In simple conversations with others, I mute myself unintentionally…

…and it feels involuntary because I’m the type that wants to spill my heart’s contents. I just feel like when I’m around the majority of the people in my life, they have shown me what they really care or don’t care about through rejection, belittlement, invalidation, and sardonic attitudes assaulting what is not just important to me, but also accurate. So like many sensitives, I choose silence while my eyes tear up and my heart aches and my stomach churns and my mind screams. 

This became a painful habit of my people pleasing persona. The consequence was volcanic, but luckily for me the pen could channel the magma within and somehow transcend from being raw and unruly to becoming divine and sculpted. It was the first poem I wrote about how much I loved Spring in 5th grade where I realized I was being listened to. It was my first song about friendship where I realized I was being heard. So my poetic career plodded on while traversing through goth culture, my parent’s divorce, going to college early, losing toxic friends and becoming the toxic friend. 

I didn’t pick up the pen as much when depression won me over, but I’d reach for it in desperate times to avoid carving into my skin, since that too was belittled, invalidated, mocked, and only a few times led friends to beg me to never go too far. 

I’ve teased death a time or two, but our relationship is so much more fulfilling now that my poetic purpose has been embraced by my artistic and fragmented soul. That volcanic energy would cool sometimes and seal the broken parts me rearranged by new philosophies and mysticism that called the pen to my hand again, reminding me, especially when I’m erupting, that poetry is permission to simply be. 

Kris Leliel


Just Checking In – [Just Me]

First, I just want to say I’m really grateful for all the visitors I get on blog, who I’m noticing are mostly occult and metaphysics enthusiasts! I’m glad my posts have caught your attention and I hope they were helpful. Second, there have been a lot of website changes. I’m trying to polish the platform […]

Website Changes

Why must WordPress be so…the way it is? *sigh* Well, made some site changes. More to come… KL

Sonnet by Alice Moore Dunbar-Nelson (Artist Recognition)

I had not thought of violets late,The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feetIn wistful April days, when lovers mateAnd wander through the fields in raptures sweet.The thought of violets meant florists’ shops,And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine;And garish lights, and mincing little fopsAnd cabarets and soaps, and deadening wines.So far from […]

First, I just want to say I’m really grateful for all the visitors I get on blog, who I’m noticing are mostly occult and metaphysics enthusiasts! I’m glad my posts have caught your attention and I hope they were helpful.

Second, there have been a lot of website changes. I’m trying to polish the platform so my future works will be better displayed. There was just too much clutter before, but hopefully the investments and changes I’ve made will bring clarity to my vision for Authentikei.

Thirdly, along with my psychology studies, I’ve been doing a lot of pagan and occult research that I hope to blog about soon, but when I’m not studying, I’m usually writing poetry, my novel, searching for aesthetic inspiration ravenously, or just…thinking about everything. I swear I’m going to make time for more blogging/article/ social media content very soon. In fact, I’ll share the writing sources I run into soon.

Lastly, I’ve been feeling the healthiest I have ever been and I’m so grateful. Actually my gratitude for my life has been exploding and all I want to do is share it with you, but I know that making high quality work requires patience, focus, introspection and adaptability. Although I’m busy, you’re more than welcome to chat with me on Facebook, Twitter, Tumblr, or Instagram and you can take a look at my Pinterest too if we have the same aesthetic vibe.

I hope you’re all well, safe, and healthy. I can’t wait to show you my work when it’s time.

KL

I had not thought of violets late,
The wild, shy kind that spring beneath your feet
In wistful April days, when lovers mate
And wander through the fields in raptures sweet.
The thought of violets meant florists’ shops,
And bows and pins, and perfumed papers fine;
And garish lights, and mincing little fops
And cabarets and soaps, and deadening wines.
So far from sweet real things my thoughts had strayed,
I had forgot wide fields; and clear brown streams;
The perfect loveliness that God has made,—
Wild violets shy and Heaven-mounting dreams.
And now—unwittingly, you’ve made me dream
Of violets, and my soul’s forgotten gleam.

