Reset ~ a poem

I reset
the chess set
this morning, six months
it sat mute
in the upstairs office, sent
there to avoid
weddings, parties of summer, autumn,
cold stone accusations
I ignored
each night passing
the door switching
off lights

I gathered  
the pieces set
them in crowds in the center
of the board, minglers
at a cocktail party
clusters of soldiers, royalty and clerics,
as though they
have something to talk
about over champagne
and cold fish

I reset
them this morning, lines facing
ready for battle wondering
if I remember
my first move
while spring threatens
to approach

© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved

Join us over a dVerse Poet’s Pub where Sarah has us considering Harbingers.

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All I Ask

All I ask is that you lick
your phone less and maybe use your
hands to play childish string games
cradling cats
here’s the church
here’s the steeple
instead of building barriers
of one-handed pepperoni pizza
and stiff cold-jointed bones to
worship, worship, worship

© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved

Join us for a bit of quadrilling at dVerse!

Watershed ~ a poem

it is the apparatus of summer
to turn winter into a watershed
dividing the course of the rivers
one flowing to this side
the other, well, you know –

while the egg of remember
rolls away like that too
too pink lipstick
that was never the right color
while chanting
we was
we was
we was

© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved
(damned new WP – my signature color is not to be found for all the stabs and misses. Teal; I just want my Teal – the one that matches my neon &. Just imagine that my signature line is Teal, okay? Thanks, Jilly)

Lillian is hosting Poetics tonight over at dVerse. Join us!

The Faces of

The Face of Skepticism

The Face of Curiosity

The Face of Disdain

The Face of Reflection

Lake Morton, in Lakeland, Florida is filled with easy shots. I admit it – I took the easy shots. The only one of these that required anything of me was the Ibis with his face of curiosity. He would only approach if you weren’t looking. I love the faces of the birds that I encounter – they are so filled with expression, even if it is the expression that I assign them through personification. Saturday was glorious and warm and a short day trip was the perfect thing.

Now In Gold – A Sonnet

My mother’s grave is covered now in gold
and yellows mums; I never visit there.
The wind in winter blows too rough and cold;
I lack the strength to stand the frigid air
against my face; my hands would only ache.
Sucking in the chill my lungs burn dry,
I’d gasp and clutch a tree against the break-
neck speed of gales and squalls that singe my eye.
No, I remain deep in the south where warm,
the sun can only do me good, and think
of how the snow drifts round the stone in storms;
where frozen mums are waiting roses pink
to kiss the face of God when time is done
and scatter blossoms all about in sun.

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Breaking with the strictest rules of the English Sonnet, I have chosen the following aberrations:
The first eight lines are broken, not into two quatrains, but into syntactical breaks of five and three. This choice is made to propel the poem forward with a sense of urgency and to support the imbalance of the voice.

Also, line seven is only 9 syllables, which echoes the meaning of the line — stolen breath.
Lastly, line nine, which serves as my turn (volta) is clearly not in iambic form, which puts into question the choice made to not visit. Because the subject matter of this sonnet is meant to express an asymmetrical feel, these slight deviations are designed to support that.

I welcome feedback regarding these choices!

Join us at dVerse Poet’s Pub where we are challenging ourselves with the Sonnet Form. This week I am hosting a special edition of Meeting the Bar where I support our month-long Sonnet Challenge with a close look at how the enjambed line impacts our sonnets.