Not Writing…Courting Monsters

The Not Writing Writer is a Monster Courting Insanity

Franz Kafka

Sometimes, not writing is the perfect prescription for a writer, given the right circumstances. Sometimes my thoughts are too chaotic to put pen to paper, or fingers on the keyboard…

Sometimes, Not writing…

Is a way of hiding from my dark emotions and avoiding voicing those chaotic thoughts…

Sometimes, Not writing…

Is not being present in the moment. Not writing my way through those dark emotions and untangling those chaotic thoughts is the way to falling into their deep pit of fury.

Sometimes, Not writing…

Is not remembering that putting those emotions, those twisted knots of thoughts down on paper is the way to remember to breathe.

Sometimes, Not writing…

Is the pattern that pulls me deeper into the dark, battling to see the light.

Sometimes, Not writing…

Is the fear that my words are worthless or worse that they are too heavy for the page to carry.

Sometimes, Not writing…

Is the monster courting insanity, flirting with danger and drowning in grief.

Sometimes, Writing…

Is to remind myself that in a world of chaos and unpredictability, sometimes the only world I can control is the one that spills out of the ink that I put on the page.

Sometimes, Writing…

Is the prescription to calm my fears, fears of the unknown, fears of the future, fears for those I love.

Sometimes, Writing…

Is the way I can keep my record of the unknotting of chaotic thoughts in a world gone mad.

Sometimes, Writing…

Is the motivation that allows me to push forward another day with the promise of hope.

Sometimes, Writing…

Is a way to heal these open wounds, a way to sort these missing puzzle pieces.

Sometimes, Writing…

Is the way I breathe. The reminder that if I am creating then I am filling the black holes of nothing that chaos creates.

Sometimes, Writing…

Is the truest part of me.

Now, Writing…

Requiem at the Death Masquerade Ball

This is the Poem that was the first true seed for my new Secret Passion Project,

The Dark Fairytales.

The imagery in this poem was so visceral to me that the images haunted both my waking and my sleeping hours. It was the first seed for this world that I have fallen in love with and occupies most of my imagination…


