My Guest Poet this week is...

Author, Patricia Neely-Dorsey, who considers her books as a "celebration of the south and things southern". Patricia currently lives in Tupelo, Mississipi with her husband James, son Henry, and Miniature Schnauzer, Happy. For more about Patricia's work, visit her blog. 

Patricia Recommends

My Guest Poet this week is:

Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont.  I am delighted that Jill left corporate America to focus on her writing. You will see that she is quite talented. For more information about Jill, and her journey to becoming a writer, visit her lovely website: 

All Things Jill-Elizabeth.

Jill's Book Recommendation Where the Sidewalk Ends

The Quiet

(photograph courtesy of Francletography, ©2011, www.Francletography.com)

The Quiet

I love when the world goes quiet and still;

When the spinning whirling twirling comes to a halt,

When everything stops, pauses, 

ceases for a moment in time.

When everything is quiet.

Unlike many, this absence goes not give me a chill –

I am not afraid to be still.

Rather, I find it perfect, peaceful, sublime.

The eye of my storm.

If it were up to me, there would be mandatory silence

Enforced by the universe

At regular intervals throughout the day –

Null moments, 
Required time to just sit and 

be ruled by calm and patience;

No action allowed –

Empty time, devoid of work, absent all play.

My own little black hole.

I need time to just be – not be helpful 

or be clever or be nice, 

Not to worry about you or me or 

the price of tea in China

But to just exist, lost in my own world, my own head,

Sitting in my own quiet dark mental corner, 

facing the wall.

I am not a rock, don’t want to be alone forever, 

am not made of ice; 

No man is an island, and I am no man.

I need interaction too, need love and 

conversation as much as water or bread.

I didn’t always.  You gave me that, my love, 

and I can never thank you enough.

But handfuls of placid moments, 

scattered here and there

Are still a part of who I am,

Are essential to my psychological welfare.

Without them, I am not me.  

Even with you.


© Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont

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Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont, a  former corporate attorney and government relations and health policy executive, walked away (well, skipped actually) from the big-city worlds of corporate and political America and headed for a more literary life (equally challenging, but infinitely more enjoyable).  Visit Jill at All Things Jill-Elizabeth and leave a comment about her poem below.

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The Snail Graveyard

(photograph ©2011, www.Francletography.com) 

The Snail Graveyard

They know-
Somehow they know.

They know where to end up,

Where they are all supposed to die.
But how?

They're here-
All of them: alone, together.
Each found his way, his place,
His spot to die –
In peace.

 © Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont

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Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont, a  former corporate attorney and government relations and health policy executive, walked away (well, skipped actually) from the big-city worlds of corporate and political America and headed for a more literary life (equally challenging, but infinitely more enjoyable).  Visit Jill at All Things Jill-Elizabeth and leave a comment about her poem below.

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Nowhere to Run (An Acrostic)

(Blind Alley, © Jill Arent, 2008)

Nowhere to Run (An Acrostic)

Never before, never again – or so I said; 

trapped like a rat, a mad thing,

Over-eager to be free to be away to be out.

Why am I here again, stuck in this place,

Heart pounding, adrenaline racing -
Every sense on high alert, 

waiting for the other shoe to drop,

Ready to run to escape to gnaw off my own arm.

Everywhere I look I see a wall.

The exits are not clearly marked, 

the aisles are not clear;

Open windows all have bars, 

open doors all have locks.

Running is not an option.

Until now I never thought “fight or flight” 

was a literal choice;

Now I know better. 

© Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont

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Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont, a  former corporate attorney and government relations and health policy executive, walked away (well, skipped actually) from the big-city worlds of corporate and political America and headed for a more literary life (equally challenging, but infinitely more enjoyable).  Visit Jill at All Things Jill-Elizabeth and leave a comment about her poem below.

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Magic, or You Can be Six Again

(photograph courtesy of Francletography, ©2011, www.Francletography.com)

Magic, or You Can be Six Again

Outside the window

The pure white mountain

Is calling to us.

I hurry into my coat.

“Come on, Daddy!”

Up the hill we climb –

Sled in tow;

My daddy and I,

Ready to race down

The mountain of snow.

Afterwards

We run inside,

Rosy-cheeked

And laughing,

Sipping hot chocolate

And planning another run.

 © Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont

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Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont, a  former corporate attorney and government relations and health policy executive, walked away (well, skipped actually) from the big-city worlds of corporate and political America and headed for a more literary life (equally challenging, but infinitely more enjoyable).  Visit Jill at All Things Jill-Elizabeth and leave a comment about her poem below.

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A Blur

(photograph courtesy of Francletography, ©2011, www.Francletography.com)

A Blur

It all goes so fast.

