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necessary whispers

observe. connect. make new.

Month

April 2016

Letting Go

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Confusion like a cloud of dust

Hovered in her hair

And sunlight caught each

Particle

Flying

Vomiting direction in a

Dizzying dance of

Pulling close and

Throwing to the ground.

 

 

Tangled and beaten

She ran her fingers through

Caught the knots

And skin tore off

Connected to sticky strands

Locked together

With grasping for thoughts

Not abiding by

Surrender.

 

 

She shaved her head

To stop the itch

Lice-filled reflections

Connecting teeth

And gripping her scalp

Until the day

She cut them out and

Watched them fall and

Heard them scream for help.

 

 

The sunshine and the rain

The moon and eclipse

All

Gathered ‘round her skull

The atmosphere

Was heavy

With invisible

Orbs of wetness and

Inevitability.

 

 

Exposed

She lay her head

In blades of grass

Body bent on a bed of mud

That drenched the surface

Where her crown

Once rested

Now a twisted mess

Blowing away.

 

 

She traded certainty

For chaos

Laid down security

For disarray

To the guard sitting

At the door

Of her heart

His badge rusted with

Decay.

 

 

Alone and balding

Like a victim of

Cancer

Whose anchors

Fire and acid

Threw themselves

Into her eyes

She stared blankly

At the sky.

 

 

“I cut him out,

the one who was

knotted in each strand

cascading down like braids

twisted and

wrapping around

and I thought

release would

set me free.”

 

 

Two minds—

Double you might say—

Projected their

Visions

Onto a screen

In celestial sphere

One depicted

Get up and walk

The other, succumb.

 

 

Freedom breathed

Into each choice

Clarity clothed in voice

Autonomy restored

To its former

Determination

She chose the hardest part—

Letting go and

Joy.

 

copyright Jill Szoo Wilson

(Photo credit: German artist Gabriele Ahrens‘ piece, Crosslinked.  http://www.gabriele-ahrens.de/index.php)

Like Any Woman

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It was not what she said

Instead

It was the way she held

The stem of her glass

Between freshly painted

Fingernails

Details

Red wine and red.

 

 

She breathed in and out

Like any woman would

Except

The silk in her dress

Gathered and fell

With inhale and

Exhale—

I waited for the next.

 

 

Her laugh was too loud

No clever disguise of

Civilized

Formalized veiling her mouth

Instead

Candlelit stares

In the face of she

Whose savage joy mesmerized me.

 

 

There was a soulful tune

Permeating the room

Penetrating

Armor I knew

Well beyond its usefulness

But

I had grown accustomed to

Until I felt the thrust of she.

 

 

Never before had her eyes

Encountered mine

“Hello,” I said—

Enunciation tranquilized

Words fell all the way back

And slid

To the sharpest point

Of her black high heel.

 

 

It was not that I fell mute

Instead

I dared not dilute

Fortuity in the air

With words wrapped

In coherence or

Forced perseverance

Of my own understanding.

 

 

I held my hand open

For her to take

Perceiving

Gently cleaving

To the feeling

If she lay her hand in mine

Her touch would both stop and

Awaken time.

copyright Jill Szoo Wilson

(Photo credit: German artist Thorsten Dittrich‘s piece, Tree Of Perception.  http://www.thorstendittrich.de)

 

Of Melody And Of Moan

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The sky is hot like leather

Brown and coating our skin

With beads surging into streams

Of sweat

 

In the distance

A lonely guitar throbs

Crooning refrains of love

And regret

 

We toil long and

Hum the oscillating songs

One by one to forget

The hour

 

Bugs sway back and forth

On blades of green

Tired and scorched by fever and

By life

 

Women tell stories

Laugh with heads thrown back

Simple versions of disaster pulsate in

Their smiles

 

Men with sinewy arms

Pull from the lazy earth

Swollen roots of sustenance and

Of dreams

 

Children thump the ground

Like ragtime drummers

Beating rhythms of play and

Far away

 

The musician strums andante

Caressing silvery strings releasing

Vibrations of melody and

Of moan.

 

copyright Jill Szoo Wilson

(This poem was inspired by German artist Thorsten Dittrich‘s piece, The Secret Carrier.  http://www.thorstendittrich.de)

 

Arrival

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It isn’t the past

Upon which I stumble

It is the future

 

Dreamscapes far below

The airplane window

Of my soul

 

Traveling quickly

With altitude sickness

Not sure where to land

 

Circling

Waiting for Command

To tell me where to go

 

Turbulent escape

Parachuting down

Time to walk instead

 

Down dusty roads

Cracking dry

Under the heat of summer

 

I pass a burning field

A farmer destroying

The weeds that grow

 

Making room

For something new

To break through

 

On the ground

Is safer for me

And for my dreams

 

Sitting by the fire

Throwing things inside

No more room for them to hide

 

Lightening the load

Before taking to the road

A journey preparing

 

I can see you

Standing there

Fanning the flames

 

I can see you

Running around

Throwing water

 

I can see you

Laying there

Laughing

 

I can see you

Running away

Wiping your tears

 

In the moment

Before

It all turns to smoke

 

I will light my cigarette

Off the final

Memory

 

And turn to the horizon.

copyright Jill Szoo Wilson

 

(Photo credit: This poem was inspired by German artist Heiko Müller‘s piece, Arrival.  http://www.heikomueller.de)

 

The soundtrack to this poem for me:

Unzipped

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(Photo credit: This poem was inspired by German artist moki‘s piece, untitled/2007 acrylic on canvas board 15x20cm.  http://www.mioke.de)

 

Born into the beauty of Spring

Between a fog-covered morning and

Daffodils breezily performing

A ballet in minor keys

She was touched first by the sun

Tenderly

Warmly

Our greatest star floated down

Like a blanket,

Covering.

 

 

Her mother was gentle

Hands soft and graceful—

Rose petals against her fingers

Blushed in their inadequacy

To soothe pain

With placid refrains of

Touch

Sliding down from

Cheeks to chins

With whispers thin.

 

 

Her father worked the fields

Gathered to his chest

The yields he nurtured

From seeds into

Future nourishment

Carried

In straw-colored baskets

To a town where

Eyes lit with hellos and

Hands shook with goodbyes.

 

 

Buried deep inside

The beauty young

A grain of aberration was planted—

Roots grew long and

Slanted downward

Spreading wide

Like awns on Wheat

Piercing delicate organs

Changing the beat

Of her sunflower heart.

 

 

Melancholia filled the pasture

Of her mind

A harvest inward

Pulling

Watered by heredity

Drowned in mystery

Tears stagnant

Hidden

Breeding mosquitos

Draining from within.

 

 

Born into the beauty of Spring

She lived in the landscape of Winter

Bracing against snow-filled torrents

Of frozen joy—

A sculptor of ice into smiles

A painter of masks

Detailing profiles

Desperate to delight

Those she could not disappoint—

Ashamed to bare only flickering light.

 

 

Her mother named her Bliss

Her father called her Life

They held her hands

Through seasons passing

Interlocked their fingers

With her plans

Held her high for every eye

To marvel and admire

Proud of the child, the woman

They knew her to be.

 

 

Her outside

Belied

Silent cries—

A contrast of

Cheerful attainment to

Sorrowful containment

Wrenching from

The wish to please

To the reality of

Brokenness.

 

 

As Autumn sang

Its songs of change

She unzipped her disguise

Let her discrepancy fall

And her hopelessness rise—

A coffin soft

Burlap and heavy

She sunk into the shadow

Where finally she could hide

From sunshine and from lies.

 

 

copyright Jill Szoo Wilson

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