Thief of Hands

Killa write form the gifted one..this just plays a funky beat as I read and I felt me jammin to the sounds of yor words….love that third verse with harmonic rifts…sweetly done.

What writer among us cannot identify with this just – damn, I’m lost for words today – incredible, rhythmic, lyrical, beautiful poem? You have so captured this experience – those sometimes elusive words, just barely out of reach (even though I keep a little notebook right by the bed, I lose these phrases that come to me in sleep or daydreams!) What a remarkable gift you are Kristin!

Can you say Wordsworth? Really, the rhythm and tempo of this poem reminds me of Wordsworth, which is a very new thing, but not at all bad.There is certainly a more pronounced use of rhyme than in most of your work. It is a fantastic piece, as usual; it is simply different from the K-dog poetry that we generally get. I wonder whether this was a conscious decision of whether it was simply the result of electrical impulses from you brain to your fingers, and there you have it? I would certainly be interested in knowing that.

As usual, your metaphorical prowess humbles me: A violet mist, alight by moon,
their misted fingers
hush the loon;
a calling to their scribe
to croon
their voices
through the veil.
This is just one of any number of stanzas that I could pick for praise. This is amazing.

Frankly, I find the entire concept amazing. As you well know, I just don’t recall dreams. I may remember one dream a year, unless there is some specific dream that keeps recurring. Though, I take it that you aren’t exactly talking about dreams. For, as I think about it, while in school I certainly had experiences of getting up in the middle of the night with a sudden insight to a particular problem with a paper. One of my obsessive dreams was about Plato while working on a paper, which was not coming together for me. On the night that I had the essential insight that placed the entire project into perspective, however, I specifically noted that I had not dreamed of the old philosophical fascist, which I found to be strange. But I cannot in any sense say that this is a common occurrence for me since I have been out of school, in spite of writing just as much. Ok, I’m just thinking out loud now. I would like to discuss this notion further, however.

This really was a striking read. Upon a second reading, the sense of rhythm and tempo are even more striking; the poem moves, it undulates. Thus it is that I have followed your Queenly directive, though we may have to discuss you particular theory of sovereign power. Nicely done, dear. Love, RBG

Wow this is really frikin awesome. I love the flow of it and I think this is one of my very faves of yours. It just appeals to every part of me. Really brilliant again. I seem to use that word every time with you LOL Love you my kindred sweet sis xoxox

A violet mist, alight by moon,
their misted fingers
hush the loon;

I love this!

Beautifully done Kristin. xx

great precision in your perspective here…..

to wake long enough, to know in that moment how sleep may be feigned, and thus concealed, to find the necessary words, to write them and pass them in secret from the window of the house. one forgets the seriousness of this, forgets that this is not a struggle for muse alone but literally a fight to the death. no metaphorical fight, the I shifts from the sleeper, to the one who bends the sleeper to their own end, to the one who feigns sleep – the small one. your writing is threaded through with shining strands of truth – a terrifying truth delivered in the satin tones of a lover (a clever disguise indeed). i thank you for this much needed reminder, for the experience of your beautiful words. and in my rare waking moments i shall make for you a genuine wish – that strength comes to your arm in your holy war.

Holy Cow!!! I just love this Kristen.. I cannot ..simply cannot say more.. the scribes above me are writing verse upon yours.. is that not a huge glorious compliment.. you are so rich and loved and your expression is nestled in my dream time soon enough… but my words are like clouds that change shape before I can even think of catching them.. I bow.. your incredible.!!

shit! Kristen….this is so insanely awesome! You have no idea how incredible this poem is.
My mind so often writes in verse,
when hands are still
asleep....I can so relate!

But this part:

I wonder where these specters go
when twilight beckons midnight’s woe...I seriously thought I was reading Shakespeare’s words. I think that part’s so amazing! I am not exaggerating, but I really think you’re such a gifted writer!
Beautifully and magically crafted poem K. Your muse loves you! xxx

Oh and I forgot to mention: I think this is one of your best! :D xx

Wonderful !!!!

You love unapolagetically! I should think you retain many of our hearts within your own.

You are so incredibly talented.

I just noticed your feature in this and thought how incredibly well you deserve it. This is such a dynamic poem about how your muse works with you to produce such feats. So much of my writing of late has been through my own inability to cope with reality and you just blossom in it. You live in a world that I can only dream of. Well done.

i think everything has been said… in more simple terms… you’ve captured that grey land..between being awake and sleep… worlds collide and in the madness words do become clear where we can pluck them up….. your beautiful description is a wonder to read…. i explored this same theme in “in between” .. funny how are musees seem to hang in the same atmosphere… anyways.. i’m rambling when all that is necessary to say is that this is wondrous work…........ big bravo….........b

Chills. Speechless really and dont want to be redundant to what everyone else already said. You have the gift, more so of anyone I know. Angels? Perhaps. Master poetess, so insightful, deeply enlightened. You are. xoxoxo

“These words that dance just out of reach
My only chance to still the beast”
A chance that I’ll always consider your greatest gift to me.
xx