“On the Pulse of the Morning”

poetry out loud - day title saturday

“On the Pulse of the Morning”

Poem Written by Maya Angelou

Post Created by Jennifer Kiley

Post Saturday 31st May 2014

“On the Pulse of the Morning”
Written by Maya Angelou
Spoken at President Clinton’s
First Inauguration 1993

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon.
The dinosaur, who left dry tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.

I will give you no more hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness,
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.

Your mouths spilling words
Armed for slaughter.

The Rock cries out today, you may stand on me,
But do not hide your face.

Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song,
Come rest here by my side.

Each of you a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.

Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.

Yet, today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more. Come,

Clad in peace and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the stone were one.

Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
Brow and when you yet knew you still
Knew nothing.

The River sings and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.

So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African and Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheikh,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.

Today, the first and last of every Tree
Speaks to humankind. Come to me, here beside the River.

Plant yourself beside me, here beside the River.

Each of you, descendant of some passed
On traveler, has been paid for.

You, who gave me my first name, you
Pawnee, Apache and Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet, left me to the employment of
Other seekers- desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.

You, the Turk, the Swede, the German, the Scot…
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought
Sold, stolen, arriving on a nightmare
Praying for a dream.

Here, root yourselves beside me.

I am the Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.

I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
I am yours- your Passages have been paid.

Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.

History, despite its wrenching pain,
Cannot be unlived, and if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon
The day breaking for you.

Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands.

Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For new beginnings.

Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.

No less to Midas than the mendicant.

No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes, into
Your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope
Good morning.

– Maya Angelou –

maya angelou insightful

1928 – 2014

* * * * * * *

The Breach

implicit imaginative impressions
The Breach
Created by Jennifer Kiley
Post Created 15th March 2014
Posted Saturday 31st May 2014

The Breach – Dustin Tebbutt [Official]

The Breach – Lyrics
Written by Dustin Tebbutt

We’re all scared of trenches
And grow weak at knees
I want you to know that
If all you’ve ever wanted was a dream
Then you know that I can’t help you

But did I show you love
In the author on my face
‘Cause you know you left a hollow
Where your body cut an alcove
Did I show you love
‘Cause the silence never stayed
It’s a breach I’ll never cover

You happened out the back door
Laying bare this need
Oh, you opened up this vessel
And gather all the quivers
That never got to fly
And a one and only cipher

dimensions of time slipping (c) JkM 2014

Dimensions of Time Slipping (c) JkM 2008

*       *      *       *       *      *       *

“Nuit Blanche” – A Short Film

i heart short films
Nuit Blanche” – A Short Film
Post Created by Jennifer Kiley
Created 12th April 2014
Posted on Friday 30th May 2014


here, i give you “nuit blanche”

Nuit Blanche – from Spy Films

facebook.com/spyfilms.worldwide – Nuit Blanche explores a fleeting moment between two strangers, revealing their brief connection in a hyper real fantasy.

The making of the award winning “Nuit Blanche”

Watch the “Making of” here – vimeo.com/9076775

Life on the Creative Edge

tell me a story
Life on the Creative Edge
Post Created by Jk the secret keeper
TED Talk: Julie Taymor
Post Created on 4th August 2013
Posted On Thursday 29th May 2014

Julie Taymor: Spider-Man, The Lion King and life on the creative edge — TED Talk

Showing spectacular clips from productions such as Frida, The Tempest and The Lion King, director Julie Taymor describes a life spent immersed in theater and the movies. Filmed right as controversy over her Broadway production of Spider-Man: Turn Off the Dark was at its peak, she candidly describes the tensions inherent within her creative process, as she strives both to capture the essence of a story–and produce images and experiences unlike anything else.  Published on Jul 31, 2013

Special Edition: Maya Angelou R.I.P.

special edition day any
Maya Angelou R.I.P.

Special Edition

Post Created by Jennifer Kiley

Post Wednesday 28th May 2014


Poet, author Maya Angelou dies at 86

maya angelou insightful

Hillel Italie
May 28, 2014
Filed 03:59 PM EST

NEW YORK (AP) — Maya Angelou, a modern Renaissance woman who survived the harshest of childhoods to become a force on stage, screen, the printed page and the inaugural dais, died Wednesday, her son said. She was 86.

Angelou’s son, Guy B. Johnson, said the writer died at her home in Winston-Salem, North Carolina, where she had been a professor of American studies at Wake Forest University since 1982.

Tall and regal, with a deep, majestic voice, Angelou defied all probability and category, becoming one of the first black women to enjoy mainstream success as an author and thriving in virtually every artistic medium. The young single mother who worked at strip clubs to earn a living later wrote and recited the most popular presidential inaugural poem in history. The childhood victim of rape wrote a million-selling memoir, befriended Malcolm X, Nelson Mandela and the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., and performed on stages around the world.

