Poetry from Julie Jordan Scott

Student: Still Silent: A Three Word Wednesday Poem #3WW

The Three Words which make up our prompt this week are:

Breach; noun: an act of breaking or failing to observe a law, agreement, or code of conduct; a gap in a wall, barrier, or defense, especially one made by an attacking army; verb: Make a gap in and break through.

Ember; noun: A small piece of burning or glowing coal or wood in a dying fire.

Tentative; adjective: Not certain or fixed; provisional.

It feels dangerous for her

To even raise a tentative hand

A breach of etiquette, a squashing

Of any fragment of hope

Any ember of optimism left

She sits, her hand safely

Tucked in her lap

And waits for someone else

To answer

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© 2011
Julie Jordan Scott

Posted at 05:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)

Scandal: An Instapoem for October 18th

Gossip drips from the overbite of Mrs. Young

“Did you?” or “Have you?” or “I wasn’t sure if….”

Eyes behind Sarah Palin style glasses widen

Before narrowing, “So inconspicuous” she drones ~

Patsy’s eyes drop from the salacious patter

She finds herself not listening, instead watching

Mrs. Young’s mouth as words are formed

“Heartbreaking” and “puzzling” and

“What about the children?” are molded

By a tendril of an upper lip magically

Forming over enormous incisors

Suddenly

Silence

Patsy hears the echo of an “L”

She believes might be the end of

“Candle”

Confused she looks back into

Mrs. Young’s eyes and replies,

“Vanilla or Linen scented

are my favorite.”

Mrs. Young frowns. Without a

Word, her black pumps clackety

Clack on the asphalt of the

School playground, seeking

a better listener

- - - -

This poem was born due to a prompt found at INSTAPOEM. Join the poetry fun, daily!

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© 2011
Julie Jordan Scott

Posted at 09:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Water Darts ~ a Poem inspired by Magpie Tales ~ September 27, 2011

Today's Magpie Tales prompt worked me.

And worked me again.

And I, as always, am grateful.

Water darts

Question my longing

Wash clean my supposed need

I open my arms, unsatisfied and

Unwilling to let you be satisfied by

My groans, heard and unheard

My words, Unspent and spent

It is not for you I fall to my knees

Face in the mud

Not knowing

Where you are

And still regretting

The care which

Refuses to die

When so many

Responsive others

Leave breath behind

No longer able to

Feel the rain daggers

Exclamation points

Shouting “stop wasting

Your brain matter”

On people whose

Conscious silence

Frivolous fissures

Between dark clouds

Not able to conceive

Such depths

Are you reading me?

Are YOU reading me?

Take off your cowardice

Feathers and for once

Stand up and say

Who you are ~

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© 2011
Julie Jordan Scott

Posted at 11:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

#ThreeWordWednesday: Today's Poem = A pile of stuff greets her, stonefaced

Below are the words from this week's Three Word Wednesday.

I wrote differently this week... which is something I always enjoy discovering as the words present themselves.

I sit and scribe. Nod some through, push some away. Give some a chance only to snip them out later.

I am pleased with this but still, may edit later.

Drag; verb: Pull (something or someone) along forcefully, roughly or with difficulty; take (someone) to or from a place or event despite their reluctance; noun: the action of pulling something forcefully or with difficulty; act of inhaling smoke; clothing more conventionally worn by the opposite sex.

Mumble; verb: Say something indistinctly and quietly, making it difficult for others to hear; noun: A quiet and indistinct utterance.

Penetrate; verb: Succeed in forcing a way in or through (a thing); infiltrate an enemy or group to spy on it; (of a man) insert the penis into the vagina or anus (of a sexual partner).

She drags herself to the computer keyboard after getting not enough sleep.

From deep within a mumble a murmur a mutter rises and vents, complains.

She tosses her salad of thought, sans oily dressing or croutons.

She penetrates something in her gut with the sharp knife of meaning.

Balloon deflating sounds flatten her spine as she finds herself face down in the berber carpet.

She drags herself to the bedroom mirror to see someone she doesn’t recognize staring back.

She walks to the kitchen for some water, some coffee, some orange juice.

She sits at the kitchen table.

A pile of stuff greets her, stonefaced. At the very top an old composition book waits.

A pen perches on the lip of the composition book, an invitation in its mouth.

She chooses to move the pen on the paper, to do it differently.

