Poetry

#WomensMarch (Mad Monday & Women’s Liberation)

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

For the record:
I have never called myself a feminist but I darn well believe in equal rights based on competence; and I believe in a shared respect regardless of physical attributes… or skin color… or religious beliefs.
My expectation (admittedly unmet) is ALL inclusive.

If a right is infringed upon, be bold and utilize the law that is in place.
#BeBold
#EnForceTheLaw

Equal rights and respect. That’s really all the women’s march boils down to, right?
#EqualRights
#Respect

I have gotten a few personal unsavory remarks [from men and women alike] for the poem I am about to share but I am going to share it anyway.

Why? Because it reminds me of the sage advice I received years ago from an old woman who truly fought to make a difference — and it feels better than displaying a vulgar [self-deprecating] sign or wearing a vagina hat.  :/

Women’s Liberation

We did not burn our bras but wore them proudly
Holding–supporting–glorifying the mammary glands that would feed the next generation
For the hand that rocks the cradle rules the world.
We did not give animated voices to our vaginas for the world to hear
but let them speak in secret whispers that moved mountains.
We did not make a spectacle in the streets to prove our equality
For we knew in our hearts [already] that we were superior.

Page 235 from Getting Me Back

The Long, long Night

/ Janna Hill / 5 Comments

 

The Winter solstice and the longest night has now past. The occasion brings to mind one of my favorite poems:

The Long, long Night

He would sculpt and I would write

to get us through this thing called life and

what seemed to be an aimless plight

The long, long night

pottery-sculpting

I used pen and he used clay

to cope with all the pain filled days

which lived within our slow decay of

The long, long night

writing material

But in between the words and mud

we found the art of making love

and pacified the angst and blood of

The long, long night

lovers

Forsaken pages ripped and torn,

spattered earth across the floor,

graphite tales of love and war and

The long, long night

spilled ink

Come into my bed sweet angry lover,

your tender calloused hands beneath the cover.

Find the place where none has been,

beneath the ink and turning pin,

get us through yet once again

The long, long night

Winter in Texas

/ Janna Hill / 2 Comments

In the dark of the moon with the Winter Solstice only days away…

Winter Sabbatical
The first frost arrived this week.
Spit forth from the infinite stars like a sneeze leaving sprinkles of sugary ice on the landscape.
The remaining blades and leafs gave way and withered at daybreak leaving nothing but the scattered evergreens to give us hope… no blooms worthy of expectancy.
However there is hardly anything more beautiful than a berry laden Juniper dotted with Cardinals; the Christmas tree with all of her ornaments pales in comparison.

juniper berries red ornament.2 (800x521)
Oh Christmas, we have that to look forward to – with the Santa Claus fable, the forgotten Jesus and colorful lights draped over bare limbs and the cherished red-nosed reindeer standing pretentiously on brown turf.
And New Year’s Eve – ah, the kissing; corks and fireworks detonate in unison to commemorate the failed promises yet to come. Eagerly we gorge on black-eyed peas and cabbage not earnestly expecting anything more than flatulence.
❤ Let us not forget Valentine’s Day –  the heart shaped occasion when romance blossoms, proven with sentimental cards and candy and flowers; V-day — a cruel day for a lonely or broken heart; dinner date and obligatory sex.
Gaudy clumps of snow — bulky and shaped as if they had been intended for hail tumble down like chopped feathers. Alas, a reason to utilize the fireplace and marvel at the pansies.
Next week’s forecast is warm and dry. We will take it, we have no choice.
We will ride the weather-coaster, counting the birthdays of dead leaders and full moons and scattered days of sunny and seventy-five while we wait for the ides of March to come marching in.

From Getting Me Back (The Voices Within)

Wedding thoughts: All I know about love

/ Janna Hill / 2 Comments

I recently came across a poem [yes poem] by Neil Gaiman. Not only was I pleasantly surprised, I was deeply touched.

The piece struck a chord with me because (sniff. snort. sigh.) our baby boy is getting married this year. Yes, the one I reminisced about a few years ago… pondering,

Where did the years go… Why won’t he let me rock him to sleep any more…or comb his hair… or at least find him a wife so he doesn’t have to live alone…

As a mother there are so many things I want to tell him… to prepare him… and then I realize I cannot. In  Wedding thoughts: All I know about love Neil says it so well I just had to share it with y’all.

 

May your smiles forever sparkle in the prisms of your stone.

Wedding thoughts: All I know about love

Neil Gaiman poetry

This is everything I have to tell you about love: nothing.

This is everything I’ve learned about marriage: nothing.

 

Only that the world out there is complicated,

and there are beasts in the night, and delight and pain,

and the only thing that makes it okay, sometimes,

is to reach out a hand in the darkness and find another hand to squeeze,

and not to be alone.

 

It’s not the kisses, or never just the kisses: it’s what they mean.

Somebody’s got your back.

Somebody knows your worst self and somehow doesn’t want to rescue you

or send for the army to rescue them.

 

It’s not two broken halves becoming one.

It’s the light from a distant lighthouse bringing you both safely home

because home is wherever you are both together.

 

So this is everything I have to tell you about love and marriage: nothing,

like a book without pages or a forest without trees.

 

Because there are things you cannot know before you experience them.

Because no study can prepare you for the joys or the trials.

Because nobody else’s love, nobody else’s marriage, is like yours,

and it’s a road you can only learn by walking it,

a dance you cannot be taught,

a song that did not exist before you began, together, to sing.

