Posted in Poetry

Circadian Stone

What cranial pillow-deep tows
my skull over the headboard
down into some unnamed hematoma
of sleep, a back-flip in the pool
where the shelter of trees grasp
the air that divides their knotty
fingers, lingers overhead
in the up-stares where eyes
roll backward, reluctant
to let go of the animation
of awareness?

Gasping, I rise
only to sink,
a stone on its final
skip.

 

© Jilly  All Rights Reserved

Posting on Open Link Night at dVerse.

The October edition of Casting Bricks to Attract Jade, collaborative poetry challenge, opens Friday, October 6th.  Everyone is welcome to join in !               ~Cheers!  Jilly 

 

Advertisements
Posted in Poetry

On Circumnavigating the Peach

He travels
through episodes
of marginalia
lavishly neglecting
the peel, where flavor
resides, instead sucking
insensibility from the flesh
spraining his ankle
on the pocked
surface of the pit

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Posted in Poetry

Shipwrecked Eggs & Jigsaw Puzzles

What color is it when poetry
is lost, leaving only prose
and Prozac and a longing
for nights cold enough to throw
an old familiar blanket
into the dryer just to smell
its heat evaporate
into memories of shipwrecked
eggs and jigsaw puzzles
with the pieces that make up
the eyes missing from the box?

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Join us at dVerse for none of the answers to your poetic questions.

Posted in Poetry

Reading Akhmatova

Anna Akhmatova   1889 – 1966

Wishing for
fluency in Russian
settling for
translations of
agony
and other
mundane
sensations

Tossed
as a glove
to the winds
its empty
fingers
bent backwards
splitting the webs
of bloodless
skin

Turn
walk away before
it falls
common
in the golden
muds of 1966

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Three poems of Anna Akhmatova spring to mind today; I share them here with you.
Song of the Last Meeting , I Wrung My Hands , and He Loved Three Things

 

Unlike a lot of writers, I don’t have any craving to be understood.
~ Jim Harrison

Posted in Poetry

Cuisine

sheading the skin of instant coffee
and packet oatmeal
toaster waffles with margarine
refined sugar followed by fried
bologna sandwiches
on white
years that stick to the roof
of your mouth watering
the gravel driveway
weeds and all
and that spot where
you burned your feet
on the hot charcoals
discarded too soon
and your blistered voice
scolded into magenta pickled
beets whose juices
ruin your mashed potatoes

until you found him

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Join us at dVerse where we are tossing the dough of metaphors, making poetic pizza, gooey with cheese and… I digress…

Posted in Poetry

Off the Menu

He wanted to isolate her, so he asked the chef to go

Off the Menu

A Fleeting, Better-than-this Sleep                                                        19.95

Film, the Flavor of a Downtown Negative                                        24.95

Sweet Frosty Promises                                                                                14.50

Grizzled Taste of Fear                                                                                   gratis

 

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Unlike a lot of writers, I don’t have any craving to be understood.
~ Jim Harrison

 

Posted in Poetry

Frogs of Bliss

I speak not politically, but socially.  Bjorn hosts dVerse tonight where we write Quadrilles with the word Bliss.  I was really in a Haiku mood, but that’s a tough challenge at 44 words!  

Why speak of honor
when there is none?

The stone drops from the hand
that feeds
bounces once
is swallowed
willingly

Who among you would?

What Bradbury saw
burns us
we feel
nothing of the scorch

Frogs of bliss
mind the heat, ya’ hear?

© Jilly  All Rights Reserved

Posted in Poetry

Voiceless

SomePeopleAreAtHomeAmidTheMillionsOfChit-likeWiresChatting&Forgettable

 

some

have

the

guts

to

 

Surf the fading

 

nightmares

 

dwelling within the gift

 

of

silence

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

 

Posted in 28 Days of Unreason

Day 28 – The Magi

Whoop!  Day 28!!!  A few days ago I was musing over the fact that so many of my poems are about nature, the moon, & etc.  “Why don’t I write about something mundane, like that bent Road Work Ahead sign or a traffic light?”  My mind composed this in the wee small hours and it seems a fitting finality to these amazing 28 Days of Unreason.  Once again, the words of Jim Harrison from Songs of Unreason have been mind-expanding and a true source of inspiration.  Thank you to all who have joined in, some every day and others as the muse prompts. Lynn, Charley & Qbit have been amazingly faithfull to the prompts and the light of my day for 28 of them.  Jane has caught the fever as well as Frank, Jenna, Hank, Jeren, and NoStAugustine.  Did I miss anyone?  The response has overjoyed me!  Where should we go next?  Rilke? Whitman?  (I need a vacation! LOL) Love Y’all!  ~ Jilly

“Why does the mind compose this music well before the words occur?”

~  Jim Harrison

THE MAGI

Approaching,
I will the light,
“Stay green. Stay green.”

It yellows.

Red.

Mindjackers surround the car
wrench open my door
their mouths open
singing music
with words I
cannot hear,
the rib-spreader
in their Magus hands.

I stare straight ahead,
grip the wheel;

the car behind me honks.
Green.

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved

Posted in 28 Days of Unreason, Poetry

Day 24 – Lest You Die

The closer I get to the end of the 28 Days of Unreason, the closer my writing is to the edge of sanity.  Not me, mind you, just the poet’s voice.  Here is the 24th line from Songs of Unreason and my poem, entitled Lest You Die.

“Nature has portals rather than doors”  ~ Jim Harrison

 

The Forgiving Tree

opens her arms

bids us step through

find sanity in the healing balm

drink

drink

drink

© Jilly’s  All Rights Reserved