Posted in Poetry

Those Who Wander

There they are, weaving, braking, menacing their innocent way along the bad dream that is I-4. This highway that has more deaths per mile than any other interstate in the nation and it is under a decade-long face-lift. Wrinkles are being removed and crooked bones straightened. Even the locals find it hard to know where the lane lines are, as they text and apply make-up on their morning Orlando commute. But there they are; Tourists. Herds of them arrive every winter from every state and every part of the world.  They are here for our World, Disney, that is. Land of Mickey and home of Harry (Potter – he and Ron and Hermione reside at Universal). So, as I was saying, there they are, weaving, braking, menacing, all in the left lane of the dreaded I-4. Weaving, you ask? That occurs when they spot the Central Casting building for the Magical World, which is, of course, right along I-4. We know them, these Tourists, they have licence plates from places where it is currently snowing and cold and bumper stickers that proclaim their undying allegiance to Epcot. That’s the place with the giant golf ball, in case you didn’t know. They have an event called Drinking Around the World. This car full of Tourists may have already been there for all of their weaving, breaking, menacing.  Florida drivers are known for driving fast; really, really fast. It’s only because we value our lives and want to get quickly around this car full of Tourists.

I floor it and buzz-lightyear past them.  Whew! Made it. Oh no! Look! Just ahead… it’s another one, only bigger! An RV, towing a small vehicle, complete with bike racks and coolers that are mostly strapped down. And what are they doing? Well, you know the routine.

natives garbed in coats
travelers bikini clad
locals travailing

© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved

Join me as I host Unconventional Haibun at dVerse this week!

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Posted in 28 Days of Unreason, Poetry

You

You are not the music that plays in my head
     drum of my soul

You are not the light of my dismal life
     lightning blues in the clouds

You are not the taste of liquor on my tongue
     crushed Concords drenching my face

You are not my shining star
     galaxy, flat as between the hands of God

© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved

for Day 7 of 28 Days of Unreason & dVerse Meeting the Bar & for You

“What beauty in this the darkest music
over which you can hear the lightest music of human
behavior, the tender connection between men and galaxies.”  ~ Jim Harrison
from Warbler / Dead Man’s Float

 

Posted in 28 Days of Unreason, Poetry

Cobble-Slobber

Cobble-slobber
words a-droppin’
don’t trip over
tongues a-hoppin’
clip-clop down
the sunny street
to tipsy-flirt
and dish it up
freshly tilled
piles O’dirt

Never fear
be slaves of
mettle
your ears won’t scorch
o’er the tittle-tettle

Clobber-slobber
do ’em in
go ahead,
‘taint-no sin

© Jill & Silly Jilly  All Rights Reserved

Doing Double-Dutch jumping here today by writing a Quadrille for dVerse that uses the word ‘Cobble’ and also working from the Day 4 of 28 Days of Unreason. I felt like it was a good time to write a Silly Jilly; it’s been awhile.  🙂 

I am hosting the 28 Days of Unreason for the 3rd year in which we write poetry in response to selected lines from poet, Jim Harrison.  Everyone is welcome to jump in!  Today’s line is, “Fear makes for good servants and bravery is fraudulent”  from Vows.

Posted in Poetry

he loved a linear girl

he loved a linear girl
               unswerving in his gape-jawed puppy love
so easy to be stunned
               like tasering him with one look
in his stream of consciousness
               falling, fleeing those cliché arrows, aimed
by her apparatus of love
               to land just short of his path
to trudge through
               a flock of poison dart frogs singing with glee
for his one life
               the almosts and wish-it-were-so’s
those mean summer
               nightly chorus’s of want and yearning of
dreams playing music
                once more throttling back into his arms
of want and yearn
               intermittently broken and repaired

 

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Paul over at dVerse challenges us to write this wonderfully musical form.  Join us and give Contrapuntal Poetry a try!

Posted in Poetry

A Prayer for Rain

stop the bitter sun
it only sours the sky

petition the rain to beat
your skin until you swim

in forest smells of algae
of living mold

urge your lake
to worship the sea

to milk time after
you lie bare at her feet

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Kim at dVerse bids us write a Quadrille (a poem of exactly 44 words) using the word “Rain.”  Here in Florida we should be at the end of our Dry Season, a time we refer to as our Fire Season.  Instead we are in a prolonged time of rain thanks to an unstable weather pattern that brings tropical moisture both day and night.  There are no fires, including that rather large one that dominates the sky from dawn to dusk.  😉

 

Posted in Poetry

Stops and Starts

Funny the things that come to you
in the night, he said after a moment.

