KendleRJ

I Swallowed by KendleRJ, literature

In the darkness by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

In the darkness

Something stirs within. Eyes blinking, tail unfurling, nostrils flaring. The space is confining, claustrophobic. But it has resided there, slumbering, Waiting for another call, Watching for the right moment. Stretching limbs, sliding along, Testing its limitations, and thrumming against them. Pupils dilating, adjusting to the minimal light. Was it her heart that felt the first motions? Was it her gut that churned with worry, or fear? Or perhaps, was it both of those things that woke it? Because her dragon, her soul, her strength of spirit, After waiting too long for her to grab the sword, Stand and face it all, and throw down the gauntlet

Untitled by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

Untitled

Silence stretched out before him; the breath taken before the hurricane overtook him. Faces in half light, a sea of expectation before the curtain rises. Shyness and self-doubt gives way to energy; boundless, endless, hopeful and inspiring. The darkness is overwhelmed by the light of the man on stage, And the joy he brings with him like a fire, catching to everyone there. But even beyond. Past the lights, and the stage, outward flowing energy, Joyful entertainment and poignant prose, a genius has passed this way, And not a single soul doubts such a thing. To keep up with talent, to understand each word or phrase, To catch hold of his train

driving home by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

driving home

Driving through familiar places, while clouds, heavy with rain, kiss the tops of trees. Rain spatters the windshield; the water intermingling with the carcass of insects, The battered badge of honour that comes with a long distance drive in summer. Home. Not mine, but hers. A bittersweet journey that carries the soul back to its roots, Closure, but remembrance, celebration and mourning, shared with loved ones. Standing together, yet still alone; connected and distant, saying farewell.

Forgotten by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

Forgotten

I have forgotten more than I remember. Crumpled bills inside of a wallet, currencies from a dozen places I don't ever remember being. Faded pictures, faces nearly gone from the wear and the stroking touch, My thumb still blackened from the motion, without ever having been done. Sensations and memories slipping through my closed fingers, Like water cupped in a bowl full of holes. The sky? Blue. The clouds? White. The sun? Yellow, but partially out of sight. How many times have I considered the simplicity? How many skies have I seen without a single memory of them now? Life is new, forgotten and tangled in the web of my mind. But is it just

words by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

words

Words like knives cut through the armour, Slicing at confidence, esteem, and ambition. Tone is everything, and so is intent. Some build people up, lend support, Encourage, show compassion and express love. But others... well others... They tear down, destroy, devastate, Their sole purpose to divide, to conquer, and to rule. Undermining the strength with manipulation and hatred, Only meaning to cause havoc. The words becoming weapons, hurled with malice, Killing more effectively than a bullet. Murdering the soul, and letting life continue, Existence replacing living with the shadow of harm, From those misplaced, harshly spoken words.

The Evening Meal by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

The Evening Meal

His nose twitched imperceptibly, but enough for him to allow the delicious scents of cooking food to enter further into his senses and entice him. It was... marjoram, and cumin, with a touch of curry, and... cinammon. What a tantalising combination of aromas that made his mouth water without even knowing what it was. Meat perhaps? Or a savoury pie? Dessert or even just the sauce that would complement the main meal, and then his mind went on a comfortable meander through possibilities, making himself hungrier without even knowing why. Entranced even before the taste, pulled towards the flavours even before they slid across his tongue, he imag

Cyclical by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

Cyclical

Every end is a beginning, lining the folds of the wallet of tomorrow. The time ticks by, marking someone else's end, someone else's beginning. Life might be cyclical, the orbiting circle of time that revolves, Analogous, unending, at least in our comprehension. Words weave wonders, but explain nothing. Except, in the fine confusion between breaths, Closing eyes could be a blink, a wink, or a final gesture. Fluttering closed bidding farewell to life, last moments captured on the inside of lids.

Wishing You Well by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

Wishing You Well

Months it's been; time passed with a tragic slowness until it no longer mattered, Now, it's marked by other things, other people, other joys, other reasons. Life forgotten, shared moments, joys exchanged, left behind in a heap of reasons, Discarded, without a second glance or a second thought. Missed once, now overlooked, now ignored, entitled to choice, but given none. Take the life that had been promised before, watch it slowly unravel. The more you want it, the more it will slip through your fingers, Regret a tainted rash on the skin of your life. You cannot have something else while you have what you had before. You cannot move away from

Ode to Bing Cherry Cider by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

Ode to Bing Cherry Cider

Tasty, isn't it? Far too fruity to be considered alcoholic, But cider in the name makes it this side of fermented. It goes down too easily, and I have to say, I'm glad it only comes in little bottles. It has a taste all of its own, a berry, cherry, hairy Scrumptiousness that is only hairy because it sort of rhymes. I could have been clever and used precari-ous... the ous being Pretentious with a hint of potential silliness. But when it's a fruity concoction that settles warmth in the tummy, And a nice easy relaxation of the limbs, Potential silliness, pretention and precarious rhymes Are not only expected, but, as I near the bottom of the b

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I Swallowed by KendleRJ, literature

In the darkness by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

In the darkness

Untitled by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

Untitled

driving home by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

driving home

Forgotten by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

Forgotten

words by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

words

The Evening Meal by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

The Evening Meal

Cyclical by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

Cyclical

Wishing You Well by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

Wishing You Well

Ode to Bing Cherry Cider by KendleRJ, literature

Literature

Ode to Bing Cherry Cider

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This is why I have trust issues... by Jake-Sjet, journal

This is why I have trust issues...

