Posted in Poetry, Uncategorized

A Bird Flies Through Me

 

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

IMG_0088Poem & Photo
© Jilly's 2016
A Quadrille
Join us over at dVerse!
Posted in Uncategorized

on Birds, Birches, and the Joy of Eating Eggs

“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

 

Posted in Uncategorized

All is right

IMG_1805

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
Posted in Uncategorized

Hiatus

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
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