 

And because in the darkness you will reach out a hand,

not knowing for certain if someone else is even there.

And your hands will meet,

and then neither of you will ever need to be alone again.

And that’s all I know about love.

I’m Baaack (As the World Turns)

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

I’m baaack and damn glad too.

I say that with a smile.

The adventure was certainly enjoyable. It was entertaining and enlightening…  and what’s another word that starts with e? 

Equilibrium.

Yeah! Well, that’s all screwed up. Can you say Mal de debarquement syndrome ? MDDS is a type of vertigo that [rarely] occurs after stepping off a cruise ship

Whew! It is hard to type while hanging onto (or on to) the arm of a chair — it feels like a fun-house up in here!

So as the world turns I have summed up my trip with a poem and pictures.

I love water…

 

and sunsets…

and leisurely trips.

And I love being on land

0 it is good to be home (673x1024)

 more than  living on ships.

Florida Dew

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

Florida Dew

(from Getting Me Back)

Three flights of stairs leave me winded

Still I light a cigarette, lean against the railing and look out over the salt ponds.

The Florida dew is still wet on my soles, mingled with imported white sand.

The grit clings to my swollen crooked feet like scared children.

It is early February and another spring like day at the southernmost point.

Roaming tourists’ cheerily fill the parking lot

A timeworn man with white hair tells a joke, refers to himself as a snowbird and the crowd cackles like the game fowl that live on the key.

Inside, the black girl from Jamaica pushes a cart loaded with towels and toiletries and yells toward the ceiling of an empty hall

Do you see my sweat!

I want to tell her yes,

Yes, I see your sweat!

Yours and every other soul’s that has bled life into this place! I see their tears and perspiration that filled the salty oceans and the ponds that surround us… that hold us here.

Instead I stare at my swollen gritty feet still wet with the Florida dew.

Remember Florida in her time of need... in the wake of Irma.

 

 

Summer Adieu

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Summer Adieu

It’s out of the flip-flops, and back in the Reeboks and long pants dug out of the dust

So long to the tank tops, bikinis and cut offs and lawn chairs left lying to rust

 

Adieu to the sand dune, the pelican and plain loon

My loves, we’ll see you `fore long

Leaves drop as trees swoon, long past the crop moon

With the scent of a sweet autumn song

 

Let’s all take a big swill to ward off the night chill

Winter’s a season away

Crank up the camp fire; avoid the ole quagmire

With children perched high on the hay

Poem from Getting Me Back

More about the Autumn Equinox at National Geographic

TBT (A Poem & A Picture)

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment
A Little More Time was written in 1980 something, originally published in Pose Prose & Poems in 1998 and republished in the 2017  poetic memoir called Getting Me Back

A Little More Time

There’s an eagle out there soaring

And my best friend is out whoring

Turning tricks of any kind

Doing anything to make a dime

God forgive her for the crime

All she needs is a little more time.

On the roof three stories high

A junky cries and begs to die

Ain’t had a fix in several days

Swears he can’t go on this way

Across the street a church bell chimes

Grant us please a little more time.

An old man sick and dying

Alone with no one crying

He grieves for all the pain he’s caused

For all the people that he’s lost

Outside the window painted mimes

All rushing for a little more time

A woman labors down the hall

Her anguish echoes through the wall

But soon a laughter takes its place

When she looks upon the baby’s face

For a moment all is sublime

As we are given a little more time

Mad Monday. (I’m rooting for you, go Monday go!)

/ Janna Hill / Leave a comment

 

 

We Six Remained (from Getting Me Back)

If I should die before I wake…

Run little hamster,

I pray the Lord my soul to take

run as fast as you can.

-0-

Sister, did you see the man,

the one with the bloody stone?

Brother did you feel the pain,

when the bullet hit the bone?

-0-

Cousin did you smell the smoke,

did you lie so still and quiet?

Uncle did you hear him choke

as the flames rolled over Zion?

-0-

Father could you hear their screams,

do they haunt you late at night?

Mother did you see their dreams

before the dreadful plight?

-0-

A precious linctus to make me feel

Another to help me sleep

And if God can hear a dead man’s prayers,

I pray my soul to keep.

-0-

Now I lay me down to rest

among the torn and drained

where millions died beneath the crest

yet, we six remained.

No Such Thing As Ghosts

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Ernest Hemingway’s study in Key West, Florida.

Note the portrait in the background. Sorry, I don’t know who the artist is but I thought it meshed well with the poem No Such Thing as Ghosts. I snapped this photo last February after a long ride through the keys with Ernie. 😉

No Such Thing As Ghosts completes chapter 17 in Unjustified Favor (Clan Destiny Book III)  after an ordeal forces Lawrence Jeffcoat to rethink his beliefs.

… ghosts were manifestations of irrational fears and folklore. Ghouls, phantoms, spirits – those were make-believe stories invented for campfires and fiction.

HEMINGWAY'S STUDY OVER POOLHOUSE (1024x650)
Hemingways ghost in portrait

Embedded images leave their trace

Like fossil shells have marked their place

Many share this tiny space

Though each in their own time

 

The essence of an empty room

The hint of a gardenia’s bloom

A peek in to the sixth sense loom

All treasures of the mind

 

Shadows catch the outer eye

Wind railed whispers cross the sky

Nothing ever really dies

They simply pass beyond

—