Apr 8, 2014

Naomi Novik, and someone else who will go unnamed, are the reason for this post. Now too be fair I did, perhaps, get one of my friends hooked on literary hard drugs in the form of Honor Harrington and her book shelf of books. That in and of itself isn't to bad, after all the books are one themes she liked and it was nice to have someone who understood just how mind bogglingly complex a book with 35 MAIN CHARACTERS can be at times. I think in Storm from the Shadows there were 35 main characters from one side of the conflict, and that was before we go into the Solarian League, the Republic of Haven or even the shady Mesan transtellar corporat

shrinking by AlloenDreams, literature

Literature

shrinking

please, don't tell me how beautiful it is that i've parted my thighs like the sea. because there is nothing pretty about the tears in last nights dinner, or the way my hands shake around silverware. i am not poetry, but a language lost --in the spaces where flesh used to occupy lies everything i needed to say, kept as the only thing i could ever bear to swallow. if you try to write sonnets about the scars on my knuckles or the arch of my ribs, i will tell you in nine syllables less that this is more than abstinence and foggy reflections. i will tell you how my little sister can carry me in her arms like a child, and how my father can hardly

About KendleRJ

Dec 8
Canada
Deviant for 12 years
She / Her

Badges

Delicious Cake: My, that's a delicious cake (1)

My Bio

When something becomes as necessary as breathing, it has moved into the realm of obsession. So, when I say I'm obsessed about writing, you might understand my meaning. Bitten by muse and mutating nicely. *curtsies*

Posts

Jul 25, 2014

Pilgrimage of a Sort

0 min read

In a couple of days, I'll be heading Northward (yes, even in Canada, there is a North :) ) for a pilgrimage of a sort. To say farewell to a cherished member of my family and a friend as well. She was taken too soon, and in such a cruel way, but truly, when someone is taken, there is always an aspect of cruelty to it. But this will be a time for remembrance and celebration; of reminding ourselves that life, no matter how long or short, is precious and to be rejoiced. It will end, as inevitably as our first tooth, our first stumble, or our first word. How we're remembered is what we hope to imagine, and this will be the way we get to remind th

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Jun 4, 2014

One Thousand Page Views!

0 min read

Ok, I'm sure that it isn't a big deal, and I wish I could convince myself of such a thing, but I squeed.  Yes, I really did... watched the page views climb daily to finally tip over into triple digits!  Thank you!  Thank you all.  For following, for reading, for visiting, for coming back... I hope you continue that trend, and I hope what I write helps that to happen. Thank you again, all you wonderful readers, creators and supporters! I return you to your regularly scheduled day already in progress.

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Apr 29, 2014

And an Update...

0 min read

Well, after catching a cold, flu something it's been a rough go to try and write anything coherent or even worthwhile.  I've got so many ideas but I can't seem to concentrate long enough to write one of them to its semi-logical or even completely inane conclusion.  So, I beg some indulgence and offer a journal despite my daily commitment to writing something.  It's something at least, but not big, bold or cutting edge.  Let's face it, I don't write that way anyway, so no surprise there. :) I'm hoping that after some more rest, recuperation and self-medication of various types, I can emerge better suited for adding to the ever increasing devi

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Profile Comments 14

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drewcampiondrew

Apr 6, 2014

Thank you, Rose for adding another Llama into my Llama herd.

April Llama's brings May Pyjama's

Apr 6, 2014

I'm not sure what the appropriate comment might be, since I'm not sure what kind of sound a llama makes... but I'm glad to be part of a herd somewhere. :D (Big Grin)

drewcampiondrew

Thanks for visiting.WELCOME at the gallery,whenever ....

Well, the hours you're open are most convenient.

drewcampiondrew

Yes,I visited,and U visit,
Convenient hours,could best be described as signing out and in,as another deviantMEMBER but in my search for Stock and comic book connections.Any in & out convenient hours seem less inviting for achieving my open invitation,for only,the wrongly, deactivated activity.There within are the accounts found,accounts reaching far out,out in a community for sharing.A much evolved grouping,could group all,& share with points,but how,expensive could a task be like that.I add, to be the focus of a donated action, my artistic donation, an encouragement that follows,the followers,watchers,writers,for visually making a smudge less compelling for selling, will weaken
Artist's totalled on buying.
Who can say,who's now, one in a group,evolving for the soul purpose of purchasing deviantART Stock photography.Who could without a publishing,print duplicates that,yes,a websites gallery helps point out.The deviantART watch for artistic examples, when do get uploaded, as a finished piece, are seen at my own works.Just a downloaded picture,pleased for the sake, of being pleased,Thank-U. Watchful parody,Parodic,parodist,parodisting.I'm not intending on it.
Opening up a persons wellness,reflects closures,that in time is known as the evolving of an elapsed comment,a probable blurb.I ponder,how the time elapses or when I signed in and out,always.
I had not intended on writing as much, my reflection was as of a result,of my Jot pen needing charged.Guilty feeling this writer's habit.