Posted in Poetry

One’s Self – En Masse

Upside-down, warped butter crust resting on the speckled-like-a-robin’s-egg-if-it-weren’t-neutral brown counter-top, you lie there, golden soldiers or yellow-brick road tiles, not sure which, nearly perfect symmetry, all in a row, except for one wounded warrior who rose and rested too close to the flame of the oven, with a lightly bruised and burned shoulder, but all else the same as the rest, yet it is what makes you stand out from the rest, catching my eye, wondering if I see mold, no, it’s not mold, just an injury that makes you the slice I leave behind when I make turkey sandwiches for our Thursday lunch, in hopes that you will be, instead, singled out for a solitary honor, like toast or better yet, a crustless straw hat where that ugly  birthmark can be shaved off – it’s painless, I promise – and you will be glorious like the others, no, more so, because they shall continue to be all lined up, yellow-gold, bland, white bread squares, one sandwich like any other, and you alone shall be the Marilyn Monroe with that beauty mark, or I could just turn the loaf over, set it up-right, hiding your shame, pretending I see only the tops, each one perfectly Orwellian like the others, wonderful rectangle of tan, lines demarking the individuality that would spill out like dominoes if I slid the plastic wrapper off with the flourish of a magician all at once, showing off your nakedness, breaking down the barriers of the loaf into its geometric components.


dragonflies hatching

rise from the lake to follow

their own curved road to Oz

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

qbit is our guest-host at dVerse this week for Haibun.

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!

Posted in Poetry

Stilled Winds

NaPo is upon us!  April may be the cruelest month for many-layered reasons in Eliot’s world, but it is my favorite month as a writer and poet.  A remarkable thing happens each year as April approaches; my muse, the flow of inspiration and writing, dries up, leaving me fearful that I will have nothing for April.  But then, April 1st hits and as though the quiet period was a big April Fool’s joke, it unleashes itself and the writing comes flooding back. I try to stay mystical with it and not get too psychological or logical about the process.

Today is March 31st. Today is a full moon; a Blue Moon; the second Blue Moon in two months.  A rarity in rarities.  I look forward to these events, often with my camera in hand, but this one is going to be a bust here in Florida – our forecast is for clouds this evening. But like my writing, I know that big moon is back there behind those clouds.  It’s not really the best analogy, I know, but it’s all I have this morning, pre-coffee.

For the last couple of days I have been reflective and in listening mode.  I have felt that compelling, chest-expanding sensation that usually comes with a burst of writing.  There are words, images, thoughts, bouncing around in me awaiting the firing of the starting gun. On your mark, get set….

stilled winds turn to storms
blue moon sheltered by dense clouds
white heron dips dives

© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved

Posted in Poetry

Thirsting

Cocoa Beach on a whim, we take sushi and chairs, questing the full cold moon’s rise over the ocean. The beach is a violent place with wind that yanks my hair from its spring clip and waves that out-shout the terns and ring-billed gulls. A little boy just to our left flaps and screams in the language of the birds, they scatter and return for more of the communion.  Plovers and sanderlings —wind-up toys racing over the footprint moguls — this is dinner and a show.  Three floating islands leave Port of Canaveral and pass that warm, cold moon that has appeared in a blink of recognition, larger than the setting sun at our backs. I chase the terns into your waiting camera; we drive thirty-seven miles back, emptying sand from our shoes, treasuring the message we found in a bottle.

thirsty air draws breath

Atlantic gives up her damp

clouds disperse wafting

 

© Haibun & Photos by Jilly  All Rights Reserved

For Frank J. Tassone’s Haikai Challenge #10 – “Arid”

 

Posted in Poetry

What Dark May Come

Number the Octobers that have risen and set
since last I fingered the vertebrae of the galaxy
as it ribbed across the midnight blue,
(my favorite in the box of 64 with a sharpener)
How many yellow-orange halogen glows
super-center the corroded sky, denying
my telescope little more than
Love’s pearl white disc
burnt sienna Bradbury imaginings of
rings and Europa?

