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!
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
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.
March 26, 2017
On the second day of
after a dry
dry winter when the
rivers and lakes
have given their life
to the dry
A feather dusting of
in flat wide drops
is given back
at long last
We drove homeward
through a flashing
orange pink sky
of silent bolts
to find them
on the lake and in the hollow
in such fullness of voice
that the window panes
vibrated clean through
to the kitchen sink
where I washed
vegetables and swept
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’
Hindi on one side
Spanish on the other
the wheels of the trucks
on the highway
all drowned under
the layers of rasping
with one mezzo soprano
speaking a descant of
on Orange Avenue tonight.
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,
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!