An actress, singer and dancer in the 1950s and 1960s, she broke through as an author in 1969 with “I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings,” which became standard (and occasionally censored) reading, and was the first of a multipart autobiography that continued through the decades. In 1993, she was a sensation reading her cautiously hopeful “On the Pulse of the Morning” at President Bill Clinton’s first inauguration. Her confident performance openly delighted Clinton and made the poem a best-seller, if not a critical favorite.


The Following Video is Maya Angelou speaking for herself.

Here, I Give You, Maya Angelou

Maya Angelou [Director’s Cut] – Cole Haan

Lightness of Being: Imagine Crazy Furniture

lightness of being day wednesday negative
Imagine Crazy Furniture
Post Created by Jennifer Kiley
Created 27th March 2014
Posted on Wednesday 28th May 2014

very HUGE poltergeist
or a HUGE gang
of very tiny mini poltergeist
or you have an infestation
and you’ve got a mix of mini
and major poltergeist
my suggestion
build a new school

Crazy Furniture – immortal-arts

it was that much fun playin around with the benchmark classroom and octane that i built my own – little more detailed – complete new classroom for some playarounds… i hope you like it! 🙂
here are some before/after – mesh/render !


*       *       *       *       *       *       *

Private Writings: Chapter #63 – “I Forgot To Remember”

private writings a novel of true fantasy by jennifer kiley [shawn's 2d blue name]
“Private Writings  A Novel of True Fantasy
Chapter #63 – “I Forgot To Remember”

Post Tuesday 27th May 2014
Written by Jennifer Kiley


All Characters Are Fictitious.
Anyone Resembling Anyone Living or Dead
Is Purely Coincidental.


Crypticistic Synopsis:

private writings to dr. annie haskell psychoanalyst
I am the storyteller
using imagination
fantasy feelings & thoughts
to discover self soul eternal serenity & bliss
but to most importantly
tell the best tale ever after upon a time.

see you down the rabbit hole.

Private Writings: Chapter #63 — “I Forgot To Remember”

Tuesday 18th November 2008

Dear Annie,

I have been trying to keep secrets from you. My reasoning isn’t necessarily sound but I didn’t want you to think or feel I am a threat to the outside world, when you know I am not. I am not even a danger to myself at this moment. My talks with Dr. V have been helpful. She told me I should not be afraid to be honest about what is happening inside my head or my body. The trauma I have experienced is slowly coming to the surface. But at the present time, the slowness has increased in speed.

The dam broke when Sylvia raped & tortured me in the same manner that I experienced it as a child, being controlled & subdued. Being forced to feel any sensation against our will is abuse in one of its many demented forms. These are inhuman creatures that feel the need to trample out the innocence of a child. They want the child to know how easy it is to use them any way they desire. The child has no rights.

I am going to let you see what I have written secretly. But there is a new secret I am not sure I will ever be able to share with anyone, not even you Annie, my therapist. It is too obvious it is the effects of all the demented scenarios I was forced into playing. I wasn’t playing. I was constantly looking for a way to escape. I planned on running away every day I was alive when I was a kid. I just didn’t know where to go. It was always the woods I thought of but it was always the last place I could go. That would be the first place to look. And eventually they would find the hiding places that are so hidden, you would have to know they were there to find them. But I couldn’t trust even that belief.

I was going to cut out the next part & omit it from the letter. But I want you to see what I am thinking about & what is running around inside my mind. I also wanted to see how far I could push my own boundaries. To see how open I could really be. The following is what I was not going to let you see.

“Want to see how far I can push the limits to my honesty… It’s necessary for me to open up this door with steel bolted lock cutters. No one was allowed in that special room but me. I kept all the real secrets hidden there. I knew when I was there, I felt my deep love for someone who was also a girl that felt the way I did. No man’s hand on me ever felt good except once an abuser did something to my body I hadn’t expected. Reason was I never knew such a feeling existed. That day he stole away my innocence. The best feelings a woman or young girl can ever experience & an abuser possesses it now. He has taken it & locked it away in his unimaginative mind.

I fantasized many times how I would seek my revenge on him & steal my innocence back. I was going to stalk him the way he did me & the animals he killed hunting. I wanted to turn that around on him & make him the hunted & I would be the hunter who took him down. It was a repetitious fantasy. I have never forgotten the images I had inside my head when I thought about taking him out of this world & away from harming me any further or harming anyone else, ever. This is where the Omission would have been over.