Your eyes, accustomed to that dark,
see his silhouette
against the distant
city light
all orange and skin.
He takes a drink
of the wine, turns
holds it out to you.
What poison
What apothecary

You are not back-lit
He won’t see your hand
Tremble
as you drink.

Let’sgobackandstartover.

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

 

for dVerse Meeting the Bar where Amaya has us building bridges and filling gaps.

The Challenge:  Use a line from one book as your starting line and a line from another as your poem’s end-line.

I chose to use a line from my most recent read, A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles (highly recommend it!!) as my opener, but I edited it slightly.
“It is funny what comes to one at night, he said after a moment.”  Pg. 289

My end-line was taken from my next book, The Longest Road, by Philip Caputo“Letsgobackandstartover” Pg. 185 (yes, it is all run together like that!)

 

Posted in Poetry

Running Wild

take my hand
     walk with me
          through these corridors
where numbered
     doorways
          stairways
               elevators

slide past us
in dull tones
of blue and beige
of grey and sage

hold tight my hand
     run with me
          through these hallways

until the flat surfaces
begin to blur

until
the doors become
ears of corn
the tiles
roll into clods
of dirt
the fluorescent lights
turn into the moon
they were
meant to be

and
we run
through
the fields
letting
the
wet leaves
slap us
across
our
cool faces
and
we laugh
forgetting
our
names

 

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

quote-and-the-wild-regrets-and-the-bloody-sweats-none-knew-so-well-as-i-for-he-who-lives-more-oscar-wilde-278285
izquotes

Join me tonight at dVerse Poet’s Pub where I am hosting Poetics and we will be writing Wild.  !!!

Posted in Poetry

Collect

she sat on the sidewalk
near your front door
gathering up the fallen
white petals of Impatiens
that grow there

sheltering them in her
hand, you lit them on fire

ignoring your tears
she slept beside you
with her shoes on

she didn’t burn

 

© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved

Day 23

Lillian is hosting at dVerse where we are gathering our thoughts and words, 44 of them, to be exact; writing quadrilles.  Join us!

She & He #21

Posted in Poetry

Uncast

What blue brings you to this place

where she is cobalted to the walls of your house

and you are azured into thinking that she

won’t loiter long enough to know

all the hues of you?

© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved

Join us over at dVerse Poet’s Pub where Sarah introduces us to the artwork of Fay Collins.

She & He #14

Posted in Poetry

The Art: What Do You See?

from Red
a Play by John Logan

ROTHKO.    What do you see? (Ken is about to respond—) Wait. Stand closer. You’ve got to get close. Let it pulsate. let it work on you. Closer. Too close. There. Let it spread out. Let it wrap its arms around you; let it embrace you, filling even your peripheral vision so nothing else exists or has ever existed or will ever exist. Let the picture do its work— but                        work with it. Meet it halfway for God’s sake! Lean forward, lean into it. engage with it! … Now, what do you see? — Wait, wait, wait! (He hurries and lowers the lighting a bit, then returns to Ken.) so, now, what do you see? — Be specific. No, be exact. Be exact — but sensitive. You understand? Be kind. Be a human being, that’s all I can say. Be a human being for once in your life! These pictures deserve compassion and they live or die in the eye of the sensitive viewer, they                 quicken only if the empathetic viewer will let them. That is what they cry out for. That is why they were created. That is what they deserve . . . Now . . What do you see? (Beat.)

 

The crux, the very kernel of poetry is the enigma of the inspiration
that mysterious thing we call our Muse
that grabs us by the shirt collar
demands we notate
transcribe these seeds
these words
Write!
Write?
Right.
We Write
these words
germinate these seeds
note the demands
refuse to launder the grimy shirt collar
out of superstition or deference to this thing we call our Muse
we die of hunger if we deny the enigma of the inspiration, the crux.

Word Play
the words play us
the rules break us, define us
we learn them just to break them
stretch the limits, Jabberwocky our world
we are the artist, broken by our own
screaming, wild,  feral selves
let the crazy child within
take control
It shrieks

“Write poems that are not easy!
Great poetry should require hard work by the poet;
hard work by the interpreter!”

 

© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved

for Meeting the Bar at dVerse where Paul challenges us to consider our philosophy of poetry and to craft our own Ars Poetica.