1. wet mind
    spilled invisible liquid

    fiber body blotter

    meeting
    paper misshapen
    maker

    pulped tongue
    bit teeth
    need

    flesh jealous
    of the writing

    writhing inside
    twists
    squeezed

    without relief 

     

  2. how ever

    wearing the signs
    self hypnosis
    prickly sun beams drawn
    from a fiery orange core
    by a five year old hand splayed
    across the faces
    grossly interested
    onlookers
    gazes

    caught

    oblivious
    swollenful
    making
    a stand

    however wobbly

     

  3. entering

    my hands said
    less shaking held against

    my hands said
    here is my sweat

    my hands said
    i have been there somewhen
    then someplace else

    my hands said
    strength lives under skin
    pressed

    my hands said
    who have you known how
    i met them

    my hands said
    please and thank you more
    then less hold and grip

    my hands said
    come in

    flesh listens
    in answers

    Tagged #poetry #jillc
     

  4. as strangers
    sharing language
    in an alien land
    truth speaking to
    truth

    listening too

    Tagged #poetry #jillc
     

  5. unwordly prayers

    beginning with the assumption
    regardless how false

    given that
    i will
    be enough

    proceeding with the confidence
    to tell my own truth

    given that
    i will
    be enough

    continuing with certainty
    to get through to you

    given that
    i will
    be enough

    finishing with selective few
    to let my body talk

    and listen
    amen

    Tagged #poetry #jillc
     

  6. hands lent, chairs pushed in

    he
    sitting
    a yellow chair
    thumbs 
    Tulsa by Clark
    or by George
    but not Boi
    the raw beauty 
    captivates
    the human soul
    exposed before it 
    we fake better than others
    realized close
    friends have been sons 
    itches and my cat still
    thinks my hand is
    a spider

    and me?
    what of answers? 
    certainly not purity 
    no less truth
    my dog knows
    my hand
    is the jailer
    of us both

    a spontaneous collaboration in messages{modified}; by photographia & trixclibrarian

     

  7. time’s short

    there is a certain kind of
    sunglasses on still squinting
    brilliance in defying all standards
    judgement by claiming others
    lack what’s required to understand it

    like a cap a gown a hood
    it strikes a pose strong
    silohouette

    hurts to look at
    doesn’t mean much

    i don’t want to be
    but you won’t
    get famous
    making them fall in love with you
    one at a time

    i tried to tell
    her

    Tagged #poetry #jillc
     

  8. doom showing

    a slice knifed
    downstab strike
    through knobbed
    pealing paint pine
    trunk scabbed bark
    dark hovering bobbing
    branch seasickening wind
    torrents of slapping horizon
    night sky squinting wink
    glance off sharp cliffs
    bank on sap-sticky
    clouds scratch
    my soft wet
    eyes

    needled shadows

    a shard of glass
    aimed to pierce
    open my chest
    slick with tacky
    clotted glinting
    death’s blood

    pooling
    murderous
    in the forest

    so telling
    even without
    moonlight glowing

    “Don’t tell me the moon is shining; 
    
show me the glint of light on broken glass.”
    
~Anton Chekhov

    exhalingcatalysts ladymycroftmansfield thornpuller prompt

     

  9. I.
    The tiny human, girl child, hand clasped over the heart of her mouth. The foreign fist named familiar and shoved in. Her breathing frantic gasping through the nose. Choked a hold and fingers gripping her neck.

    She gives her body up. Gives it in and hands it over, babbling and severed from her soul. She does not say so but she knows, she has been told, her own words’ lack of worth. 

    II.
    Thus, she pours and pours. She pours the words out waiting for the empty that never comes. 

    III.
    She learns to agree, her words and flesh have no significant independent meaning. They are a medium. A canvas for others to paint upon. She is a pallet used to color the evidence of others’ qualities. To stand for the desire she is not permitted. 

    She teaches her body to scream.

    To scream only phrases beginning with “You”.
    You are desirable.
    You demand passion.
    You are powerful.
    You command me.
    Alone, your need fulfilled makes me worthy.

    IV.
    Until she fails.
    Then, she is finally empty.
    She is discarded.
    She is trash.
    She is voided.
    She finds herself.
    She finds the waiting lonely.

    V.
    Terrified.
    Terrified, she blocks her eyes.
    Terrified, she stuffs her ears quiet.
    Terrified, she sews her mouth shut.

