jillypoet: mom trying to write

Each day I wish I had invented waterproof sticky notes (for shower inspiration) or pen-friendly diapers to get down all my quirky thoughts that I am sure are relevant and publishable. And so God (actually another writer-mommy) sent me The Blog.

Monday, November 10, 2008

Poetry Gong - Poem 30

After Hosing the Last of the Dead Rabbit From the End of Her Driveway, June Cleaver Writes God a Letter


Here’s what I think—
you created reflection
for your own amusement.
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This should be a happy occassion: the last poem of poetry gong. 30 poems in 30 days! But, it is with sadness that I post this last poem. I have really enjoyed the discipline of the gong. And the surprises of what poems may arise when I force myself to sit down and write--no matter what.

My plan is to continue a 5 day gong. Or maybe...60? Nah! Hmmm................

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Wednesday, July 09, 2008

Shed Your Skin Only When You See the Light of Her Eyes

I would eat the cat
if her calico fur would coat
my insides. Soft white cream
tea with whole milk
bitter black melted chocolate.

Swallowing a living thing.
Will this bring me closer
to God or death?

Bringing the beauty in.
Like carrying your unborn child
forever. Never giving in,
pushing out, releasing perfection.

I would swap yellow slanted eyes
for useless blue
if only the borrowed light might reflect danger.

Caught in the act
I will apologize to the children
Yes. I love kitty.

Forgive me, husband.
The crow you cooked
burnt my tongue. Take the tongs
you used to turn the bird.
Leave the crusted feathers.
They line my throat
while you retrieve the cat.

I have done this before.

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Thursday, April 24, 2008

NaPoWriMo #24


A (Spring) Prayer To Cover All My Bases, Against Impending Doom, Against Greed

Oh my God, the glory of these trees.
I have been obsessed with baby doll tees
their fine scent, their exquisite curving arms.
I would spend every green bill,
throwing leafy hallelujahs heaven's way,
if I did not have to feed my children.
Apple blossom, cherry blossom, I do not know their names.
If I wrap myself in cotton, I can not feel the thorns.
Anonymous ghosts, bless you for lighting my way.

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I tried the flip-flop opposite method of writing a poem again. See read.write.poem. for more info.

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