What is our fear worth?
Bittersweet unheard colors
Earth’s forest green cry

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Posted for Frank J. Tassone’s Haikai Challenge #4 referencing or using the word Darkness.  My thanks to Frank for indulging my resistance to restraint and encouraging me to play with the limits on Japanese poetic forms. 

Posted in Poetry

& On Top of It All

Neon ampersand in turquoise just next door to that groovy little 60’s vintage wine shop where they push back the racks and set a casual stage for live jazz and popcorn, all with a poster of Hemmingway on the back wall.  Snatching a defining shot to share with the blog world.  Summer sounds of laughter and living wide open, embracing every little bit of ‘and that, too’ that comes along because life is too, too wonderful to ignore one single luscious bite.

 

ampersanding days

katydidding dusks, blushing

persimmons ripen1010171613 (3)

© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved

Posting on dVerse where Lil has us digging around in our frig, just for the chill of it!

Posted in Casting Bricks Collaborative Poetry

Let the Seasons Shine

For Jilly’s September Challenge of Casting Bricks, this is my completion of Frank Hubeny’s excellent Haibun called “Let the Light Shine In.”  I have written a second Haibun, following on the seasons theme and so our collaborative effort is entitled “Let the Seasons Shine.”  

Care to join us in the September Challenge?  We would love to have you jump on board!  Follow the link above or click on the permalink on my right-hand side bar.  Post a challenge of your own and / or complete a challange already there.  It’s great fun!

Here is the collaborative effort of Frank / Jilly.  Franks words are first and in bold.

Autumn changes focus on school schedules and condo movements, but now for our children, not for us. It’s the same with Spring. In between these events, like sunlight going through the leaves of trees, there is viewing the lake and parkways where trees can reach for the sun because the buildings are small enough for them to have a chance. 

LIGHT THROUGH PATIENT TREES

BUILDINGS BLOCK THE AUTUMN SKY

BOTH PROVIDE COOL SHADE

Winter’s white focus turns our thoughts back to days of sleds and clotted mittens, to damp bangs flattened against the foreheads of red-tinged faces in our children.  Late December vacations and gleeful Christmas mornings, where the lights of the tree filter through the windows and the children are still small enough for them to have a chance.

LIGHT IN CHILDHOOD’S EYES

NOTHING BLOCKS OUR WINTER SIGHS

CHERISHED MEMORIES

© Hubeny / Lyman Collaborative Poetry

Posted in Photos, Poetry, Uncategorized

Aye; Eyes

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

Posted in Poetry

As a Deer

A Summer Haibun for dVerse ~

 

When all at once a summer evening rain deepens the leaves and grass to bottle green and the lake turns dusky grey with pockmark drops strewn as confetti on the face of it. I grab my camera and shoot the sky (rather than the moon) until russet brown movement across the water catches my peripheral.  Two young deer have come out of the woods; they frolic like bent legged dogs darting to the water for a drink, back to the chase and tag, and before I can zoom and click, they have slipped into the trees and are gone. We go back inside and listen in the quiet of the darkness to thunder and our hearts beating in time with the elusive earth’s depth

Rain brings joy behooved

Stillness stirs our souls to wild

Yearnings of the deep

 

© Jilly’s Poetry & Photo

Posted in Poetry

Passion

On Thursday we added a Passion Flower to our garden – my favorite among plants.  She has submitted to countless photos, a Six-Word Saturday and now, this.  Tonight we are writing Haibuns over at dVerse and Bjorn challenges us to write about the theme of Sport.  Please join us!

Tightly coiled sinews, muscles grumbling, demanding the tap, turned to almost skin-reddening hot, loosens, cajoles, body-sighing curative from a knotted night, giving way to those oldest of friends; Leotard, Mat, Jungle Music; growlingly good salute to the sun that warms to a warrior reaching for that wrung just above my highest leaf, tendril-finger pointing trellis ward, buds opening to the dazzle of the sun, drinking rain, embracing another day of peace. Namaste.

Solitary stretch

competing with none, yoga

Passion Flower strong
IMG_1795

 

 

 

 

 

 

© Photo & Words by Jilly