In secret

we all hope for fire,

for the relentlessness—

that whirling mystery we believe to exist

in the proper arms.

This is our private, unanimous crusade.

This is our unjust war

and we are tearing down cities

in a frantic search.

Yet in true Crusader fashion,

we will name no reason

nor waver.


(c) Marie KR 2014



Finding a pebble in my shoe

I kissed it and called it beautiful

for not lying about what it was.

Kiss me, and I’ll call you diamond

to let you forget the part of yourself

that once was coal—

forget or burn away.

I have been waiting for this


Underwater, I swallowed sand

for so long I began to rust.

Scoop me up, pluck the pearl from my tongue

so I can ask:

Will you shed gemstones with me?

The weight of this shell is too much now—

peel back the gilded crust and

slide emeralds from our eyes.

We wore them for the way they shone in the sun,

but we are not jewelry any more.

We are sea glass,

and I see you glitter more when

the light comes clean through.


(c)Marie KR 2014


You breathed smoke into my face

and told me it is better to breathe fire

than recycled oxygen.

That’s all well and good,

but you are still stagnant beneath the nicotine.


I, too, am tired of stale air.

Tear out these clumsy lungs

and carve tunnels in my sides;

let me breathe like a grasshopper,

my body: a sieve

for the atmosphere to whistle into.

Make me the filter of your cigarette—

inhale, imbue me with embers.

I could be the interstate,

all speed and travel and newness;

rush into me

the way the road rushes into the mountain,

filled with the sounds of fast blood,

the hiss of air blistering beneath my skin,


It may not be much like what you hear in your own head,

but at least this is real.


(c) Marie KR 2014

Romance is Overrated

Wouldn’t you agree?

Ahem, allow me to correct my statement: teen romance is overrated.

I stand strictly behind my opinion that teenagers (though there are some exceptions) say the word ‘love’ far too soon. When I finally have the opportunity to tell a significant other “I love you”, I want to be quite sure that I’m saying it to the person I will later marry. Call me old-fashioned, but as a writer I like all of my words to have significance.

Unfortunately, every day I watch young couples of my peers around me claiming love on the second date and breaking up a month later–face it, if you find it necessary to celebrate a one-week anniversary, it means your relationships have seldom lasted much longer than that. I still can’t decide if it’s depressing, disappointing, or demented.

Now, don’t get me wrong, it is nice when you notice a special individual who makes you feel all happy and silly and bubbly inside, and I won’t deny that I’ve had several aptly-named ‘crushes’ before, but isn’t it worth more to find one exceptional partner as opposed to a string of placeholders?

Think it over…


In my dreams

I lay my palm against your chest

as if to capture

the arrhythmic beating of your heart

between my fingers.

The doctors call it a defect,

the mood swings of a

radical organ—

good thing I’m not a doctor.

I see your heart as a writer,

too fond of twist endings;

a painter dragging your


in erratic loops across the canvas.

There is something creative

inside of you

playing tricks and riddles,

making up the words

to a song as it sings.

So let it ramble on.

(c) 2012 Marie KR

‘Tis Only the Beginning

This afternoon, whilst digging through the dusty archives of the MacBook, I found an old poem! Well, what a surprise! I do remember the process of writing it several months ago, but can’t quite recall the specific experience which inspired it. Apparently I never posted it, and the poor thing was just lingering in the basement of ‘My Documents’, waiting to be remembered. Sniff, so sad…out of pity I have dragged it out and dusted it off a little bit, and turns out it’s actually a worthwhile piece!


Coasting home on the lonely drift of Route 523

around a curve my headlights pass over

a murder scene

on the shoulder.

It’s just a glimpse

but even today I can see the carnage as if it is

plastered across my windshield.

A hit and run.

Her body is cradled in the sharp metal arms of the guard rails,

legs bent and twisted against the bed of asphalt,

face pressed into the oily grit.

Her mouth hangs open,

tongue tasting the earth

Head, thrown back to expose

a long column of throat

stained gray with dust and death.

But the eyes are the worst.

They stare into my headlights

and for a moment flash in imitation of life

but it’s just a reflection.

She is trapped,

her torso forever stretching toward the other side of the road

an unreached destination in sight

of blind eyes

and I feel her confusion

as my own,

a life cut so quickly

that she’ll never know what ended her in mid-step,

in darkness,

in glaring lights and squealing tires and nothing.

She is helpless and she is dead

and I should stop

tell myself I would stop, want to stop

and see if I can help when nobody else will.


I’ve been taught that when it comes to animals,

we can forget that we have a heart.

(c) 2012 Marie KR

This is a topic which frustrates and confuses me to no end; the way that humans treat animals as if they have no consciousness, as if they feel no pain and that their lives have no worth. Someone else sees a deer on the side of the road and thinks “There are too many deer around anyway”, but I agonize over wondering if it’s still alive, if it understood the pain, if it was afraid. I seem to be cursed with an overactive empathy gland, because this is my typical train of thought in most every situation: how well can I understand what that living thing is experiencing? It’s terrible and painful and maybe silly, but I’d rather think like that than just brush off a life because I hold myself superior to it by intelligence or size or species.

But I realize that the title of this post needs an explanation. I’ll assume the incorrect fact that many people are daily checking this blog with bated breath, hoping for an update. Well, you’re all in luck! This post is only the beginning of a series of poems I’ve been working on for a few days and which should be ready for sharing very soon. So, don’t give up hope! There is more rambling to come!

Hmmmmm, Indiana…

Well, Howdy, Hoosiers! 😉

I am currently writing from Indiana; the land where all roads are straight, all fields are flat, and us New Jerseyans are quite conspicuous. We use different words (it’s soda, not pop), we eat different foods (rather difficult being a vegetarian out here), and apparently we speak in accents (I don’t even know). But I do enjoy our annual trip Westward, we get to see the cousins and grandparents and get really confused over the hour’s time difference. However, I do have a problem with the 13-hour car ride we undergo both ways–cramming 5 people, our luggage, and occasionally a dog into one vehicle is no mean feat, and not very comfortable either, but we do it and we survive and that’s how things were in the old days, children, before teleportation and holographic cell phones.

Anyway, in this brief lapse from homework and college applications and life in general, I decided I should provide a little update to y’all and show off my western lingo; whaddaya think, pardner? No, they don’t really talk like that here, but it’s certainly different from back home.

So Merry Christmas, Happy Hannukuh, Happy New Year, and all that jazz. Coming up is a little something I threw together about, well…about being single, I suppose, and realizing that this is temporary and ok and even a good thing sometimes 🙂

Here’s to everyone celebrating this year without a significant other, hope you like:

Looking is instinct; Leaping is inevitable

The closest I ever came to flying

was the moment

at the peak of the swing—

the moment when you’ve pushed a little too far,

gone a little too high so that

the heavy chain goes slack

and all the world is quiet while you fall.

Quiet but for the rush of air

and the hiss of rich adrenaline

lashing out from below your lungs

to tighten about the knobby bones

at the nape of your neck


life grabs hold with a snap

like something breaking in two,

and you kick back your legs to pull again toward the sky,

weightlessness all but forgotten.

You were my moment,

or one of them,

like all the others;

but one day someone will exist

who will be more than a moment—

who will be my leap,

my chance to let go of the twisting, pinching metal

and slip away from safety

into the open air,

close my eyes to hear

blood drumming from my stomach

through tensing shoulders

to the clasp of our palms

and back again,



hit the ground hand-in-hand

and running.

(c) 2011 Marie KR