Distanced – [Poetry]

Division is only a step from death.

Differences respected may keep us alive;

yet here we are, my dear family:

divided,

disrespected,

desperate,

dying.

– Kris Leliel

What is Allegory? – Literary Terms 101

Allegory: “An extended metaphor in which the characters, places, and objects in a narrative carry figurative meaning. Often an allegory’s meaning is religious, moral, or historical in nature,” – Poetry Foundation


Gwendolyn Brooks on Allegory

To expand on the use of allegory in literature, I want utilize the poem “Boy Breaking Glass” by Gwendolyn Brooks. The poem has been interpreted as an artistic outcry towards social injustice with commanding imagery throughout. The poem was dedicated to Marc Crawford, a writer she knew who had the poem published in his magazines Tone and as a reprint in the magazine Time Capsule (Kent, 2014). Read the poem below and take in the figurative meaning for yourself.

To Marc Crawford
from whom the commission

Whose broken window is a cry of art   
(success, that winks aware
as elegance, as a treasonable faith)
is raw: is sonic: is old-eyed première.
Our beautiful flaw and terrible ornament.   
Our barbarous and metal little man.

“I shall create! If not a note, a hole.   
If not an overture, a desecration.”

Full of pepper and light
and Salt and night and cargoes.

“Don’t go down the plank
if you see there’s no extension.   
Each to his grief, each to
his loneliness and fidgety revenge.
Nobody knew where I was and now I am no longer there.”

The only sanity is a cup of tea.   
The music is in minors.

Each one other
is having different weather.

“It was you, it was you who threw away my name!   
And this is everything I have for me.”

Who has not Congress, lobster, love, luau,   
the Regency Room, the Statue of Liberty,   
runs. A sloppy amalgamation.
A mistake.
A cliff.
A hymn, a snare, and an exceeding sun.

Poem found on poetryfoundation.org

Quote source: A Life of Gwendolyn Brooks by George Kent – 2014


My Poetry

Elemental Magic – Fire

Prose of The Magician

Prose of The Fool

Elemental Magic – Earth

Peril

Distanced – [Poetry]

Division is only a step from death. Differences respected may keep us alive; yet here we are, my dear family: divided, disrespected, desperate, dying. – Kris Leliel

Elemental Magic – Fire – [Poetry]

I just published a prose poem on the fire element. Please read.

Fire introduced himself as the fuel for survival and a slow killer. I thought thinking of his slow burns made my teeth chatter not realizing the cold surrounding was the chill of fear. I admired his trickster ways and wanted to learn from him, while I hid in the cold without knowing why.

When we met, I learned he and I were bipolar. The closer you get, the more you realize our true power. That scares people. Hell, it scared me. I was so afraid, I feared everything I touched when he proudly burned inside me, the purification singeing away the conditioning that convinced me he wasn’t safe. I wasn’t sure if this conditioning was my fault or if my psyche was programmed to never know the word “bravery”, but only saw its definition when he burned brightly in other souls and I obeyed my conditioning to see him as a sin I should never touch.

Read the rest of the poem here…

Beginnings and Endings – [Just Me]

Whether you accept it or not, we are in a time of great change. Usually, I get tired of hearing that because change is a constant thing no matter what’s happening within or around us, but it can be more in your face when you’re entering a new chapter in your life and it’s simultaneous with a global event.

I think a lot about death in its literal and figurative sense. I’m sure the bulk of us have due to the virus, but for me I wonder about it daily and it’s never been out of fear, but out of sadness and something else that I can only describe as bittersweet and peaceful. Death shouldn’t be discussed nonchalantly. It’s a crux in my artistry and my mystic life, so I can only be respectful.

As the reality of death is closing in for some, others are embracing it, and very few are letting it guide them through an overwhelming transformation. There’s not much more you can do than let grief flail inside you. Let the tears fall, lean on a trusted shoulder, say goodbye, welcome old and new love to bring you comfort, and most importantly, rest.

My heart goes out to many with the hopes that my own creativity can bring a kind of healing to those who share my dark aesthetic. I am in worry and grief too; art helps me accept it and I hope it will help others too.

I have poetry readings, art, and music on the way, which will be on my YouTube channel.

This is definitely the time to get the pain out, creating a clearing for all that we were told to hold back and what grief is demanding us to scream.

Be well. Don’t fear the unknown. Don’t fear your darkness.

Confidence – [Poetry]

Forbidden flavors I was banned from tasting.

Warmth I was scolded for embracing.

A radiant fire gleaming as I fell

for an insecure god’s manipulative spell.

Blood boiling once I learned of dignity

while taught to drain it for undeserved pity.

Confidence became a mix of flavor,

sweet when pious, sour to the savior

who wanted to save me from myself,

condemning autonomy as an agent of Hell.

Lying – [Poem]

Unsure if my immobilization

was inspired by one-sided conversation

where you’re pushing, pushing me down

asking me how I ended up on the ground.

“It’s my fault,” I say, “I keep falling.”

Breathing in dust, my brain is stalling.

You command me to walk,

my feet drag and drop

until I see a cliff,

like a true escapist,

and pretend to fall again.

Another lying breath.

Another fall closer to death.

– Kris Leliel

Read another poem: The Prose of the Fool or Peril

Or let me read to you: The Monster Within

Prose of The Fool – [Prose Poem]

The first step is the hardest. Could it be because there’s no more land beneath your feet after that first step? The dog is barking with urgency, while your heart is beating with passion, and your foot hovers over a ledge taunting gravity and fate. Calling you The Fool isn’t an insult to your bravery nor an applause. You are pure adrenaline, you are the heart falling into the stomach, the stomach jumping into the throat. You might be naive or tired of everyone calling you what you’re not. You’re just The Fool facing this new beginning that may have been by Chance, but that’s no reason to pass it up.

Click here to read the rest of the poem.

I’m so honored that Vocal.Media put this poem on the homepage as a Staff Pick! It really boosted my spirit for further tarot-based prose poetry.