Posted in Poetry

Shipwrecked Eggs & Jigsaw Puzzles

What color is it when poetry
is lost, leaving only prose
and Prozac and a longing
for nights cold enough to throw
an old familiar blanket
into the dryer just to smell
its heat evaporate
into memories of shipwrecked
eggs and jigsaw puzzles
with the pieces that make up
the eyes missing from the box?

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Join us at dVerse for none of the answers to your poetic questions.

Posted in Poetry

Reading Akhmatova

Anna Akhmatova   1889 – 1966

Wishing for
fluency in Russian
settling for
translations of
and other

as a glove
to the winds
its empty
bent backwards
splitting the webs
of bloodless

walk away before
it falls
in the golden
muds of 1966

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Three poems of Anna Akhmatova spring to mind today; I share them here with you.
Song of the Last Meeting , I Wrung My Hands , and He Loved Three Things


Unlike a lot of writers, I don’t have any craving to be understood.
~ Jim Harrison

Posted in Poetry


sheading the skin of instant coffee
and packet oatmeal
toaster waffles with margarine
refined sugar followed by fried
bologna sandwiches
on white
years that stick to the roof
of your mouth watering
the gravel driveway
weeds and all
and that spot where
you burned your feet
on the hot charcoals
discarded too soon
and your blistered voice
scolded into magenta pickled
beets whose juices
ruin your mashed potatoes

until you found him

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Join us at dVerse where we are tossing the dough of metaphors, making poetic pizza, gooey with cheese and… I digress…

Posted in Poetry

Off the Menu

He wanted to isolate her, so he asked the chef to go

Off the Menu

A Fleeting, Better-than-this Sleep                                                        19.95

Film, the Flavor of a Downtown Negative                                        24.95

Sweet Frosty Promises                                                                                14.50

Grizzled Taste of Fear                                                                                   gratis


© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Unlike a lot of writers, I don’t have any craving to be understood.
~ Jim Harrison


Posted in Poetry

Frogs of Bliss

I speak not politically, but socially.  Bjorn hosts dVerse tonight where we write Quadrilles with the word Bliss.  I was really in a Haiku mood, but that’s a tough challenge at 44 words!  

Why speak of honor
when there is none?

The stone drops from the hand
that feeds
bounces once
is swallowed

Who among you would?

What Bradbury saw
burns us
we feel
nothing of the scorch

Frogs of bliss
mind the heat, ya’ hear?

© Jilly  All Rights Reserved

Posted in Poetry










Surf the fading




dwelling within the gift




© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved


Posted in Poetry

A Completely Livable Parade

Keep time insane
sync your brain to
the cradle
a completely livable
parade marching toward
the grave
playing forbidden trust
against your severe youth

never forget the sun
is sinking like a stone

there is no reason
for your heart to beat
one more thump
than it is destined
for knowing sometimes
the unexplained can
define you

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Musical Muse is our Poetics tonight at dVerse with our host, Mish.  Join us!

Nickel Creek Hanging By a Thread