Requiem At The Death Masquerade Ball

The time has come to bid adieu

Creatures remove their masks

The sirens sing a terrible requiem

The banshees shriek with unearthly delight

The werewolves howl into the night

The spirits moan with grief

Nasnus rattles his cage of bones and flesh trapped in rage and Grief

Ravens cackle and caw, taking wing bid their dark mistress Morrigan Adieu

Spirits wrathful, Spirits vengeful retreat into Van Gogh’s endless Night

She rises in fire born in Dragons’ breath, Leaving a trail of singed Masks

The fae dance a dirge as the night unmasks decay hidden in dead Delight

A keening claws at the air as the banshees sing their final Requiem

Ghostly queens, haunted kings dance to their madness in sweet Requiem

The sand walker drowns his prey in the immortal sands of Grief

Silvery sidhe spin the bewitched across the starburnt night in Delight

Spirits murdered long ago, kiss their beloved a hallowed Adieu

Samhain’s moon rises in skies of blood, the wild hunt tear away your masks

The gods cursed by pride flee into the murderous Night

Iridescent masks of silver stardust fall away revealing monsters of Night

Feasting on canapés of terror, feasting on nightmares in Hypnos’ Requiem

The blood moon rises, terrible creatures shed their faceless masks

Bones break, spines twist unmasking wolves driven mad by their Grief

Bound by their curse, madness is both their solace and Adieu

Only the forest and fog hide their bloodthirsty Delight

The forgotten gods revel in the music dancing in sinful Delight

Faceless Chaos in mask of anthracite, Nyx feared Queen of the Night

Beautiful Mesperyian cloaked in robes bloodied by those long bid Adieu

All creatures pale to the searing power of their King and Queen’s Requiem

Hades’ dark cruelty masked tonight, His lover’s torment his only Grief,

Persephone, a vision in liquid mercury, glides in his arms watched by Masks

Creatures remove their Masks

The banshees shriek with unearthly delight

The spirits moan with grief

The werewolves howl into the night

The sirens sing a terrible requiem

The time has come to bid adieu


All seekers of night and masks,

Spirits of All Hallows’ eve bid you Adieu

Those graveyards are emptied as the dead rise with delight,

to this Requiem

Forgotten is the grief,

hush as the Spirits dance you into the Night



© All Rights Reserved Kim Koning

On Mornings like these, and a new travel tradition #Soulfood #Poetry #Journaling

Bliss is found on mornings like these…

Today has been spent eating Poetry for Breakfast and Journaling in my heart space ~ my Zenkraft traveller’s notebook. I bought these two stunning poetry editions while in the UK last year. Poetry and music were my healing spaces in 2016 and continue to be this year. I also decided to start a new personal travel tradition. Instead of keychains or other travel keepsake ephemera I have decided to buy myself books of poetry every time I travel somewhere. These are my first two poetry mementoes and what stunning eye candy for the senses and soul food for the heart and mind they are.

 


“Time cannot be cut

with your weary scissors,

and all the names of the day

are washed out by the waters of the night.” 

excerpted from Too Many Names | Pablo Neruda

  Keep on reading!

Capsized | Writing through the Fog, Emerging from under the Wave

The Uses of Sorrow | Mary Oliver

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me

a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand

that this, too, was a gift.

 

…And today I felt like I was drowning in this ocean wave of grief and pain and lostness. I felt overwhelmed and raw with too many emotions trying to come out all at once…Then I knew I needed to quiet the ocean of noise in my brain. The only way I know how to do this is to Write! So here I have been writing in this journal on and off all afternoon/night. I don’t think the noise in my brain has died down yet. But it feels cathartic to see my thoughts and feelings in black permanent ink on a white page…-I need my poems to truly expel all this grey emotion. I’ve been purposely staying away from working on my poetry because I don’t want to actually face all these emotions. But I know I’m drowning beneath all my emotions/thoughts…the only way I know to come up and out from under all of this is through my poetry. It is my own life-raft. I need to get back in my life-raft… | excerpted from my journal ~ Greece, September 2016

“From the Sea” [Image by Bojan Jevtić]**
Keep on reading!

Drakensberg | Tryptich #NaPoWriMo

Dawn
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Lost in the mists of time
The dragon lies sleeping,
His hot breath forms clouds
Holding the fierceness that is his beauty.
Dawn dances over his scales
As his muscles ripple in harmony,
Her soft light touches each horn
And his heavy tail slides into sight.
The walls of air fade into sky
While dawn blushes in joy,
Her lips curve into a smile
Anticipating his wakefulness.
As dawn’s sweet singing
Fills the dragon’s lair,
His eye opens to gaze on her
With a passion aflame with fire.
Afternoon
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I feel dreams cascading down the waterfall of my memory.
I feel the power of life terrible in its fragility.
I look inside myself and feel the whisper of sadness raining beneath tears
of joy.
I close my eyes and I am covered in sound.
I remember the strength of Africa –
An aged land that holds the key to the mysteries of life and death,
Love and hate, joy and fear, quiet and chaos.
I shut my eyes and see the brilliant white light caught in the forked
lightning
As the air crashes around me with the thunder of her power.
I hear the echoes of silence caught between the whispers of God’s heartbeats
Then Africa rains, freely and unashamedly she mourns the death of another day.
Night
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I do not have a name for this feeling,
This deep wide open space within me.
My eyes search for blood saturated sunsets,
My mouth yearns for the raw taste of dust.
My ears listen for the screech of crickets,
They hear the rustle of grasses.
My skin aches to feel the gentle heat of its sun,
I see endless plains behind the veil of closed eyes.
I dream of the acridly fresh smell of a summer storm,
My spine shivers as the sky turns dark green.
I watch forks of electricity shock the noon sky,
And the ancient dragon cocoons into a blue chameleon.
An eggplant curtain is torn open as showers of hard stones bruise the earth,
Steam rises as the hard ground melts before baking.
I fall asleep to an orchestra of sound and chaos,
Crickets screeching, frogs bellowing, snakes hissing.
I hold my hand in front of my face and all I see is a vacuum of shadow,
The eye cannot measure the boundaries of this night shadow.
Only the fireballs of space draw its shadow in pieces of light,
These ancient guards of the night know the depths of Africa’s soul:
As I know the untameable wildness within my African heart…bani gama lako? *