Annie I want to tell you what they did to me & made me do. It is all degrading. I always felt there was something wrong with me. I felt everyone could tell about what was happening to me. instead of being generous & understanding with myself, I blamed myself for not being able to stop it. But I didn’t have any control of my life or what happened in it. I really was a slave.

Not allowed friendships. No people over ever at our mansion. I never talked when I was a kid. When I got older, my reading helped me to understand a great deal. That is when I started studying Autism. All the symptoms fit my behavior. Shy. Never made eye contact. Never talked to anyone. Hid when people were around, if I was able to get away fast enough. The abusers always seemed to know where to find me, especially when I was alone.

It has been a rough week at Redcliff. Helen has gone quiet for now. She looks at me, thinks she knows me, then just turns away in silence. It was a blow that Helen rejected me. I loved the time we spent & I loved hearing her tell her stories.

At least Lynne is still spending time with me. I seem to be a hero to her. Is that a good thing? I am not at all certain but I feel Lynne has the potential of being quite dangerous. She scares me a bit.

Something new is happening this week. Scottie has a visitor staying with her at the Chateau. A woman she use to see often in her first year of college. I want to forget her name. It sounds mean but I hate Scottie being alone with this woman. They were together for half of their first semester. That would be until Scottie & I met at a great party.

Friends of mine were have a housewarming & Scottie arrived late with this woman on her arm. What the fuck was her name. It began with an “F” & her second name began with an “R.” Initials “F” – “R”… What is blocking my mind? She’s a “Fucking Racist.” That’s why those initials come to mind. That’s how I remembered them. And she was a bitch toward people that weren’t born with money or whose families didn’t come from money.

I have my own money. My grandmother saw to that. She made sure I would be protected & safe for the rest of my life. Her mansion & the rest of her estate, worth more than I could ever count, she left it to me along with her cat I call James after his character role in my film “Brief Sacrifice.” He fits right in with our other three kits, Mikey, Toker, & Patrick. They get along like a herd of Buffalo in a stampede. They do sound like one when they tear around the house, up & down & over the stairs. We have two great staircases to choose from & they love them both. You have to be careful not to get in the middle of their ambush. It’s regular & dangerous to staying vertical.

These kits are so smart, they know before I do when I am going to shut down my laptop & head off to bed. They are all over my desk watching me in slow motion take a few hits off of some fine Indica mixed with primo Hash, all organic & freshly made & recently dried. I love the feeling of the Hash hitting my brain. It gives me a rush of warm feelings & a golden glow like a spectacular sunset. And it helps me sleep so soundly. Not as many remembered dreams. It seems REM sleep lessens with the use of cannabis. That’s according to a study. I think it’s more because weed helps you sleep like a “log” that nothing would wake you, not even a dream demanding attention.

I need the weed to keep me sane & to moderate the swing in moods. Bipolar makes me feel like I am the “Highest Royalty in the World” & I could do anything. Everything was possible. The smoking calmed me down. Helped me feel less the nausea which came with the cancer but didn’t leave with it. The cancer screwed up my whole body. My flesh began to tear easily. My stomach gave me bleeding ulcers. If I didn’t have the weed, the cancer would have killed me from starving me & dehydrating me to death. Nothing stayed inside my body. I’ve never felt that sick & I have never recovered. So many side effects from cancer & its many lethal treatments.

I must end this writing. Sometimes releasing the negative energies from our lives is the only way to recover. That includes removing the people from your lives who are carriers of the darkness found in the negative forces of the Universe.

This letter in its original form was too much to send you all at once. I broke it down in smaller section & you have been receiving those letters for the past few weeks.

I miss you Annie. I will never understand why I can’t see you. Dr. V is great but I need you. I feel more alive with you. And even look forward to going out of the house when I know you will be at the end of the drive.

Help me get out of here. Soon, please.




© Madison Taylor 2008

“I think writing really helps you heal yourself. I think if you write long enough, you will be a healthy person. That is, if you write what you need to write, as opposed to what will make money, or what will make fame.“ — Alice Walker

Red Calla Lily Aranal Flower

Red Calla Lily Aranal Flower

“A Dream
The beginning always starts out
With a dream.
It is all a dream
In our own nightmares”
— Madison Taylor

negative of le chateau de rocher by j. kiley (c) jennifer kiley 2013Le Chateau de Rocher – Home to Madison & Scottie
Their Cats & daughter Alison. She has her own place on the estate

play is not just play meryl streep“Pretending is not just play.
Pretending is imagined possibility”
— Meryl Streep

Medicalmarijuana red cross marijuana leaf black bgMedical Marijuana