Fragility

  If ‘butterflies are too fragile to hold’ (*), then why do we treat our fellow humans so roughly? Why does the woman, seeing her lover’s eyes glance at perceived beauty, find herself accidentally brushing against a protruding elbow, causing a spillage, and an ensuing scene? Why doesn’t, she too, make eyes and smile with…

Batted

Disclaimer: This post is primarily to share my own poetry, but it does contain an affiliate link to a poetry collection by John Gallaher. If you choose to purchase Gallaher’s book, I will receive a commission at no cost to yourself. ‘What’s it like to be a bat?’ he asks. And then, before I can…

Distant Head

My ex, he had a distant head; and his eyes were near his nose. Like Cyclops, he looked cold and dead So instead – I kissed my toes!   Copyright owned by Jay Cool, March 2019 Inspired by the phrases ‘distant head’ and ‘cold and dead’ in ‘Upon the Mountain’s Distant Head’, by William Cullen Bryant….

And God Sat Down

God got to the seventh day, but wasn’t happy – there at the end – on the fringes, so he took three and a half giant steps backwards and sat down to protect his space on a lump of sandstone rock, right there in the middle of Myddle, and he liked what he saw, so he…

I think, therefore I …

If I say what I think, I make you all cross. If you say what you think, your face lights up. Why, then, I think, should we not all say what we think? I think it, but I don’t say it. To say what I think would make everyone cross. Crowds of people, lit faces…

Half-Born

Inside my outer layer is a little girl, another version of myself, being half-born again and again, never quite making it to the outside – just hesitating, just thinking about it; mulling it over, before … burrowing back in.   Copyright owned by Jay Cool, February 2019   Image courtesy of Pixabay.com   Inspired by…

Exposure

Sweat clams up my facial pores, drowning my being in a deluge of fast-playing age, like a sweaty-sibling’s palm, it taunts me, blocks my immediate vision and blurs out the splayed-out fingers on its periphery. Its a winter midnight but, even so, I fling off my summer-togged duvet, and sit up – abruptly; willing my…

Swallow and Spit

  If I swallow myself, will I forever preserve all of the books I have read and not read? If the read books go straight through me, will the not-read books be digested slowly? If the words are sifted and sorted into the ordered files of my inner being, can they be mixed up; mixed…

Amber Folk

‘amber folk sipping gold sun through skin’ (line 5 of ‘to be considered before inviting everyone to the cookout’ by Rasheed Copeland)   Red, amber and green, and if you want the ultimate, go for purple and think not in amber. Amber is a middling goal, a goal parading as gold. To go for purple…

Embrace

Reaching out to still-retreating goal, I pull it back and yank it in. If I am a dozy-dreamer, I salute my vision and embrace it. I create this life.   Copyright owned by Jay Cool, February 2019 Inspiration taken from the phrase ‘still-retreating goal’, line 12, of  the poem ‘The Mortal Lease: II’, by Edith…