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Kymberlie Ingalls is native to the Bay Area in California. She is a pioneer in blogging, having self-published online since 1997. Her style is loose, experimental, and a journey in stream of consciousness. Works include personal essay, prose, short fictional stories, and a memoir in progress. Thank you for taking a moment of your time to visit. Beware of the occasional falling opinions. For editing services: http://www.rainfallpress.com/

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

Girls Like Me

I'm not usually a fan of poetry - guess I don't understand the concept of stringing a few random words together to strike epiphanous upon the world.  But someone sent me this poem.  Someone who is a faint memory in a dark recess of my mind.  A sweet memory that I occasionally put my tongue to, and my pen when I need inspiration for tales that should only be told in the dark.   

It made me wonder why he sent it, then made me wonder how many other versed girls out there were just a little bit like me... 

A Crazed Girl

- William Butler Yeats -

That crazed girl improvising her music.
Her poetry, dancing upon the shore,
Her soul in division from itself
Climbing, falling She knew not where,
Hiding amid the cargo of a steamship,
Her knee-cap broken, that girl I declare
A beautiful lofty thing, or a thing
Heroically lost, heroically found.

No matter what disaster occurred
She stood in desperate music wound,
Wound, wound, and she made in her triumph
Where the bales and the baskets lay
No common intelligible sound
But sang, ‘O sea-starved, hungry sea.’
Mightier than Estë is Nienna, sister of the Feantúri; she dwells alone. She is acquainted with grief, and mourns for every wound that Arda has suffered in the Marring of Melkor. So great was her sorrow, as the Music unfolded, that her song turned to lamentation long before its end, and the sound of mourning was woven into the themes of the world before it began. But she does not weep for herself; and those who hearken to her learn pity, and endurance in hope. Her halls are west of West, upon the borders of the world; and she comes seldom to the city of Valimar where all is glad. She goes rather to the Halls of Mandos, which are near to her own; and all those who wait in Mandos cry to her, for she brings strength to the spirit and turns sorrow to wisdom.
- J.R.R. Tolkien

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