Trace the tracks, the paths
of rabbits in shoes,
winter-running across
the dogless land.
They are overconfident of their wealth
and the system’s inabilities
to protect the cross-hairs,
even when the shrill tongue,
like a siren sound,
boomerangs off the cliffs
to stand as a Confessor
bearing witness to all
for all.
Behold! the snow
remains bloodless,
though never clean
within our sights.
April 2019 Day 2 / No prompt, just wrote.
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Hold the fire in your open arms
suck in the ash dust
crying for Porcia, Porcia
immerse yourself in the hot destruction
breathing, willfully breathing
the smoke to choke
to weep for Porcia, Porcia
Hold this fire in your open arms
what tang of soot and art
are you willing to swallow
to reanimate Porcia, Porcia
Harvest thou a bowl full of cherries
red —
eat, letting the juices run
freely down thy breast
singing Porcia, Porcia
all the while singing
Porcia
April 2019 / Day One / Prompt: Ezra Pound, Canto XXXIX “A girl’s arms have nested the fire…”
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I love you, my Darling, like a turnip,
buried ‘neath the loamy soil, loves its home,
to force those spiny roots so with a grip
does plant in place and thus refuse to roam.
Spade me not, my Own, don’t disturb the weeds,
this tap runs deep and on its course unswerves
to wrap about thine heart it doth proceed
to hold and love you with exalted verve!
Unhoed, this great attachment holds the soil
to fertilize your joy with stewed delight,
let not this soup turn thoughts to some embroil,
take stock and stir as my be-tubered knight
To love me more and radish all my doubt
so water here our ground to save from drought.
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Two tree frogs claimed
sanctuary on our back deck
Every night they keep vigil
one on the railing
the other on your chair
They don’t blink
as we shine
our lights on them
They know they are ascended from us
We move the chairs
around, stand talking
about them;
they keep their place,
heads pulsing beneath
smooth green skin.
That patch of skin
on the back of my hand
itches and scales
tree roots bulging
out from my soil
I cover it with Manuka honey
and a bandage
hoping it will heal
it gets better
then returns
Why fight it
this urge to overcome
my unfolding
Last night
one frog opened
his mouth as if to speak
Stretching out
my hand burst
into leaf.
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The highway battered the air
my ears
yesterday morning
two miles became
two meters
howling cycles of tires
deranged engines
dug their fingers
into the back door, pushed
into the epidermis of the house
I stopped up my ears
hid in the closet
wanting them to go away
They kept coming
Today the mercy of fog
silences the screams
cuts them down like a
silver sickle
drives them
from my ears
I go back to bed
The silence
is unbearable
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And so you went down to the boats
great iron things on clouds they float,
your oars were but a journey from
unmoving Jack’s required coats
Scull and glide, you beat the drum
millennial taskers dressed for numb,
a royale spot awaits you now
so hoist the silk, the quest begun
Alas! Upon these rocks, your scow
digs up the jams you left behind;
you leap across six rocks – somehow
a mouse with ears your sacred cow!
And you, the mate, who followed fast
sans boots, beret, with verses clasp
into the Center of this World
armed with a blend, you set the mast
Into the glass the wine is swirled
and portraits of each boy and girl
pass hand to hand, and erudite
the tales and laughter are unfurled
So round this fire too cold to light
your kindled stories tell the fight
of love and loss and love regained
a rival of that great Twelfth Night
Lighthearted dawn will rise unchained
where all the lines are unconstrained
all boneyard thoughts are loudly heard
with tears and mirth are all sustained
Now shiver the timbers and the birds
spill out the wine, spill out the words
(but pie is seldom on the floor)
harassed and beaten, word for word
Too soon, too soon, there looms the door
while art demands a steep rapport
the upshot now – no going back
‘Repeat this passage!’ all implore.
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A journey in the form of a Rubaiyat for dVerse’s month-long form challenge, hosted by Frank Hubeny. I have been reading Cantos by Ezra Pound, hence that opening line. A journey not meant to be understood, simply enjoyed for the sound and feel. 🙂
I reset
the chess set
this morning, six months
it sat mute
in the upstairs office, sent
there to avoid
weddings, parties of summer, autumn,
cold stone accusations
I ignored
each night passing
the door switching
off lights
I gathered
the pieces set
them in crowds in the center
of the board, minglers
at a cocktail party
clusters of soldiers, royalty and clerics,
as though they
have something to talk
about over champagne
and cold fish
I reset
them this morning, lines facing
ready for battle wondering
if I remember
my first move
while spring threatens
to approach
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Join us over a dVerse Poet’s Pub where Sarah has us considering Harbingers.
All I ask is that you lick
your phone less and maybe use your
hands to play childish string games
cradling cats
here’s the church
here’s the steeple
instead of building barriers
of one-handed pepperoni pizza
and stiff cold-jointed bones to
worship, worship, worship
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Join us for a bit of quadrilling at dVerse!
all summer we shovel heat
scrape humidity
icing our drinks
as we huddle close around
the fan
now
at last
phoebe
and the buffleheads
have returned
from the edges of the arctic
to cheer us
with news that a light
sweater might be needed
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De is hosting the Quadrille at dVerse this week; come and raise a toast with us as we enter a season of cheer!
It occurs to me that Phoebe and the Buffleheads would be a great name for a rock band, but in reality, these are two of the birds that winter here in Central Florida. It is a seasonal milestone when each of these species arrive; one for which there is much rejoicing in the land 🙂
I open my mouth to speak
but all that comes out is dust
and rubble
The storm that crosses the desert
of my words
strikes as lightning
but the remnants are only broken
glass and bits of sound
that no one remembers
The flame beneath the kiln
of these lips heats
a furnace of the unspoken
I wail dry tears and thirsty sobs
expecting that lung-cleansing
scream
© Jilly’s Poem & Image All Rights Reserved
Posting for dVerse Poetics where Victoria is getting our creativity all fired up!
Jilly's 