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.

Posted in Poetry

Thirty-Five Toes; No Soul

the seven-legged spider

pulls threads through

needles of daffo-lillies

and yuck-a-dills

awaits aphin-lets and buzz-a-winkles

carefully cleaning thirty-five

toes she thought should be

hers

counting the lost five

wondering if it is true

that she lacks a soul

won’t go to heaven after all

© Jilly’s & Silly Jilly  All Rights Reserved

De is hosting the Quadrille at dVerse this week; join us!

 

Posted in Poetry

One’s Self – En Masse

Upside-down, warped butter crust resting on the speckled-like-a-robin’s-egg-if-it-weren’t-neutral brown counter-top, you lie there, golden soldiers or yellow-brick road tiles, not sure which, nearly perfect symmetry, all in a row, except for one wounded warrior who rose and rested too close to the flame of the oven, with a lightly bruised and burned shoulder, but all else the same as the rest, yet it is what makes you stand out from the rest, catching my eye, wondering if I see mold, no, it’s not mold, just an injury that makes you the slice I leave behind when I make turkey sandwiches for our Thursday lunch, in hopes that you will be, instead, singled out for a solitary honor, like toast or better yet, a crustless straw hat where that ugly  birthmark can be shaved off – it’s painless, I promise – and you will be glorious like the others, no, more so, because they shall continue to be all lined up, yellow-gold, bland, white bread squares, one sandwich like any other, and you alone shall be the Marilyn Monroe with that beauty mark, or I could just turn the loaf over, set it up-right, hiding your shame, pretending I see only the tops, each one perfectly Orwellian like the others, wonderful rectangle of tan, lines demarking the individuality that would spill out like dominoes if I slid the plastic wrapper off with the flourish of a magician all at once, showing off your nakedness, breaking down the barriers of the loaf into its geometric components.


dragonflies hatching

rise from the lake to follow

their own curved road to Oz

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

qbit is our guest-host at dVerse this week for Haibun.

Posted in Poetry

Red; Green;

I graze on violent hay

ruminate

ruminate

swim for the harbor lights

Gatsby symbolism

in a Li-Young Lee

world where I can’t chew

fast enough to digest

all that this world wants

meeee to doooo

while I search for the gift

of a splinter.

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Lillian bids us ‘harbor’ a quadrille over at d’Verse Poet’s Pub. Join us!

The Gift by Li-Young Lee remains a personal favorite.  Just finishing a poetry unit in my classroom in which we read and analyze four poems that deal with father-child relationships.  Also included are Blood by Naomi Shihab Nye, Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden, and Jabberwocky by Lewis Carroll.

Posted in Poetry

Sharp Objects

jitter shake and tremble, cold cold coffee
slurp
don’t slurp
is it cold or shock
(it’s both)
the copper stars break
jump and jerk in the fan reflection
prince is still on my desk waiting to be ripped he rips
it like none other
only raul gets that too bad he o.d.’d on the cuban
coffee last year back before he almost burned
his place down with that dog with the broken ear too
bad about the coffee i could use some jitter shake and tremble
so i could bludgeon the fears of never seeing god in action
only the neglect that causes the jitter shake and tremble
the shock part coffee brake emergency brake fire break
if you drop it does it break like my
yellow coffee cup on the garage floor
i am too dangerous to be given sharp objects
like anger and despair black and white on the floor of the italian deli
with a splash of red or maybe blue
as we all keep gazing out over the sod and don’t give in to
soccer the devo game according to coach k let’s just load up the bases
raw and pure like that canker sore on my right cheek raw
pure and painful do we stop feeling if we don’t have pain?

 

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved