April is here again. I come to this sacred month of poets with little expectation simply because of time constraints. I have undertaken the task of being the voice of our high school baseball team and April will see two home games per week, making for long, killer days. Nonetheless, I will write and post as often as it is possible.
Happy Writing, Y’all! ~Jill
I love you, my Darling, like a turnip,
buried ‘neath the loamy soil, loves its home,
to force those spiny roots so with a grip
does plant in place and thus refuse to roam.
Spade me not, my Own, don’t disturb the weeds,
this tap runs deep and on its course unswerves
to wrap about thine heart it doth proceed
to hold and love you with exalted verve!
Unhoed, this great attachment holds the soil
to fertilize your joy with stewed delight,
let not this soup turn thoughts to some embroil,
take stock and stir as my be-tubered knight
To love me more and radish all my doubt
so water here our ground to save from drought.
© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved
© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved
Spent Saturday morning at the Harry P. Leu Gardens in Orlando for the annual plant sale. Came home with several wonderful new plants for the yard, but this guy insisted on being a part of our lives, too. We couldn’t resist. Still trying to figure out his name.
Two tree frogs claimed
sanctuary on our back deck
Every night they keep vigil
one on the railing
the other on your chair
They don’t blink
as we shine
our lights on them
They know they are ascended from us
We move the chairs
around, stand talking
about them;
they keep their place,
heads pulsing beneath
smooth green skin.
That patch of skin
on the back of my hand
itches and scales
tree roots bulging
out from my soil
I cover it with Manuka honey
and a bandage
hoping it will heal
it gets better
then returns
Why fight it
this urge to overcome
my unfolding
Last night
one frog opened
his mouth as if to speak
Stretching out
my hand burst
into leaf.
© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved
The highway battered the air
my ears
yesterday morning
two miles became
two meters
howling cycles of tires
deranged engines
dug their fingers
into the back door, pushed
into the epidermis of the house
I stopped up my ears
hid in the closet
wanting them to go away
They kept coming
Today the mercy of fog
silences the screams
cuts them down like a
silver sickle
drives them
from my ears
I go back to bed
The silence
is unbearable
© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved
Jilly's 