© All Rights Reserved Kim Koning.


The Drakensberg (‘the Dragon Mountains’) is the highest mountain range in Southern Africa, rising to 3, 482 meters (11, 424 ft) in height and is site to the World’s second highest waterfall, the Tugela Falls.

Drakensberg translates to Dragon Mountains or as the Zulu nation calls it Ukhahlamba “Barrier of Up-Pointed Spears”. Both of these names are appropriate. To me, these mountains always resembled a sleeping dragon.

 I grew up in the lush verdant green lands of KwaZulu-Natal, embraced by the warm, maternal currents of the Indian Ocean on the east and fiercely guarded by the mighty Dragon, the Drakensberg Mountain Range, on the west. To this day, I believe that this mighty mountain range is the most hauntingly beautiful place in the world. When I think of “home”, these peaks and valleys of “The Dragon Mountains” will always be the home of my heart no matter where I am in the world. They are my “True North”. This “Dragon” / “Barrier of Up-Pointed Speare” is my place of peace.

* “bani gama lako?” (Zulu) translates “Who are you / What is your name?” *

_____________________________________________________


“Stretching majestically for 245km, the Drakensberg mountain range forms a natural barrier between the western reaches of KwaZulu-Natal (South African Province) and the Kingdom of Lesotho. This is a mountain range of spectacular natural beauty where golden sandstone and soaring basalt buttresses rise above pristine steep-sided river valleys, rocky gorges and high rolling grasslands. With an elevation of over 3 000m, these magnificent mountains offer exceptional conditions for walking and hiking. In the summertime, clear morning skies puff up with towering cumuli-nimbus clouds in preparation for the daily afternoon thundershower. In winter the days are warm and dry. But a balmy 20°C afternoon will plummet with nightfall to below zero, and snow regularly illuminates the peaks.

The Ukhahlamba-Drakensberg Park offers a natural haven of incredible variety. High up in the Berg the weary walker is rewarded by the hardy and fragile mountain flora common to high altitude climes. On the slopes of the Little Berg the vegetation is called Montane. A variety of different types of grass proliferate, whilst in the secluded valleys, unique plants and trees flourish, especially proteas, cycads, tree ferns, cabbage trees and the giant yellowwood. Common flowers include lilies, lion’s tail, agapanthus, watsonia, helicrysum, erica and the distinctive scarlet spears of the red hot poker.

In its remoteness and height, the Berg offers a magical window open to the fascination of the skies. The sun blazes as an oasis of light, warmth and life. The eager star-gazer is rewarded by a Milky Way that arcs across the night skies in a marvelous mass of stars. The various planets shine forth brightly, unimpaired by buildings or the interference of city lights. The well-known celestial constellations, Orion and Scorpio, are clearly visible and the Southern Cross marks the way with its two pointers. A rising moon in the East, large and glowing, and the setting sun over the Drakensberg peaks, is a wondrous daily experience.” … Excerpted courtesy of DrakensburgMountains

Incredible 360degree panorama of The Drakensberg Mountain Range 
courtesy of photographer/traveller: Dmitri Moiseenko

The Drakensberg – Dragon Mountains, South Africa • 360° Aerial Panorama

The Drakensberg - Dragon Mountains, South Africa - AirPano.com • 360° Aerial Panorama • 3D Virtual Tours Around the World

Your Robes

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You allowed me a touch,
I stretched out my hand to grasp Your hem
In that moment I knew my weakness
I was overcome by sorrowful joy
Tears of forgiveness fell from my eyes
As Your embracing Love cleansed my soul
There was so little of man left
As Your Spirit flooded the gates of mine
How do I keep hold of Your robes?
But to call out to You and beseech You
Master, Father, Saviour of my Soul
Redeem this small servant before you
Willingly I shake free the shackles of earth
As I surely enter the throne-room of the King
I bow before my Creator in worship
For this is the purpose of my breath
Tarry not too long Lord
For my soul thirsts for You.

