's nice to hear them sing.
No, don't worry, it's fine.
I'm not in any rush.
You don't happen to have a lighter
On you, do you? No? Oh well.
Not sure where'd you'd keep one anyway, haha.
You gave it up, you say? Really now.
Nah, never considered it.
It's too good at calming my nerves.
No, not especially, more boredom
Than anything else. Yeah my job is
Boring as hell, 9 to 5, and
It makes me antsy. I want to see
The world, you know? Meet people,
Eat weird food, collect in a jar
A little dirt from every town I visit.
Why don't I? Well, you know people
Like me. Minimum wage job,
A few busy friends, a mom who calls every day.
I just don't think I have the guts.
Huh? Oh sorry, here, let's switch places
So the wind doesn't blow my smoke
In your face. Yeah, there we go.
Hey, you warmed the bench up nicely.
Yeah, too skinny for my own good.
Can't keep warm in the winter.
Should move to Florida or something.
Better yet my own Caribbean island.
Just can't afford it. Oh, it's not too bad
I spend my days crunching numbers
And my evenings letting my mind
Float wherever it fancies. Yeah,
Like my own flying carpet service.
Next stop, anywhere you'd like!
A fur coat? Well, not exactly my style.
Looks good on you though. Is it real?
My, my, must have cost a fortune.
Inherited it, eh? Well, if i were you
I'da sold it, put the money in stocks.
Yeah, I guess you can't really
Put a price on sentimental value.
Well listen, it's been nice catching up
but there's a game on. You interested
In coming back to my place
For a beer? Don't drink either, eh?
Well, kudos to you. Yeah, I'll catch you
Around sometime. Have a great--

Yo, Barney!

Yes, Officer? Good day to you!

And to you, Sir. Have you seen me
Old cat about? She's not touched
Her morning milk and that's unusual.

Sorry, Officer, I noticed she was
Limping and tried to cheer her up a little.
Here you go, she's all yours.
Yup, yup, nice day to you too.

~Emily Stevenson

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A Poem Lovely As a Tree: birch bark on Etsy, with poetry

"Birch Bark Purse" by LynnCyrArt

Birch
from the old Germanic birka
which means "to shine"
it's bark is beautiful
     versatile
          hardy
it can be soaked in water and wrapped around a broken arm as a cast
peeled off for paper
tapped to make a tough glue
soaked in seawater to season hemp
and then it's just pretty
I love to touch my aunt's trees that gaurd her front lawn from the road
to run my fingers over the smoothness
and lean my cheek against its coolness
Etsians have made such lovely things with it

Come.

Take a walk in the woods with me?

"Handmade Birch bark planter with Succulents Hens and Chicks" by BearPawRustics

CLICK HERE for the rest of the post

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