Posted in Poetry

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!

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Posted in Photos

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.

Posted in Poetry

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.

Image Source


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.

Posted in Poetry

The Day the Iguana Went to the Spa – A Terzanelle


He had no regrets and no last hoorah
Luncheon was served; hibiscus flow’r
The day the iguana went to the spa

No need to flee, nor did he cower
Seeing the good life stretch out before
Luncheon was served; hibiscus flow’r

Life in the wild was such a chore
A cultured iguana with an ear for the jazz
Seeing the good life stretch out before

No doubt about it, knows what he has
Lighting is perfect, the vibe is quite cool
A cultured iguana with an ear for the jazz

No resistance, he’s never the fool
His name up in lights, now he’s a star
Lighting is perfect, the vibe is quite cool

Placing an order for caviar
He has no regrets and no last hoorah
His very own limo, step up to the bar,
The day the iguana went to the spa


© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved

Join me at dVerse for Meeting the Bar where my challenge is to write a poem in one of the Repetitive Forms.  We explore 5 potential forms: Villanelle, Terzanelle (like this one!), Pantoum, Triolet, and the Chant. Of course, you are also welcome to use any form that makes use of repetitive lines.  Hope you will join in!

Posted in Poetry

Poetry – Phoebe and the Buffleheads – Quadrille


all summer we shovel heat
scrape humidity
icing our drinks
as we huddle close around
the fan

now
at last

phoebe

and the buffleheads
have returned
from the edges of the arctic
to cheer us
with news that a light
sweater might be needed

©  Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

De is hosting the Quadrille at dVerse this week; come and raise a toast with us as we enter a season of cheer! 

It occurs to me that Phoebe and the Buffleheads would be a great name for a rock band, but in reality, these are two of the birds that winter here in Central Florida.  It is a seasonal milestone when each of these species arrive; one for which there is much rejoicing in the land 🙂

https://www.allaboutbirds.org/guide/Eastern_Phoebe/media-browser/65681481

Posted in Poetry

Dust & Rubble – a poem


I open my mouth to speak
but all that comes out is dust
and rubble

The storm that crosses the desert
of my words
strikes as lightning
but the remnants are only broken
glass and bits of sound
that no one remembers

The flame beneath the kiln
of these lips heats
a furnace of the unspoken

I wail dry tears and thirsty sobs
expecting that lung-cleansing
scream

©  Jilly’s Poem & Image All Rights Reserved

Posting for dVerse Poetics where Victoria is getting our creativity all fired up!

Posted in Poetry

Nothing New To Say

The sun has risen just as it always does
The leaves turn brilliant colors and they fall
I see it all with placid eye because
I really have nothing new to say at all
Never mind me; it won’t be my downfall

Love has come to stay, where it never was
That smile across the breakfast table mine alone
I see it all with tranquil eyes because
I really have nothing new to say, I merely drone
Never mind me if clever words have flown

Death arrived, a bee without a buzz
It stings and gives no honey in return
I see it all with docile eyes because
I really have nothing new to say that can be heard
Never mind me; I’ll sit beside the fire, watch it burn

The sun has fallen just as it always does
The crocus and a daffodil burst through the snow
I see it all with timid eyes because
I really have nothing new to say, no words to show
Never mind me; it matters not, although…

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

 

Grace is hosting at dVerse and we are challenged to write Quintains.  I have chosen an English Quintain which follows this format:

*The rhyme scheme for English quintains is usually A-B-A-B-B.

*There is no set measure or foot (the number and type of syllables or feet).

Posted in Poetry

Leonid’s Air

Leonid’s air
draws us
from this
warm bed

Setting belt
Rising gourd
the Lion roars
but once at four

Leaning into you
we gape and weave
through dream-filled
eyes

we

wait
we
wait

no cricket
song for
wishes

fate or God
spoils are won

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

On the event of rising early for the Leonids
to see only one shooting star over the skies of Orlando

Lill is hosting the Quadrille over at dVerse.  Don’t be a spoilsport – join us! 😉

Posted in Poetry

Mars red Mars orange

Mars red Mars orange
a map to show me the way across the year

at 10:36 each night tapestry wing-backs that never got recovered like I planned

Mars still keeps time pays us
no attention
though we are watching
Mars entirely too much these days
with chicken little leading the way
the sky has always been falling the stars
don’t seem to know  
to care enough to recover
our shabby tapestry
to reupholster our worn out edges they
just move as they have always moved
Mars red Mars orange

© Jilly  All Rights Reserved

Join me over at dVerse for Meeting The Bar where we are playing with repetition in our poetry. 

Posted in Poetry

Iambic Spider

The seven legged spider knits and sews
Makes seven little socks to warm her toes

What mountains should she climb without a rope?
(it’s tempting here to rhyme by using ‘hope’)

What balance, oh! what symmetry beheld
When once she set about her climb, compelled

Considering her loss she holds her ground
Returning home she stokes the fires, earthbound

The seven legged spider knits and sews
Makes seven little socks to warm her toes

© Jilly & Silly Jilly  All Rights  Reserved

Frank is tending bar at the Poet’s Pub,
dVerse on Thursday night, we’re challenged thus
to meet out lines for Meet the Bar this day
Iambic feet in lines that hold to ten
I cut my teeth on nurs’ry rhymes of old
with thoughts that run within this form each day
And so, my friends, my spider with a crutch
is in the spotlight twice within one week.