Still Yet

I do not believe in Fairy beings

I do not believe in Fairies as creature like things

I do not believe in Fairies as physical forms

I do not believe in Fairies as insect swarms

Still yet, I believe in Fairies.


I do not believe in Magic as spells

I do not believe in Magic as wishing wells

I do not believe in Magic as wizards

I do not believe in Magic as fire birds

Still yet, I believe in Magic.


How can I believe such a thing?

My rational mind is always inquiring.

How can you believe such nonsense?

My logical side constantly questions

Still yet, I believe in such things.


Because I play my music in my ear

But the song playing is not what I hear.

Because I look up at the sky, brilliant and starry

But it is not what I see.

Still yet, I am here.


I believe in Fairies as moments in time

I believe in Fairies as sounds like a chime.

I believe in Magic as precious memories

I believe in Magic as calm after stormy seas.

I believe in Fairies as wind in my hair

I believe in Magic as laughter in the air.

Do you understand now why I say still yet.



Julie K.

Happy New year everyone! I pray your year is full of Fairies and Magic!



Depression is like a blank dream

Colors are white, and silent are screams.

Everything just floats on by

And there you sit, waiting to die,

On a black shore by slow white water

And all you can think is “Why bother?”

Anxiety is like a fevered dream

colors more vibrant than they should seem

Shapes of all types zooming across

A thousand bugs scattering across polka-dotted moss

Screams, shouts, honking, barking, whispers

rustling silks, tapping shoes, rubbing firs.

It’s too loud to think “Why bother?”

there is too much smoke, sound, movement, fire and water.

And then there is what is called insanity

It’s a mix of both, it is me.

Colors are blank, colors are vibrant

Loud as silence, quiet as a crying infant.

As wise as fools, as foolish as a wise man

Talking with feet and walking with hands.

My oh my but I Wish to bother

as I throw myself in this white water.



The Stories People Tell

Mr, you looked down as people walked by

I first thought you were a shady guy.

But I smiled and commented on your sweater

And your smile made me think of you better.

You stuttered when you replied though

And then seemed embarrassed because you shook your head no

As you walked away you looked down again

You didn’t know you’d be remembered by my pen

But for some reason I am still wondering

Who you are and what you were thinking.

It was eight years ago, or was it seven?

A kindly elderly man was a gentleman.

He opened the door for me at a gas station

And his kind words caught my attention.

“You have such a bright smile” he said to me

I still remember that small moment, obviously.

And from time to time I wonder why

The skip in his step caught my eye.

Because even years ago my writing mind took flight

And he became a character in something I had to write.

People tend to always catch my wandering mind

And I am always happy with my find

Who were they, I ponder thoroughly

And before long I’ve written their story

I know it is not true, of course

Because according to every realistic source

That old man could not possibly be

A dragon trainer blessed with immortality

And the stranger who smiled as he passed

Could not possibly be the man who sassed

The blood thirsty queen of the elves

And heroically escaped her devious hells.

What a strange mind I have, I must say

I met them once on an obscure day,

Gave them stories in my wandering mind

Simply because I sensed they were kind.

The stories that people tell me in the moment,

When they pass me, are the judgement

Of whether they’re remembered by my pen

Or forgotten like all other men.


Dedicated to the man at the grocery store and to the old man at the gas station. May your days be filled with good things.


Beacon of Hope

I was there when ordinary people raised arms against tyranny and the country was born. I led the charge against slavery and I honored thousands who died for equality. I was raised on the hill top at Iwo Jima after 26,000 soldiers died in my name. They lay down their lives willingly for me, for I represent freedom and pride. I am a symbol of peace and unity. I am a beacon of hope for the oppressed and I drive terror into the heart of those that prey on the innocent.

I was held high as the swastikas were torn down from buildings and under me was fascism expelled from the earth. I have travelled around the globe thousands of times honoring those who believed in me. I have stood in silence at the funerals of 2,977 innocents who died under the collapse of the world trade center and the attack of the pentagon. I hung over the caskets of five Texas police officers who were murdered, just for wearing a badge. I was folded into the arms of weeping mothers and wives. Their tears absorbed into my fabric and are now a part of me. I was present when Doherty and Woods died defending the people of the embassy in Benghazi. I have seen dark days of hate and sorrow but I remain the symbol of peace and the evidence of moral excellence.

