 | Jules71 is a woman from ALABAMA, USA. |
- Nov 25, 2008 9:34am
- fun with markers
- Oct 24, 2008 3:54pm
- Socks
My mom bought me a pair
Of ten dollar socks
From the Hutterites;
Who were selling knitted goods
Door to door;
They are most unsightly socks
Brown and pink and yellow
A hint of baby-blue
And itchy,
(Wool)
But they are soul-triggers
Of lost love;
Tender shadows of youth
The noiseless viewers of time
Spread out in footprints
Across generations
Bound to reminiscence;
Pressed against the toes
Of life’s
Assured evolution
From roller skates
And Kool-Aid stands
To the steadfast feet
Of maternal intuition
And then,
The watchful eye
Of a woman
Peering between curtains
From her empty nest
Watching the children play;
Two toes poking through
The holes
Of an instant
(¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.*´¸.**¨) ¸.**¨)
(¸.*´ (¸.*´ .*´ ¸¸.*¨¯`* ........Jules 2008
- Sep 26, 2008 3:13pm
- They say, “Time heals all wounds”. They say, “Give it time”. They talk of “time” as if it were a cure-all; the magnificent healer of all wounds. I invest my fortitude in this supposition as I watch the hands of a clock spin; first by the seconds, then by the minutes, and so on. Soon it has been days and weeks and months of “time”; Giant blocks of my life; a turn-style of days and nights and alarm clocks ringing.
I smooth my finger along ridges and decades of wisdom; still, it disquiets me. I feel as if I were swimming in the center of a lake, in the heart of the darkest of all nights; treading water--somehow more cognizant of your absence than ever before, despite the aforementioned passing of “time”.
I close my eyes, settle into a pillow, take a thin breath, and drown in a restless sleep only to awaken to what I remember as being the sound of your laugh, the pitch of your voice, the song of our customary conversations. I shut my eyes again but my heart stings. I lie awake. The clock is still ticking.
Four months and one week, to the day.
(¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.*´¸.**¨) ¸.**¨)
(¸.*´ (¸.*´ .*´ ¸¸.*¨¯`* ........Jules 2008
- Sep 26, 2008 10:52am
- Grace
A blue moon
Falls low;
Hooked
In the quiet of a black sky
Over dull lights
And the purr
Of a platinum city;
I nip Pinot Blanc
From a brandy snifter
At the foot of my bed;
As the news stretches words
Across the glass cube
Of a fading screen;
The stars are bubbles
Popping in and out
Of night
You peer through layers…
And time,
…Watch me empty my contents
Onto pages,
Your name fixed
In a heart-spin
It is the only “grace” I know
Now
(¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.*´¸.**¨) ¸.**¨)
(¸.*´ (¸.*´ .*´ ¸¸.*¨¯`* ........Jules 2008
- Sep 9, 2008 7:07am
- I am currently working on new writing. I have been a total slacker. I am still alive.
- Aug 2, 2008 8:59pm
- You spin shadows
Into curls
Along the links
Of my back
The thin, blue flesh
Of a lover’s hand
Shifts
Beneath the masses
Of a tangled
Fury
We lie
Under summer stars;
Rolling into the clutches
Of a drug cloud
Moving
To the waves
Of an angry silhouette
And the flicker
Of a heartshine
That grasps
Onto the boughs
Of time;
A settling of forces
It gleams
In the clear shine
Of an oval eye
And we watch death move
In
Mismatched circles,
Behind locked doors,
Beside scales,
The nom de plume,
The black safe of indiscretions
That we have learned to worship…
As our bodies mold to
To the cold face of a slated floor
(¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.*´¸.**¨) ¸.**¨)
(¸.*´ (¸.*´ .*´ ¸¸.*¨¯`* ........jules 2008
- Jun 17, 2008 11:47am
Mouthful of Morning
I am
A
Mouthful
Of mornings;
The intangible scratch
Of a nagging whim
Transitory,
Fleeting,
Ad infinitum adrift,
Drunk on cheap wine,
Sated on hollow sex,
Raw as the cerebral pretense
Of misshapen truths,
An overfed intellect
Veiled by the visage
Of a unsullied child
Wide-eyed
Pristine
I
Watch bruises
Flower
From
Bloodshed
A half-groomed
Life
Scars move
Like phantoms
Across bellies
The twist of a thousand
Lovers
Lost to the chasms
Of an unruly mind
(¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.*´¸.**¨) ¸.**¨)
(¸.*´ (¸.*´ .*´ ¸¸.*¨¯`* ........jules 2008
- Jun 11, 2008 2:34pm
- Days
Pass like searing wind
Through withered branches
Looped `round
Blather
And the sinking mass
Of a fresh death
Blow
You are the
Bend of a lemon sugar kiss
Refined and
Dusted
Upon the crusted wafers
Of a twice baked
Torch song
Let the wine glass linger
On the trail of your bottom lip;
A trigger slip
Red is the color
Of everything
Inside
Your skin sloughs
And
Fuses to the soles of my bare feet
I breathe your life
Like the spit
Of a raging fire
You turn
Too fast to see
(¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.*´¸.**¨) ¸.**¨)
(¸.*´ (¸.*´ .*´ ¸¸.*¨¯`* ........jules 2008
- Jun 1, 2008 11:16pm
- 22
I move my fingers
In broad circles
--both forward and back
Along hairlines
And bruises
Athwart the fine lines
Of
A scattered soul
I smooth out the bud vase
Of a heart
The cold hands of death
The jelly filled box of a banshee
That lies; lifeless in a forged, violet room
Under spotlights
And flowers
Museum goods
Tear splashed faces
Uneasy embraces
A fur lined hood wrapped `round the face of melancholia
It sinks deep
And scurries when the switch flips on
Peel off the top
Listen to the bubbles rise
As I flatten like the shiny rock of a headstone
I give you nothing
But the swell of a pattern
The smile of fresh dew on your nose
A laugh or two
As
My fingers will tire
I will see the green glow of an exit sign
And I will
Disappear
Like a dream dying under the clean light
Of a meddlesome dawn
(¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.*´¸.**¨) ¸.**¨)
(¸.*´ (¸.*´ .*´ ¸¸.*¨¯`* ........jules 2008
- May 25, 2008 2:07pm
- Funeral Poem
Rich brown dirt
On blue
And where are you?
Laced into my heart
Cast from the silhouette
Of my hand;
Wedged
Into the subtle shade
Of my Cupid's bow
Shining in the glaze
Of pink polish
As I slide my finger
Across the page of life
Snapdragons
Smile yellow
I touch your hand
For the last time
Back away
The silver handle cranks
And
My heart
Sinks
Into
Goodbye...
(¯`v´¯)
`*.¸.*´
¸.*´¸.**¨) ¸.**¨)
(¸.*´ (¸.*´ .*´ ¸¸.*¨¯`* ........Jules 2008
|