© Alice Moore Dunbar-Nelson – Source: Poetry Foundation

Alone in the library room, even when others
Are there in the room, alone, except for themselves:
There is the illusion of peace; the air in the room
Is stilled; there are reading lights on the tables,
Looking as if they’re reading, looking as if
They’re studying the text, and understanding,

Shedding light on what the words are saying;
But under their steady imbecile gaze the page
Is blank, patiently waiting not to be blank.

The page is blank until the mind that reads
Crosses the black river, seeking the Queen
Of the Underworld, Persephone, where she sits

By the side of the one who brought her there from Enna,
Hades the mute, the deaf, king of the dead letter;
She is clothed in the beautiful garment of our thousand

Misunderstandings of the sacred text.

© David Ferry – Source: Poem Hunter

Someone standing at the mouth had
the idea to enter. To go further

than light or language could
go. As they followed
the idea, light and language followed

like two wolves—panting, hearing themselves
panting. A shapeless scent
in the damp air …

Keep going, the idea said.

Someone kept going. Deeper and deeper, they saw
others had been there. Others had left

objects that couldn’t have found their way
there alone. Ocher-stained shells. Bird bones. Grounded
hematite. On the walls,

as if stepping into history, someone saw
their purpose: cows. Bulls. Bison. Deer. Horses—
some pregnant, some slaughtered.

The wild-
life seemed wild and alive, moving

when someone moved, casting their shadows
on the shadows stretching
in every direction. Keep going,

the idea said again. Go …

Someone continued. They followed the idea so far inside that
outside was another idea.

© Paul Tran – Source: Poetry Foundation

Gothic Style Throne Room by Concept Artist Joey Leung on ArtStation

How quickly our thrones become cages

from a single stroke of misery.

Convinced our legacies past

are erased by hidden difficulty.

Dismay destructs our strengths

lighting fire at our feet;

weakness become more transparent

than the thinnest silk sheets.

Don’t forget your prudence

in hours of adversity.

Unlock your cage and venture

to rebuild and ground your dignity.

I enjoyed my Yule then jumped right back into work. The couple of weeks off was really needed and one week to just focus on work helped as well.

Blog posts and updates are coming back. And more is coming…

I hope you all are well.

– Kris Leliel

metonymy

metonymy: “A figure of speech that substitutes the name of a related object, person, or idea for the subject at hand. Crown is often substituted for monarchy…should not be confused with synecdoche, a substitution of a part of something for the whole or the whole for a part.” – NTC’s Dictionary of Literary Terms (1991)

This literary device is often used in poetry as a kind of metaphor that can provide context for the poem’s topic and the poet’s subjective view of the topic, yet reverberate as something more universal. In Mary Kinzie’s A Poet’s Guide to Poetry, she asserts that, “no matter what ideas fed the works, mental and emotional content must depend on objective counters and local embodiments to some degree. Without material embodiment, no spirit can come through the pattern.” Metonymy satisfies those conditions so frequently that many of us poets do it automatically or subconsciously if you want to go that far. For example, I used “flesh” to represent sin or shame in Blind With My Flesh – Judicium as a reference to how flesh is perceived in Abrahamic beliefs.

To my fellow poets and writers, have you looked back at your own work and noticed you do this too?

More Literary Terms

What is a moral criticism?

What is gothic?

What is allegory?

Poetry Is Permission – Just Me

In simple conversations with others, I mute myself unintentionally… …and it feels involuntary because I’m the type that wants to spill my heart’s contents. I just feel like when I’m around the majority of the people in my life, they have shown me what they really care or don’t care about through rejection, belittlement, invalidation, […]

In the Reading Room by David Ferry (Artist Recognition)

Alone in the library room, even when othersAre there in the room, alone, except for themselves:There is the illusion of peace; the air in the roomIs stilled; there are reading lights on the tables,Looking as if they’re reading, looking as ifThey’re studying the text, and understanding, Shedding light on what the words are saying;But under […]

The Cave by Paul Tran – (Artist Recognition)

Someone standing at the mouth hadthe idea to enter. To go further than light or language couldgo. As they followedthe idea, light and language followed like two wolves—panting, hearing themselvespanting. A shapeless scentin the damp air … Keep going, the idea said. Someone kept going. Deeper and deeper, they sawothers had been there. Others had left […]