    VI.
    In black silence.
    Her body refuses to die.

    It cries.
    It wails.
    It begs.

    VII. 
    In the mute darkness, her body  begins to speak.
    Her palm says I am open.
    Her sweat says I am cloaked and holding
    our fear.
    Her press says I made this space
    for us.

    VIII.
    There is no one left to listen.
    The world sits
    wide-eyed in the pitch
    mocking.

     

  10. tiny striking cold streams

    con
    concept
    conception
    contraception
    contraband
    contraction
    traction
    action
    act

    rubber
    band
    snaps

    to
    wrists
    from fingertips

    pregnant round
    riddles inside
    riddles side
    down

    tiny fairy
    curled abound
    a lima bean umbilical

    cross section
    sliced of life
    selection

    the comic relief
    of commercial
    cartoon characters
    like whiskey hard drinks
    and fried chicken legs
    distinctive in silhouette

    more sinister
    than metaphor
    braided symbols
    in rivulet

     

  11. faintly waking calls

    I don’t believe we choose our friends
    If I was afraid of your crying I would never come

    walls are required to survive
    and life is hardly everything barely anything
    in comparison

    the spirit tramps ahead
    dancing the pavement
    into the road of existence

    telling
    stories

    ending to begin again
    ending end to end
    to begin ending

    enjoy the forest
    it rises to the conversation

    listen for the whispers

    in my dying’s
    rebirth

    i promise

    Tagged #poetry #jillc
     

  12. danger

    denying the reality of fences
    i turn face to the harsh wilderness
    driven sun burning feet walked about

    food locked in agriculture
    ideas locked in alphabets
    souls locked in markets
    death locked in governments
    religion tradition rules

    the string of the balloon
    slipped the fist loose

    fear tore love
    gurgling wet
    from the guts
    of the beast

    i deny the existence of fences
    designed to contain fear

    set my face harsh
    wild unnamed
    into love

    so i am

    Tagged #poetry #jillc
     

  13. {turning the essence and surface}

    repetition being
    a kind of change

    a land woven
    lines a loom
    sunshine on blue sky
    strings in a cloud frame
    whites to shimmering grays
    smooth gravelly

    rich dark brown swaths striped
    in black soaked wet dirt clumps
    clumped in piled up rows
    earth turned over from sleep
    rolled parallel one after another
    then young blistering green
    edged road grass

    next stripe silver shoulder
    glowing bone reflector strip
    followed by orange caution yellow
    neon solid to mark the lane
    the black car on the road
    moving
    mustard colored slashes dot
    dotted center now past next
    now past next now past next

    repetition
    being a kind
    of change

    for another gray lane
    white shine pebble border
    wide stunning grassy swirls
    the black earth tattooed
    in draining water grooves
    etched ditches in planet
    skin

    reaching to more sky blue sky
    clouds puff on a sky blue sky
    cloud swipe swaths across
    the expanse the vehicle
    travels swift glide down
    the center of the wide 
    shiny day

    long strands of hair fly wild
    out the windows blown
    with a tune on a stereo
    loud on repeat over and over
    and over perfect weather
    to fly elbows out
    down a spring road
    looming and weaving

    repetition
    being a
    kind of
    change

    repetition being
    repetition being
    repetition being
    a kind of change
    in looming weaving
    dreams

    where i sense
    i have spent time
    with you undetected
    and unremembered
    of that i am certain i am
    certain

    only in dreams

    Tagged #poetry #jillc
     

  14. no-one steps into the labyrinth
    in order to make a quick get away

    no-one denies a coincidence 
    unless they have secretly segued 

    no-one gets out of a living minute
    no matter how talented they may be

    when you were sitting across the surface
    but looking in the opposite direction
    i experienced the communication
    in your pattern of breathing
    the way your chest moved
    said things without words
    i won’t cheapen further
    here

    the pat on the back
    was a spontaneous
    reaction to the unexpected
    second hand laid upon
    the top of yours
    from nowhere meaningful
    nowhere measured
    just happened
    randomly

    without even coincidence
    to show for it

    no-one will ever know how much or
    if it was reciprocal least wise

    neither you nor i

     

  15. bucked

    the bridge of the song
    spans the twist in the mobius strip

    likely are we
    to topple off

    the ship is not made by man
    organic vessel

    leafy cupped hand loose
    wet amrit shine

    to the light to move
    along the river

    until it takes
    on water
    sinks

    into the one
    paregoric dream

    Tagged #poetry #jillc