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© 2011
Julie Jordan Scott

Posted at 09:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

This is a Poem About Obsession: (via One Single Impression)

This poem was born from Prompt 182: Obsession from One Single Impression

This is a poem about Obsession.

Attraction, as in fatal

Ax to grind, as in make it sharp

Bug in ear, as in infected by, with and just because

Complex, as in “Madonna-Whore “ and “Inferiority”

Craze, as in Mood Ring and Chia-Pet

Crush, as in Bobby Sherman and David Cassidy

Delusion, as in Grandeur and Pathetic

Enthusiasm, as in Unbridled

Fancy, as in Nancy’s Face

Fascination, as in Klaus, James, Jacqueline, Adam , Stuart

Fetish, as in Foot

Hang Up, as in something people who want to stay my friend add to their “don’t do” list

Oh, wait. Not the same definition.

Or is it?

Mania, as in something a little Lithium might help

Neurosis, as in something once called an Invisible Injury

One-track mind, as in perseveration of the most passionate kind

Speaking of which:

Passion, as in one track perseveration

Phobia, as in why is one persistently afraid of… well, maybe

Preoccupation, as in I can’t sleep I can’t stop thinking about….

Something on the brain, as in “this thesaurus has run out of real synonyms”

Thing, as in Really, Roget?

Tiger-by-the-tail, as in this Poem about

Obsession, is now complete.

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© 2011
Julie Jordan Scott

Posted at 12:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Torn Barnacles and Pierced Floors ~ Sunday Scribblings Poem

Some rights reserved by artfulpurpose

Ancient shipwreck

Catacombs with skeletal

Remains, skin long gone

No living survivors anymore

All too old for storytelling

Or wise tale spinning

She wanted beyond this now

So she could make it mean

Anything she wanted it to mean

Death

Birth

Pergatory, perpetual

In a world of torn barnacles

and pierced floors

bare feet and ripped open hearts

wouldn’t walk there

they would be salvaged for

their jewelry rather than

gently questioned about

their intent

There are times the only

Answer is no explanation

The only meaning or reason

Is emptiness

The only hope is tumbling

With petticoats askew and

Hair asunder over into

Hopelessness that we

Finally find our home

In the rusted out hulk

No one else recognizes

Except for her

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Posted at 08:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

A Question

for five years
the same photo
has stared back
at me
saying nothing
saying everything
sometimes mocking
sometimes pittying
sometimes humming

How can it be
- this sameness -
when duplication
or revision or
identical reflection
is so far from
this now?

= = =

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Posted at 08:49 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Three Word Wednesday Poem: The Anti-Tease

I learned something new from this Three Word Wednesday ~ banter includes "teasing" in its definition... which lead to the first line of poetry before the poem took over in a life of its own. I detest teasing and I love flirty banter. I never thought of banter as teasing. >shrug> Anyway...

Here is my contribution to Three Word Wednesday. It has been awhile so this feels grand!

Banter; noun: the playful and friendly exchange of teasing remarks; verb: Talk or exchange remarks in a good-humored or teasing way.

Fumble; verb: Use the hands clumsily while doing or handling something; noun: An act of using the hands clusily while doing or handling something.

Glance; verb: Take a brief or hurried look; hit something at an angle and bounce off obliquely; noun: A brief or hurried look.

She is the anti-tease

Though ironically, she loves to banter

Maybe it falls into the

Flirty or playful, like the

Extended glance with the

Raised right eyebrow or

The sudden dropping of

A smallish something so

She may feign embarrassment

In a smiling glance before

Reaching down and back

Up into his imagination

She likes to think his

Verbal fumbling has its

Root in her down cast

Eyes. She thinks…

As long as the teasing

Isn’t mean-tease…

She is actually all for it

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Posted at 08:07 AM | Permalink | Comments (9)

Abondanza Outreach ~ a Cinquain Poem inspired by Magpie Tales

I was feeling oddly blocked this morning until I floundered my way to Dina Spice's poem which reminded me "Magpie Tales" which reminded me ~ photo prompt!

For some reason, I am feeling drawn to cinquain and I found this very cool, can it get any easier instant cinquain creator which I used it to write today's Magpie Poem, based on my them of this week which is: Abondanza Outreach ~ I love how the model is 1000% unselfconscious as she reaches to the star....

Outreach
Lift up ~ over
tumbling laughing loving
Freeform satisfaction flows through
Reach out

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Posted at 08:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (12)