One stitch
A blanket to cover you.
One seed
A field to feed you.
One word
A page to profess this love for you.
One life
Enough time
To bring what really matters
To fruition.
poem/photo: Jill Volat 11/21/12
Tag Archives: poetry
Laundry
Changing clothes
To cover a changing body
To cover an immortal soul
That would rather
Stand naked.
Dirty, clean, hang, dry, fold, repeat:
Lessons laid out
Like laundry on the line.
Not always in order, but
One at a time
If you’re lucky.
A warm breeze
From some other place
Lets us know
When to stand still
And when to get moving.
Like a soft, worn piece of linen
We soil ourselves
Not just to be washed,
But to dance
With wind.
poem: Jill Volat 11/20/12
photo: Tricia McKellar
Seeds
A new road
A blank page
An empty canvas
An open field
…compass and colors and unmarked seeds in my pocket.
poem/photo: Jill Volat
Garden Muse
It would be nice
If he had
A soft mouth and sweet disposition
So that when he spoke,
Petals of kindness
Fell from his lips.
His heart
Would drip dappled sunlight
Under an old oak tree -
A safe haven to expose myself
Without fear of being stung.
Ideally, he’d stand tall and strong
So that his sparkling eyes
Would meet my own -
At night there’d be stars
On the horizon.
Barefoot
Among the flora and fauna
His other-worldly beauty
Would blend
With every bloom.
poem/photo: Jill Volat
Adorned
Today is the best day of my life.
No, I didn’t
Take the day off
Or get a promotion
Or win the lottery.
In fact,
I only got four hours sleep
And my hair is dirty
And my clothes are faded and mismatched
And I’m hungry,
But for some reason,
I can’t eat.
It’s because
Now I know for sure
You’re looking down on me
All the time
Sending me
Radiant
Pure
Love.
Which feels more like I’m adorned
With the most glorious garments
And a garland of roses and jewels
That you’ve created just for me
And which only
I can see.
Pen Man
I visited my new doctor today.
We sat down at his dusty desk
Full of rotting fruit and empty
Soda cans.
Wanting to break the ice,
I admired his pen. I liked its
Shiny surface and the way the ink
Flowed so effortlessly,
Authoritatively.
He eagerly explained that the pen
Cost eight hundred dollars,
Came from France
And that he’d never lost one in his life.
When he began to review my
Nine hundred dollar lab work
I pictured him, ravishing,
Traveling to the
City of Lights
With his wife
For the second time this year.
I saw him walking into the pen store
With his white grin and
Coiffed white hair.
Maybe he’d flirt with the sales girl
Who’d be about my age
Before passing her his phone number,
Scribbled with his new implement.
I wish I had a magical pen like that.
Maybe I’d write better poems.
Sunrise
The quiet
Comes in.
Gentle friend
To a heart
That seeks
New direction.
A generous sky
Paints
The grey canvas
With drops of orange, pink
And a touch
Of what’s to come…
Beauty.
I am bathed
By something
That can’t be touched.
I am held
By something
That can’t be grasped.
Sunrise inside,
Light rising
Within.
Temple
It looks profane
Though it’s sacred.
A temple
That houses chipped cups, mismatched saucers,
And threadbare pillows I just can’t
Toss out.
Unsung relics
Devoted to
Raising a family and
Comforting lost friends.
A higher form of service
Is not known to me.
{poem/photo: Jill Lurie}
Fortune
Worn palms.
How to read them?
Imprints of the earth.
Tattoos of the land.
Mother Nature’s riches
At home
In these hands.
{poem/photo: Jill Lurie 2/28/12}
High Land (Neroli)
Man of the land
Sweet soul
On top
Of the hill.
Thistles
Eagles
And cool mountain air.
Echoes
Of dreams
Already planted
On your doorstep.
Your quiet heart hums this rattle song.
Lavender and jasmine
Roses and crystal -
The ways
They come alive
In your worn, warm hands.
White light
Mingling
With cream colored blossoms
That are already there
Though not yet planted.
Neroli
Wafting
From the canyon.
{poem/photo: Jill Lurie 2/27/12}
