Promise breathes within the bleak sky
burnished grasses
the rarely walked upon path -
barren trees sing, even when naked of leaves -
clouds pause -
hesitate before leaving -
wait before dropping
their punctuation upon -
this sacred scene
-- Julie Jordan Scott
Trying to imagine, Elspeth
her sister no longer
same house, even if they
continue the patterns
she could never forgive them
grief as strong as
her sister’s pity – done
nothing, nothing
she tried.
two women –
scorned and insulted
lacerated by guilt
a guilt whose enormity
increased tenfold
Clustered at the door
not because
not because
love but for
Margaret, naked
dare
she want the sound?
disappointment
made some magic
dismal nightmare
waiting to be released
Incantation rose
Puritan stiffness
Gray, expressionless, stone
Night pacing, puttering broken
Throw down impulse
This poem was borne via a prompt from the A to Z Poetry Blogfest, a week long celebration of words.
You may still join the fun!
Suspended stair cases
Parallel - side by side
Straddling “H" Street
Until Last Week
Unnoticed
Momschlep becomes
A creative cradle
Alliteration Foul
Creeps consciously
Callously
Collectively
How can I slide
The word “acuerdo”
Into the poem’s penultimate line?
===
Julie Jordan Scott is a writer, performance poet, Mommy and
mixed-media artist. Her word-love themed art will be for sale at First Friday
on September 6 in Downtown Bakersfield. Check out the links below to follow her
on a bunch of different social media channels, especially if you find the idea
of a Word-Love Party bus particularly enticing.
Please stay in touch: Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot
Be sure to "Like" WritingCampwithJJS on Facebook. (Thank you!)
And naturally, on Pinterest, too!
© 2013
order when ready
dollar eight, please
burnt sugar waves
through open window --
repartee response?
Silent.
Second week in
September
begins.....
===
= = = = =
Julie
Jordan Scott is a writer, performance poet, Mommy and
mixed-media artist. Her word-love themed art will be for sale at First
Friday each month in Downtown Bakersfield. Check out the links below to
follow her
on a bunch of different social media channels, especially if you find
the idea
of a Word-Love Party bus particularly enticing.
Please stay in touch: Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot
Be sure to "Like" WritingCampwithJJS on Facebook. (Thank you!)
And naturally, on Pinterest, too!
© 2013
We have Roots of Gold
Old Books, Rare Friends
I am Writing One Woman's Life
At Home on Earth
Sing and Dance,
Journal of this Solitude
A Hundred White Daffodils
are Finding Water:
They are A Jury of Her Peers
===
This poem inspired by -
Julie Jordan Scott is a writer, performance poet, Mommy and
mixed-media artist. Her word-love themed art will be for sale at First
Friday each month in Downtown Bakersfield. Check out the links below to
follow her
on a bunch of different social media channels, especially if you find
the idea
of a Word-Love Party bus particularly enticing.
Please stay in touch: Follow me on Twitter: @JulieJordanScot
Be sure to "Like" WritingCampwithJJS on Facebook. (Thank you!)
And naturally, on Pinterest, too!
© 2013
Once again the folks at Magpie Tales pull out a visual prompt that sends me to places I didn't know existed. I adore when that happens. Interesting, too, that while the place is unknown, the inner workings of the person turns out to be remarkably like you. Perhaps.
To join the creative delight at Magpie Tales, visit here... to be inspired and to write, write, write.
She searches for answers
In the vinyl silence
Only word-symbols
Climb up her
Non-existent sleeve
Even emptier than the
Walls, her feet,
The barren carpet
Who cares who was
Born in Tupelo?
She doesn’t hesitate
In her quest for what
Is real
Because the only
Real she knows is
Loneliness.
Life without an ear
To listen to what
She most needed
Even her shadow
Turned away
Be sure to "Like" WritingCampwithJJS on Facebook. (Thank you!)
© 2013 by Julie Jordan Scott
Chicka chick A BOOM boom
CHICKa CHICKaBOOMboom
ChickachichaBOOMBOOM
says the two foot six inch blonde boy
striding across the bookstore floor.
Never once does he wonder if he sounds
weird or does he look strange or
will people at the bookstore, like me,
stare and point and say,
“Hey loudmouth kid, shut up!”
proving once again he doesn’t belong
I miss those voices: the high
nonsensical word speaking voices
of my children when they were young and
marched around after storytime
not noticing not caring only hoping
they would arrive at the Thomas the Tank Engine
table first so they could be like a boss,
only that is an expression of now, not then,
where Chick a CHICK a BOOM boom
would be more fitting.
My scattered attempt to find
kindred parents never quite
took off on those long ago
Saturday mornings
and when I wasn’t looking
my children’s tiny voices
took off, too
Photo prompt today from Magpie Tales... always a surprise to be experienced.
Perhaps: a Poem
I wonder what he would think.
That French writer, thinker
Anne Morrow Lindbergh admired
him so much and what could
he add to the Little Prince
about the Girl in the
pink sweater who doesn’t exactly
look like the girl with the pink sweater.
She is….
Possibly a periscope
A snail who lost her shell
One of my finest knitting moments
An abandoned larva, left alone
A thirsty foot model
A placenta
A smudged comma, waiting to connect
the clauses
Cotton Candy twirl, an unfurled
memory staining this poet’s
creativity
Perhaps.
Or perhaps she is just a girl
in an oversized sweater
whose photographer
friend said,
“Surprise me.”
= = = =
Be sure to "Like" WritingCampwithJJS on Facebook. (Thank you!)
© 2013 by Julie Jordan Scott
Last night I sat at a
stop light and wondered what it would be like to sit with Emily Dickinson at
this very same intersection. It is a seedy part of town, known most for cheap
motels inhabited by crackheads with the main street populated by prostitutes in
various costumes with the same comatose facial expression. I was on my way
home, a routine, when I opened my eyes to “write with Emily” I was able to see
this place differently.
Here is what Emily helped me write.
Street Light, Corner of 21st and Union
Electric orb
Sharing luminousness with the
Members of the pearly ancient profession
And the shaking, tittering loose toothed
Hungry for the next, next, next….
As well as the cars who have lost
Their way and landed
Underneath you
Follow me on Twitter: @juliejordanscotBe sure to "Like" WritingCampwithJJS on Facebook (THANK YOU!)
© 2012 by Julie Jordan Scott
I borrowed the words to inspire my poem from Terry Tempest Williams Book, When Women Were Birds. The words she loaned me were Beyond, Walking & Blue.
Fellini Told Me So It Must Be True
Blue on Blue on Blue
Sky ocean eyes
beginning irrelevant
ending unnoticed
passion served on the page-plate.
Music pushes the pencil
beyond vibe of the electric guitar.
Waves play the sound
of unraised light switches
last year’s Christmas lights
yearning to be lit,
wrapped in a neat
not quite circle
across baggies filled
with silvery Santa Clauses.
She walks to the attic
to push the Easter boxes away.
Chattering jogger won’t stop -
unable to hear the gentle mama bird
won’t quietly blush at the sea lion’s
romantic interlude wooing the
Plein air writer. She understands
what it means to take a morning
walk beyond the boundaries
Grey on grey on grey
Path Fog Walrus
There is still time to participate in OctPoWriMo: Check out today's prompt & join us on twitter and facebook. Stretch, grow and enjoy a supportive creative community.
Follow me on Twitter: @juliejordanscot
Be sure to "Like" WritingCampwithJJS on Facebook (THANK YOU!)
© 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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