© All Rights Reserved Kim Koning.

Temptations

Daily I am faced with arrows of temptation
My flesh is weak and unwilling
I look at my reflection in the mirror
I am filled with shame at my wickedness
Lord I long for Your daily washing of my soul
I long for the life-giving tears to wash my sin away
Daily the world wishes to defeat my flesh
But Lord I cling to Your Word made Flesh
I fall prostrate before your throne
Crying out Abba Father, Your will not my own
Lord I cry out for your boldness
I cry out to be scorched with the Flame of Life
Daily my flesh fails me and makes a deceiver of me
I thank You Lord that Your Spirit has overcome
The poison of the world’s arrow is dull
I will not be afraid or dismayed, I hand over to You Lord

© All Rights Reserved Kim Koning.

The Depths and the Breadths, Psalm 139

The earth trembles and breaks open
Thunderbolts with the sound of giant cymbals
Clash and echo all around me
Lightning flashes as the earth tears her womb
There is a rent in the soil beneath my feet
I smell burnt sulphur of fear in the air
My body cries out in fear with my heart racing
But my spirit sings in triumph and awe
As the cry of a newborn is issued from my lips
“Messiah! Holy One! Lamb of God! Jesus Christ!”
Excitement flows through me in waterfalls of joy
As I am wrenched from this place by a force as gentle as a breeze
With the power of an ocean. I arise.
In this place – It shall be done
Amen

© All Rights Reserved Kim Koning

Ruined

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He was a man on the streets
Covered in nothing but filth and shame
They held their noses closed
Thanking God that wasn’t them
Even the corpses in their grave
Were offered compassion and love
This man belonged to the undead
And his name was ruined
He was a man with two feet in hell
And a drowning mind swallowed in evil
All he saw before him was darkness
All they saw in him was darkness
Coming to the end of Hope’s road
He looked around and saw nobody
Falling down he wept one last time
Yet no tears fell from hardened eyes
Looking down from above
Was an angel covered in love
His face wreathed in a smile
“Seek ye first the Kingdom of God
And all these things shall be added to you”
Then the man’s hidden heart opened
As heavy tears fell from his eyes
Where he had no hope, now he was joyful
The darkness fled as love’s light
Embraced his weary soul…
“Seek ye first the Kingdom of God”

© All Rights Reserved Kim Koning.

The Servant, 33   

tired and dusty,
– i have walked the streets
of despair and adversity –
blinded by the storm’s drumbeat
looking for a place of rest
i stumble into a stable;
my heart filled with unrest,
my instincts that of an animal.
i find straw for a bed
(not aware of Him)
i lay down my heavy head
and the world grows strangely dim:
i feel strong hands
gently lifting my weak, filthy body
i battle to understand
– Who would dare touch me so lovingly?! –
i fearfully open my eyes
finding myself in an empty manger,
i look into the eyes of The Crucified
as He kneels before my crude manger.
slowly He holds my feet
and in a gentle caress washes
clean the dirt and the grime of the street.
tears run down my cheek in ugly blotches,
– full of shame –
i watch as they fall
On the shoulders of Him who became
The Servant so that I may be called Royal.
Smiling – he wraps my feet
in royal cloth of white –
He wipes the trail of tears from my cheek
and tenderly embraces me in His Light
I succumb to His Love – newly cleansed and replete

© All Rights Reserved Kim Koning