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Joli's Journal


Joli's Journal

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7 entries this month
 

PRIVATE ENTRY

02:27 Oct 29 2008
Times Read: 850


• • • • PRIVATE JOURNAL ENTRY • • • •


 

Tuesday Pilgrim

13:39 Oct 28 2008
Times Read: 878




Infinity is the taste of every answer I cannot attain,

Like the saltwater taffy waves of the Painted Desert

Where trees bake until they are stones,

Dotting the rolling land as far as the eye can see.


I am the last weathered sign along the road.

Torn fabric frays and flutters against a rusted nail,

Teased by the dry wind, just another flightless one

Wishing the horizon near.


Wind chimes hang from a saguaro cactus,

Palace and symphony for the king, who shelters there.

A dusty collie with three good legs pants the cadence

For the music of my feverish need to know.

COMMENTS

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birra
birra
14:08 Oct 28 2008

What a beautiful way to start my morning...



...now I can face the four days of ignored emails. :)





Beastt17
Beastt17
16:20 Oct 28 2008

A postcard image of the dry, dusty and forgotten. Or was it just a photo -- a fragment of an advertisement, leafed over by most, which caught your eye and tickled your mind?





Beastt17
Beastt17
16:22 Oct 28 2008

Did I mention "brilliant"? Such a word should never become mundane. But in my feeble stumblings to find the right adjective, I tend to trip over the tired, the fatigued and the thoroughly appropriate.





ChasingTheGhost
ChasingTheGhost
17:27 Oct 28 2008

I started my morning with this as well...to smile before noon is a gift. You dazzle.





STABB666
STABB666
18:01 Oct 28 2008

I love these weaving story-like words. I always want you to continue on, into an epic...





BLOODLIFE
BLOODLIFE
00:24 Oct 29 2008

A gift to come home to .. thank you.





StoneCrow
StoneCrow
09:49 Oct 29 2008

I like how textural this is, gritty and real. Awesome piece Jo.





Beastt17
Beastt17
22:28 Oct 29 2008

This sucks!



(Not really. I loved it. But your comments needed some contrast.)



;-)



Angelus
Angelus
15:13 Oct 30 2008

BLOODY MARVELLOUS!





 

New Orleans Haunt

07:11 Oct 23 2008
Times Read: 926





Wrought iron lace and her porcelain face

Entwined with finials and fleur de lis.

Circle within circle,

A medallion set like a jewel

In the arched doorway of her stately home

On St. Charles Avenue.


Craft and form beguile and charm

And metal vines become hairs that wind

Round the ancient screen.

Her fierce black curls

Swirl and twirl in the haunted screen

Like the scented steam rising from my tub.



Against my will, against my wall,

It leans there now,

Keeping watch and a lock of hair

To weave more lace around her face

As fair as my evening prayer.

COMMENTS

-



Beastt17
Beastt17
08:47 Oct 23 2008

*sigh*

Add this one to the list of candidates for the contest. It's well... great. If you wrote something that sucked just once, I'd have one I could eliminate from the running. (I can teach you how.)





AngelfromAshes
AngelfromAshes
08:57 Oct 23 2008

beautiful





birra
birra
14:12 Oct 23 2008

Stunning piece. Absolutely stunning.



I was just thinking of the amazing series of photographs the images you have created with these words would make... and how much planning would need to go into capturing those images as deftly as you have created them.





 

Touch

00:44 Oct 17 2008
Times Read: 1,007





I still cannot wipe away your fingerprints. Your hand is clearly preserved against the shining hull of the boat, as though it was only a moment since you leaned there, and not these many months grown into years. How have I continued to breathe when you have stopped? I cried myself dry. Did you hear?


I still whip around at times, certain that you were just there...so certain that I felt your hand against my shoulder. But there are no visible prints left on me. Detectives use special lighting to find evidence that the naked eyes cannot see. I wish there were such lighting to show the places where you have left your evidence upon my flesh.


I broke your glasses. I found them casually laid by, on a window sill months later. I don't know where the anger was stored that welled up and out of me at that moment. The glasses you always carried and forgot on mantels, counters, and window sills. It was too cruel to find them there when I was learning not to look for you.


I smashed the lenses and crushed the frames beneath my garden shoes. It was satisfying so I kept going, no tears, just madness and smashing. I stopped when I heard an unhealthy sound, like wheezing, asthmatic breathing very near. I didn't want anyone to see the spectacle spectacle...shame burned across my cheeks before I realized it was my own exaggerated and exhausted breathing, the sound amplified between my own ears.


I crept back into the garden late that night and picked up every shard and twisted piece of plastic, searching for the shine of moonlight on them. I placed them into a ziplock bag and tucked them into the bottom drawer of my jewelry box. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I was angry. I'm not now, not any more...but I'm not completely me anymore, either. Wherever you are, you have that missing piece of me with you. I'm not sorry for that, either. I'd give you more if you asked.


It's the aching, now...the constant aching. I used to resent the ache and want it to lighten, lift and float away. But not now. I own the ache and embrace the pain which belongs to a wound which will never heal completely. I don't want it to completely heal. This ache reminds me that I walk and breathe in a world without you. That should never feel perfectly comfortable to me.


