In the September Casting Bricks Challenge, NoSaint has managed to lasso the illusive Coltrane in his completion of my Challenge Poem. I’m impressed! Take a look at what my talented friend accomplished!
Uniquely crafted words from one of my favorite poets. This deserves a close read for the allusions and the musical quality. Qbit really kicked it with this poem!
She said I had
Paleo blue eyes,
Light the color of water
From before Fire –
Then dawn over Manhattan
Like the oldest sunrise
Where my ribs, ancient,
Are stuffed in the mud
Of Olduvai Gorge,
Aching for excavation,
Day Ten Million
With ten million more to go –
I pull my bones out of bed,
To go walk the dog.
In faces we see years, or the lack thereof, tones of skin, lips of color and grin stretching out to welcome us or drawn tight to hide away the pain of days and nights, winters and spring, of living too much or not enough, walking the path to the river or the River, the dip of birth or the dip of death, the planting or harvesting, and as we walk by them, in the water, in the grass, in the tree or air, it is not in their faces that the story lies, it is in their eyes, their eyes, their eyes.
Eyes looking outward
Skeptical angry or no
The tale is thereby told
We are writing Haibuns over at dVerse tonight. Join us!
© Words & Photos by Jilly All Rights Reserved
“There is a human wildness held beneath the skin that finds all barriers brutishly unbearable”
~ Jim Harrison from Songs of Unreason
The nightmare’s voice
fills up your silence with jazz
promises to free
up your body
fading the film to b l a c k
wipe clean your slate
choose the s w i r l i n g horns
against the Parrish sky
stretch out the wings
you never knew you had
stand upon the window
to the stars in their
© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved
Hello My Collaborative Poetry Friends!
The continuation of Casting Bricks is not forgotten. I wanted to share my plan and get any feedback you might care to include. We began with the July Challenge and I would like to continue with a once a month challenge posted on the first Friday of each month. That means our next collaborative writing challenge would post on Friday, August 4th and remain open for the entire month.
I know that I ran gleefully into completing all 11 challenge (half) poems from July, finishing them in about a week. That writing frenzy was followed by the clear dull thud of my head hitting the keyboard of my laptop! I also did not have much original poetry to my credit during that week, and while I loved the collaborative challenge and learned much from it, I like the idea of pacing myself.
We now know that our Mr. Linky works very well and that will make it all much smoother. I will give more detailed directions on August 4th for the nuts and bolts of it all.
Please feel free to extend the invitation to any poet who might be interested in joining in with Casting Bricks; the more, the merrier!
The calculated unpredictable dissonance of Monk balloons off the living room walls as we toast marshmallows arguing about whether you or I are right-brained or left wondering if that bird that launched from the trees across the lake were an eagle or early owl Poem & Photo © Jilly's 2016 A Quadrille Join us over at dVerse!
“It is the birthday of Robert Frost,” You said over a bowl of soup and I heard it as though Garrison Keillor was sitting there, perhaps because you are both from Minnesota, and then, in that way of yours you added “And I didn’t buy him anything.” We both laughed and then fell silent each working on poetry in our heads tearing bread, spooning soup Frost, like Dickenson, taking me back to my childhood because they were the poets of my elementary classrooms and I loved their words overtly until sometime in college I was told they were passé and of the lesser poets and I felt my smallness of mind but loved them still until in later years they became fashionable once more and I learned anew what I always knew that what I love, I love whether it be poets or jazz or eggs which are bad for you and then good for you again which brings me back to that first poem I ever wrote, in third grade something about a bird on the walk or birches bent by ice and, I image in all my pride, a lesson about being true to my own heart and eating eggs any way. © Jilly March 26, 2017
On the second day of Spring after a dry dry winter when the rivers and lakes have given their life to the dry dry sky A feather dusting of Rain in flat wide drops is given back at last at long last We drove homeward through a flashing orange pink sky of silent bolts to find them Singing on the lake and in the hollow swamp beyond in such fullness of voice that the window panes vibrated clean through to the kitchen sink where I washed vegetables and swept mushrooms We lit three candles on the back porch poured two glasses of pinot noir drew the darkness into our lungs until our chests ached with the voices The sound of our neighbors’ voices speaking Hindi on one side Spanish on the other the wheels of the trucks on the highway all drowned under the layers of rasping Harmony with one mezzo soprano speaking a descant of Truth louder than the billboards on Orange Avenue tonight. Jilly Poem & Photo © Jilly's 2016
Eight months ago I left the world of virtual education and returned to the traditional classroom, never imagining that this would put Jilly's on such a lengthy hiatus. While I love being in the classroom again, my longing for creativity has become greater than my utter exhaustion at the end of a school day. It is now Spring Break and I have been out with my camera and that has reminded me that there are poems that have been written but, alas, not posted. It is time to remedy that lapse! This wonderful picture was taken at a Mellow Mushroom and expresses exactly how I feel - as though I have been frozen by the great and terrible Jabba the Job! I've missed y'all! Jilly