POETRY

A free-verse poem

Photo from Shonan Beach, Enoshima at sunset (Kanagawa, Japan) to Pacific and Mount Fuji on orange horizon.
Photo from Shonan Beach, Enoshima at sunset (Kanagawa, Japan) to Pacific and Mount Fuji on orange horizon.
Image by fan4tian2 on Pixabay

From holy seat of Buddha
in gentle giant’s reverie,
among pines, sleepy hills and sea,
I take refuge in Shōnan
the altar of serenity.

On pilgrimage from city
from tangled net of rail,
with interior exteriors
and skyscraper wind,
I slow to a breeze.

Kicking about the shore
devout with beach bums,
I unfold in Pacific foam,
roots, rock, reggae,
frothy drink and book,
feel good wax on board,
the lovely lonesome dusk
with Fujisan and Amitābha,
pillars of the ocean.

I wrap myself in this coast
and rise like moon between.

I return like tide every time
to this divine company.

Jessica Lee McMillan © 2020

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POETRY

A free-verse poem

Black and white image of person (blurred face, eyes closed, looking up) behind glass wet with drops.
Black and white image of person (blurred face, eyes closed, looking up) behind glass wet with drops.
Image by Jeremy Bishop on Unsplash

you don’t have to use careful words
because I’ve got you

we will root like foundation
because words are tidal
and heavily equipped

words are tossed about
and wind will not translate
your silence

you don’t have to live inside yourself
or bury your cries

just let me know with a look
because I see you

we’ll use our alphabet of shared thought,
we’ll talk through grammar of heart

Jessica Lee McMillan © 2020


POETRY

A compound word poem

Photo above pile of stones, appearing as a blossom on sunlit gravel.
Photo above pile of stones, appearing as a blossom on sunlit gravel.
Image by Derzulya Zaza on Unsplash

Ultrasound picks up beats
buried softly
notes to warm my headstone

Here I lie, moved inside
looking up for eyes to become
orbs of lodestone

I’ve magnetized sound from the divide,
it writes wonder in analog motion,
uses me as inkstone

Pending steps in skies roamed,
each dream a gem,
my soul, another touchstone

I’m released from the crowd
to lullaby cairn,
no longer at the grindstone

This melancholic quest, a rhythm,
a bliss, across the graveyard
rests my flint of heartstone

Jessica Lee McMillan © 2020

Title and inspiration from Röyksopp’s Across The Graveyard
and the prompton the groud looking upby J.D. Harms


POETRY

A micropoem

Photo of open hands with unharvested oat seeds in feild.
Photo of open hands with unharvested oat seeds in feild.
Image by Markus Spiske on rawpixel

full hands fear empty
in the plenty of want.
withholding is loss
absent of heart
is a seed.
husks are we
clothes off back
full in the empty.
a borrower be.

Jessica Lee McMillan © 2020


POETRY

A free-verse poem

Photo of illumicated rain drops on window and emerging sun from cloud about blurred city skyline.
Photo of illumicated rain drops on window and emerging sun from cloud about blurred city skyline.
Photo by Loren Gu on Unsplash

My daughter tells me the sun has drops
to make new golden flowers.
Naturally I try to watch the world bloom.

In November:
empty tree, empty street
between tattered, upturned sod
in tarred road cracks
in glass rubble twinkling on cement,

the cracks unfurl in gold.

I see the flowers
when she drips poetry,
in the rain of unsightly day,
in the sun of everyday magic,
when she flowers with unfettered words.

Jessica Lee McMillan © 2020


POETRY

A free-verse ode to Shoegaze

Photo closeup of purple lit rink ice, with scratches from skates.
Photo closeup of purple lit rink ice, with scratches from skates.
Photo by soerli on Pixabay

The sound magpie descends chords of feathers and glass, setting into motion the beat chaos with that lustrous balmy sea breeze — a harmonic tilt-a-whirl warping blithely in nostalgic fuzz.

Voice to ear etches in glides —scratched air with beauty marks. In drenched arcs of sky, the howl of crescendo is the driving light. I am stirred and tuned, windy in rhythmic eddies, cosmos churning lo-fi.

Gazing the concrete under red shoe is still a viable reverie to propel a world. An angelic spectacle sings from gutter of hiss and groan, transcends in vivid coalesce when Impressionism uses instruments.

Inspired by No Joy’s 2020 album Motherhood
Jessica Lee McMillan © 2020


POETRY

Free-verse inspired by Andoumboulou theme

Densely-blocked monochromatic charcoal of factory buildings obscured by darkly shadowed lines under moonlit sky.
Densely-blocked monochromatic charcoal of factory buildings obscured by darkly shadowed lines under moonlit sky.
Courbevoie, Factories by Moonlight (1882–1883) by Georges Seurat, The MET Museum. Enhanced by rawpixel.

Equinox is but a pause between shades,
our souls dipped in sun and moon.

I resisted unfolding in half-light,
resisted incompleteness
to feign myself whole,
resisted my burgeoning skin
that blooms the body ceaselessly
with each manifold dawn.

Shaped in light temperatures,
we are conduits of luminary weight
in levity under glowing eyelids
grown heavy in formless shadow.

How good to accept winter sun
beneath the routine cloud;
to undo the skyless room in glare,
erratic brightness regained
shining the ebb of migrating soul.

After daily composure,
how good to receive the moon;
yesterday’s radiance melting
into gleam of tomorrow,
body anchoring beam
of joint times on star-laden skin
in the medium of midnight,
the contours fall away. …


POETRY

A free-verse poem on pandemic drinking

Image of directional arrow carved precicely onto white stone.
Image of directional arrow carved precicely onto white stone.
Image by Hello I’m Nik on Unsplash

Home’s heart has crossed the line
in the homogeneity of drink
and the walls of justification
have become such a waste
claustrophobia is still asylum
from begging in lines at a door

It’s the disaffected photograph
of muggy rooms in masks
but in following all those arrows,
it’s unpopular to change lanes

So the luxury to shut out the world
and turn it down with a sip
begins to feed all that clamouring
inside your hearth paper thin

Jessica Lee McMillan © 2020


POETRY

A free-verse poem on child loss and miracles

Duplicate image, vintage photograph of orange tree in blossom with colourized fruit, 1897.
Duplicate image, vintage photograph of orange tree in blossom with colourized fruit, 1897.
Photo by B.L. Singley on NYPL Public Domain Archive

give orange blossoms to the bride
so she may be fruitful and multiply

but petals fall to floorboard
warped as body creaks
pollen wrought in dust bunnies,
browned segments of fruit,
bruised the spring of petals

couldn’t even keep the bud
until Christmastide,
that sweet mandarin,
dried oil scent lingering,

from quench of dry
bereft of ceremony
she kindles the bouquet,
a child from smoke
and tinder cry
brings to unbelieving eyes,
flower made of winter

Jessica Lee McMillan © 2020

About

Jessica Lee McMillan

MA Eng. Legal & Education. Mama, Iconoclast, Word Nerd. Likes shiny things. Writes: Poetry, Philosophy, Art, Music, Nature.

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