Are you lonely for me where you are? Can you feel? Is there more than the earth where you lay? I wish you would come to me. And if you already do, help me to know that you are there. I wonder if you'd laugh at my follies, if you see me reading Wuthering Heights. I can picture in my mind's eye the lines of your face and the crinkling beside your eyes as you would tease me for such a romantic choice in reading materials. Remembering the feel of the planes of your face beneath my fingertips...a knife would hurt less. I wonder...are my prints still on you? I will believe that they are, that they must still be.


Stop laughing for a moment, and when Heathcliff calls after Catherine, out through the window on a lonely night when he feels lost, hear my voice:

"Haunt me...Be with me always - take any form - drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!"

COMMENTS

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BLOODLIFE
BLOODLIFE
01:08 Oct 17 2008

You evoke a visual that only experience could express with such feelings, if not from experience then you are not just a poet but an actress in her prime. It deserves an oscar.





Joli
Joli
01:20 Oct 17 2008

Thank you :)





Sinora
Sinora
08:28 Oct 17 2008

Beautiful.





Beastt17
Beastt17
10:16 Oct 17 2008

This piece, so central to your essence, is clear in its inspiration and references. Were to know enough of you to always find your meaning rather than my own, I would perhaps find not only purpose, but completion.





birra
birra
22:41 Oct 17 2008

...so much emotion in this... *sigh*



You owe me kleenex...






 

Homogeny

22:36 Oct 16 2008
Times Read: 1,027





A single drop, unsolicited.

No need to shake or stir.

Random and constant,

Motion and pushing

At the deepest levels of me

To accept the changes

You engender,

As though there is still a choice.

Spreading evenly.

Soon, I am no longer me.




COMMENTS

-



STABB666
STABB666
22:46 Oct 16 2008

You have such a graceful way with your words.



This is another wonderfully emotive piece.






BLOODLIFE
BLOODLIFE
23:24 Oct 16 2008

It's good to be homogeneous, more so now.





Joli
Joli
23:28 Oct 16 2008

I prefer to be heterogeneous. I'm a big homophobe :(





Beastt17
Beastt17
05:55 Dec 01 2008

I'll never find the words that adequately describe how you transform the written word into form, beauty and near photographic detail. Of all the poets I've seen, I think perhaps you are the only one sufficiently skilled to spin words and phrases into a description befitting of the creations you mold, nurture, shape and polish. No matter what I say I feel like I'm just carelessly tossing adjectives at a masterpiece beyond description.





 

Loss and Perspective

18:55 Oct 15 2008
Times Read: 1,081





I lost something dear to me along the side of the road. I had been careless, not cherishing it as I should have. There had clearly been another choice, but I was foolish. I didn't even notice the absence right away, but when I needed it, I was horrified to find what I had done. Only gone had its value crystallized for me. But it was too late. Someone had spirited it away, lost to me forever.


----------



My feet are bare and I am in the middle of the ocean, my toes are just touching the water and I am enjoying the cool sensation as the small boat sails quietly along at a slow clip.


Something is dark below the water and I am curious and excited, believing it to be a great fish. When it surfaces, I see that it is a beautiful woman, dark as night. She is stunning and I cannot take my eyes from her, each movement she makes is more angel than human. I am enchanted. A few more surface, each as graceful and mesmerizing as the first and I feel my heart swell at a world that can have such beauty. I experience the purest joy at this gift I have been trusted with, this heavenly vision.


It is not long before I notice that the water is teeming with the dark angels. Above and below the surface, the black shapes flit back and forth, around and below the boat. They swim closer and their motion is fast and takes on a sinister feel. I am afraid that they will touch my skin and I pull my feet out of the water and scoot back from the edge. The original few stroke their hair and smile at me and I become the prisoner of cold, wet terror. All that brought me joy circles, anticipating the moment that I shall be devoured.

COMMENTS

-



StoneCrow
StoneCrow
19:05 Oct 15 2008

Yikes! I am pulling my feet up too. :(





birra
birra
03:36 Oct 16 2008

Kind of gives me the vision of "Raiders of the Lost Ark" when the Nazi's opened the Ark and released the spirits... they swam through the air, beautifully and majestically...



...and then turned to demonic ghouls, destroying those that seen them and sweeping them all away…





ChasingTheGhost
ChasingTheGhost
07:29 Oct 16 2008

But just for that fleeting moment... do you think about diving in?....to touch the beauty before it destroys you. How morbidly romantic.





 

Framework

08:26 Oct 14 2008
Times Read: 1,141



“Standards, ledgers, transoms, and battens.”

The rhythm of the words, themselves, comfort me.

Scaffolding, beautifully engineered armor

Between myself and the world, worn cap-a-pe.


Under construction

Read the sign

Come back later.


Nearly permanent, this temporary structure

That keeps me from losing my foothold

Or suspends me above the ground

To swing and kick at my fears

Riding high in the saddle.


This scaffold, overwrought and over adorned.

Only I would add flying buttresses

Where braces will do.


Sinking slowly

Weighted down

Show's over.

COMMENTS

-



xxEmaeraldxx
xxEmaeraldxx
17:31 Oct 14 2008

A scaffolders prayer.. and the show is only over when the scaffold is down and everyone goes home safe :)








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