Poetry from Julie Jordan Scott

Center of the swirl: Poem inspired by Magpie Tales.

The swirl calls me to dive in.

I stay slightly off center

Wondering if to dive in means

To live or die or to stay perpetually

Stuck in orange and light blue

And Grey Poupon Gold

Shaded mediocrity.

The swirl calls me to dive in.

I hate my ass. I hate my hair.

I would love to throw myself

In and be spit out with a body like

Beyonce and the wisdom of

a smarter version of myself

The swirl calls me to dive in.

A headless shadow of a Viking

Hovers over me growling

Dive in, you fearful smidgen of dust.

The tides won’t drown you

 Your lack of courage

Will bite that ass you hate.

Stop looking over your shoulder

For the knight on a white horse

With your heart-and-name on

His diamond encrusted shield.

It is fiction. You are fact. Aim for

The center of the swirl.

There is no safety net.

You don’t need one.

No one does. It is fiction, too.

The swirl calls you to dive in.

Dive.

In.

Image from Magpie Tales ~ a close up view of just a segment of Flying Down, 2006, by David Salle

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Smart. Detached. Gone - Poem from September 23ish in Prep for OctPoWriMo

Each time, it seems, though maybe not exactly, well I’m not sure  

I get sad or depressed or maudlin or wondering about Life’s big questions

You know the “Why am I here?” or “Why the hell did I make this choice or that?”

Or “What contribution am I supposed to make to my planet?

It seems I am stuck on dead ends in the road, the blocked forks left by certain people

He who looked so much like my dad, was frightfully honest and left a huge deposit in my lap.

She who never answered my letter, who I make up is forever angry at the pubescent me.

He who, I imagine, died in the earlyish days of the AIDS epidemic, but I’m still not convinced.

In those sad moments the paper punch leaves holes shaped like these people’s bodies

Pressed into question marks like a strange version of the Village people it seems,

Posing and singing “YMCA” only my people’s letters spell “You’ll never know.”

Each and all are smirking. Fifth grade chorus teacher I loved but the school didn’t.

Quiet, glasses wearing Dolphin. Smart. Detached. Gone. Golder retriever owner.

Miss Foley turned Mrs. Downing turned to Garden State Parkway or Mass Turnpike

Or is she walking slow down the avenue in my old neighborhood?

Each time,

it seems,

though maybe not exactly,

well I’m not sure.

 

Have you been looking for a poetry writing challenge created within a community of poets whose goal is to encourage, inspire and share thoughts with one another? Join OctPoWriMo Now - we start in days now... and a bunch of tips are on the website now to get you started!

 

Iris to Iris - An Early Morning Poem - September 17, 2012

Awake before the sunrise

Peachy orange peeks from over my neighbors house

The neighbor who… well, never mind. These days I

Especially need to make room for forgiveness.

There is a tall power pole

Staring at me

An iris in the center of the eyeball made up

By that neighbor’s home and a big, overgrown

Linden tree

It looks suspicious

Or perhaps that is the reflection

Of my iris as I stare into this morning

Unsure, frightened and returned to

Childhood without those familiar

Surroundings… there are no swings

At Carteret Park, no tiny bathroom with

Dingy shell wallpaper, no wood stairs to scamper

Down or slide down or tip toe down when

I don’t want to be found exploring while

Everyone else sleeps.

It’s funny not ha ha how

Adulthood and cancer leave

Me feeling

So alone

 = = =

Julie Jordan Scott is cohosting OctPoWriMo - an experience of writing 31 Poems in 31 Days in the month of October. Visit and join the writing adventure of a lifetime!

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Longing Fulfilled (Poetry Response to Mag 134)

My contribution to this week's Magpie Tales: it has been too long of a gap between attending and writing here. Always grateful for the inspiration.

Today's poem & Today's Image -

Breakfast, 1921, Fernand Leger

Longing Fulfilled

No need to say, “I want my rye toast with butter.”

No need to say, “Mix my cranberry juice with water.”

No need to say “I am not well”

Love knows.

Longing.

Fulfilled.

Charmer in a Yellow Ecko Unlimited T-shirt

His voice rings out, naming the middle-

aged women “Muchachas!”

They giggle as they stand behind

The stainless steel counter

Three sets of brown eyes watching

His covered-in-plaid-shorts-ass

Walk out the swinging door

Quiet laughter and exchanged glances

Before keys jangle against his pelvic bone

Announcing his return

“Gracias!” he sings as Letty,

Frances and Elisabet titter,

Shaking their head and rolling

Their russet eyes after he makes

His final bow, before the return

To the drive through, the

Fryer, the cash register

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© 2012 by Julie Jordan Scott

Julie Jordan Scott has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam champion in Bakersfield. She leads Writing Camp with JJS & this Summer will be traveling throughout the US to bring this unique, fun filled creative experience to the people wherever she finds the passion & the interest.

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Pantoum: One Spoonful Moves, Involuntarily (for Magpie Tales)

How delightful to write again from a visual prompt from Magpie Tales!

Earlier today, before I even saw the prompt, I had a discussion with my interior about using forms, specifically the pantoum form, because it is like a mixing spoon, bringing words up and over one another slowly, methodically until they become a delectable bite to eat. (Perhaps it is the opening line that brings forth the food metaphor.) Thank you for visiting & reading. I always love your comments more than you can imagine!

One spoonful moves, involuntarily

Blue shirted man lifts its yellowness

Resolute in his assertion all hay must

I must insure hay serves its intended purpose

 

Blue shirted man lifts its yellowness

Unpopped corn kernals, dried tears left behind

“I must insure hay serves its intended purpose”

Are the sunflower pimples stubborn or surrendered?

Unpopped corn kernals, dried tears left behind

Words not even standing, waiting, beside the edge of her lip

Are the sunflower pimples stubborn or surrendered?

They don’t even know the feeling of a pencil or air or

 

Words not even standing, waiting, beside the edge of her lip

Motive unsparked, reason unsung, passion bewildered behind bars

They don’t even know the feeling of a pencil or air or

The blast of heat when spoken or written with verve

 

Motive unsparked, reason unsung, passion bewildered behind bars

Resolute in his assertion all hay must

He cannot, will not, shall not, pray not

One spoonful moves, involuntarily

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

Follow me on Twitter: @juliejordanscot 

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© 2012 by Julie Jordan Scott

 

Julie Jordan Scott has been a Life & Creativity Coach, Writer, Facilitator and Teleclass Leader since 1999. She is also an award winning Actor, Director, Artist and Mother Extraordinaire. She was twice the StoryTelling Slam champion in Bakersfield. She leads Writing Camp with JJS & this Summer will be traveling throughout the US to bring this unique, fun filled creative experience to the people wherever she finds the passion & the interest.

Did you enjoyed this essay? Receive emails directly to your inbox for Free from Julie Jordan Scott via the Daily Passion Activator. One inspirational essay and poem (almost) every week day. Subscribe here now -

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