grey

the tired rain
runs down window panes
in lonely rivulets
searches for a crevice
to collect itself in
somewhere to call home
before it succumbs
to fragmentation and air

and . . .

and sometimes God is like the sea
so unimaginably huge
we cannot mark a beginning
know only a small portion of coastline
which changes irrevocably over time

and sometimes God is like the sea
we explore the surface on ships
dive beneath the waves in submarines
but we are still unable
to calculate its volume

silence

I am alone
in a crowd of mundane phrases
the empty space between loud voices
I am drowning
in the commonplace
the superficial competition
to be heard
to be amusing
is there no one who sees me
when I am silent
notices that even stillness
has eloquence
am I invisible if I do not join
this flood of sentences
each exclamation louder than the last
questions killed with tedious answers
conversation died a long time ago

reading

I have filled the silences in between
with voices of the past
never quite sure who will speak next
changing the future
with just a few dusty breaths.

Christianese

I tiptoe around words
so careful of meanings
I cannot embrace
dare not justify
I slide past sentences
so empty they
have no weight
find no response
in a soul thirsty
for paradox and the unknown

a glimpse of mortality

I saw you dead
or dying
and caught my breath
with the heavy pain
of love

untitled

the rain today
turned so quickly
into sunshine
I was no longer
afraid of growing old.

where do our souls go?

where do our souls go
when we sleep?

most nights
mine just takes a walk around the room
tidying odds and ends
staring out the window from time to time

but sometimes
it gets lost in a great Homeric epic
populating my dreams with myth and mystery
taking center stage in the eternal human drama

other nights
it tries on various futures
like so many wedding dresses
each more beautiful than the last
but ultimately not quite right

and then there are the nights
it tries to run away
seeking a safe haven
in the collective unconscious

I wake up on those mornings
with the tragedy of lost knowledge
hanging over me

poetry submission

Dear Readers,

I am thinking about submitting some of my work to Arc Poetry Magazine and I would like your help deciding what to submit. I can send in 4 to 8 pieces on any subject, in any form and I have 12 up for consideration.

Which would you choose:

my God
used bookstores
twins
turn the light off
summer dust
discovery
genetic history
inner gypsy
housekeeping
credo
Bathsheba
five

Thanks for the help!

Jess

untitled

and then

sometimes

there are no
words

only

the deep melancholy
of sacred silence