Those who pledge allegiance to me, pledge to unify the people of the country under me, and to defend free speech and rights of all, no matter what race or country they originate from. People can never be fully perfect but I represent the perfection we strive for. I’m the inspiration for greatness and ambition. I’ve watched skyscrapers built as the America succeeded all other countries through a fair-trade capitalist republic.

But suddenly, I am under attack. Children, armed with bats, wearing black masks have ripped me from my place and stomped on me. They hung me upside-down and lit me on fire. Those who do not know my history do not understand theirs. Those who I defended have turned their backs on me. Believing my stars and stripes to be signs of hate, they’ve attacked me, spitting on the graves of hundreds of thousands who died for the freedom my attackers enjoy. In discontent, claiming they’ve suffered oppression, they disrespect the moral foundation of the country as they get paid millions to throw a ball.

But I will still wave above the buildings and from the flag poles. I am not intimidated, I have been attacked before… And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air, gave proof through the night that our flag was still there…
I will always be there. I will always be the symbol of unity, hope and freedom… For we are one nation, under God, indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.



My Addiction is Fiction

Doctor, doctor help me!

The problem is, you see

I have quite the addiction

To a genre called fiction. 

It’s stronger than any drug. 

Crueler than the cruelest thug. 

It messes with my emotions

And switches my loyalties and devotions. 

Is it my fault for caring more

For a character than life’s old bore?

I once read a book and then cried

Because a dear friend had died. 

But the friend, you see

Was a person of literary quality. 

I once went to to the park, 

But I just read until dark. 

I do go out occasionally!

But in all honesty, I’d rather read a dictionary. 

Doctor, doctor is there a cure?

Sure, you say. Sure sure. 

But cured, do you want to be?

Well….no. Not really. 

Julie (:


When a Mortal defeated the Immortal

The earth shook and blazed

Cities and houses were razed.

Death was busy, far too busy

taking those who’d just began to be.

It was chaos,

and what was the cause?

A god had been slighted

and it would not be quieted.

And in the midst of this war

was a man, broken to the core.

In vain he had sheltered his love,

from the fire that rained from above.

In vain he had held his young,

from the calamity the gods strung.

In vain he had prayed,

that their wrath would be stayed.

But all was in vain,

for his family lay slain.

The gods fought their brother

and didn’t notice the other,

who made a bargain with death,

traded for revenge with his breath.

What else could he give?

For what could he live?

And when he appeared again from the dark,

He strode in command, like a monarch.

There was a steel in his eyes,

for he was death in disguise.

He traveled, until he made his way

to where the gods stay.

And with a sword in hand

he made his way through their land.

He fought them as their equal,

he had no qualms with being cruel.

But the gods, so busy fighting each other

did not notice there was another,

until a peace was pieced,

then they wondered about the deceased.

Did their war kill as many as were gone?

They pondered this, dusk till dawn,

While death laughed and danced

at the only deaths he romanced.

The gods didn’t think to ask death,

until another one lost his breath.

And when they discovered it, they raged

that against them war was waged.

But how could they find a mortal man

in such a vast land?

But as gods fell one by one

they scoured the land even more

till they found him at death’s door.

A battle was fought then and there

of which there is nothing to compare.

How could a mortal win alone

against immortals made of stone?

But he fought, fought and died

But here is something death would confide

Though mortal that man, forever he will live

For the gods cruelty he would not forgive.

His body is buried at death’s door

but his wrath lives evermore

In the stories of the mortal

who waged war on the immortal.


This is my first time sharing a poem that has absolutely nothing to do with my experiences or emotions. This is the type of writing I enjoy the most. I am not confident enough to share my stories with you, so here is the poem form of one my stories…sort of.

Julie K





Content To Shine

I used to cry as I compared myself to the moon

For the one’s who praise the loudest, praise the sun at noon

I always wanted to be praised, like the sun

But I am more the light when the day is done.

Now I smile quietly, when I think of it

It isn’t something I regret, not even the slightest bit.

For while the sun in orange hues rises brilliantly

and dies in purple and pink hues dramatically

the moon is content to rise while people watch the sun die

Content to shine, while the world says goodnight and goodbye.

Content to smile on the few that see her alone

The dreaming, loving, poetic souls all on their own

sending their wishes to the moon’s calming shine

And listening to her whisper “Everything will be fine.”



Just a random thought I had while on the swings last night. It’s been a while since I updated, so I thought I’d share this with you. (=