Things move, change, adapt, grow, stop, start – 
How, why, where, what, when – who knows?
Movement is all I can see.

All that I do know –
The only thing that I can say with certainty –

Is that it comes and it goes
Always in motion,

In a blur – life, passing by.

Never waiting for us to catch up.

 © Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont

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Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont, a  former corporate attorney and government relations and health policy executive, walked away (well, skipped actually) from the big-city worlds of corporate and political America and headed for a more literary life (equally challenging, but infinitely more enjoyable).  Visit Jill at All Things Jill-Elizabeth and leave a comment about her poem below.

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Who Am I?

(In and Out, © Jill Arent, 2009)

Who Am I?

Just in the nick of time,

I figured out that who I am does 

not have to be who I was.

Looking backward, I was trapped in 

selves that no longer fit.

Looking forward I am completely free, 

which is a trap all its own.

Everything is possible – or is it?

In any given moment,

Someone, somewhere is stuck 

between a rock and a hard place –

A sword and a stone.

When you don’t know 

what you are looking for, 

Rarely will you find it.

I see that now, and realize

There is no need to fear freedom or 

worry about what I will find if I look.

Everything has a time, a place, 

a reality of its own – 

Reaching for it can only help.

 © Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont

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Jill Elizabeth Arent Franclemont, a  former corporate attorney and government relations and health policy executive, walked away (well, skipped actually) from the big-city worlds of corporate and political America and headed for a more literary life (equally challenging, but infinitely more enjoyable).  Visit Jill at All Things Jill-Elizabeth and leave a comment about her poem below.

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Dinner for Two, by Scarlett Rains

Dinner for Two

The menu blurs to streaks of color,

Steak oozes blood on your shiny white plate,

Raw as my heart.

Without a care, you slice it up in perfect squares,

Glance at me and then away,

Hungry for change.

           

Perfume wafts back, its spicy sting reminding me

Of Seasons passed, of younger days

When I was all you craved.

           

Throat tight, I watch you chew, aware I am

As dead to you as that slab of meat,

Victim to your appetite.

           

Your jaw clicks loudly as you grind away

Eyes drawn by the sultry sway of hips,

Anxious for dessert.


© 2012 Scarlett Rains

Let me Rest in Peace

    Let Me

     Rest in Peace

       I saw a ghost and  turned away,

No dead men walking my way today,

Just dead and gone where lost souls go

To wander lonely, all alone.

He will not rest, that lonely waif,

Who in life caused only grief to

Those who might have loved him once

If given the chance…

Now he’s dead, who gives a damn?

 He reaches out to touch his child

Who is so like him… lost, and wild.

Just one touch to last eternity

One touch and he can make her see.

She looks right through him unaware

His hand is clasping at her hair.

Regrets, remorse they are but words

To offer her, they don’t atone

For what he’s done.

 It’s cold as Hell. I laugh aloud

I guess not.  I hear Hell is rather hot.

Is it Dad, Father dear?

Is Hell hot this time of year?

I’m a fool to think of you,

You are nothing to me now

Not Father…not Dad.

Did I ever call you that?

I don’t recall.

I don’t remember you at all.

 A dead man walked my way today,

I felt his touch and turned away.

One touch can not the years erase.

Stay dead old man…stay gone.

Do not walk this way again.

The love you seek you will not find,

It’s laid to rest, died long ago,

As did my youth,

At four years old it died with you.

© Scarlett Rains

It was Just a Thing

It was Just a Thing

Draw down the shades and dim the light,

Put out of mind what’s out of sight,

Lest seeing lay it bare.

A thing unseen may not exist,

Must not persist when rhyme, or reason,

Can’t explain my dread of it.

This thing you did that was so small,

So trivial, has shaken me.

There are no words to make it right.

Turn out the light and come to bed,

I can’t bear to see your face.

Let darkness come and clear my head.

                                                           

A thing unspoken in the dark

Can be so harsh it leaves a mark

That scars the soul and

Takes its toll upon the mind.     

A silent drummer bangs his drum

Against my brow till memories come

Of truth that’s frigid, cold and bright.

It chills me, makes me cover up to

Hide my fear there’s nothing here

Worth fighting for, lying for, or trying for.

I can’t deny the truth of that. Eyes shut or not,

This thing you’ve done won’t disappear.

© Scarlett Rains

Lost

The axis tilts, tides rise,

North is East.

My compass spins,

Pointing nowhere.

I am lost.

Degrees of change

Moved us to

This silent point where

Points are moot.

Your shadowed face

Hides eyes that flit

Away from mine,

Leaving me adrift.

I stand on sand,

Without coordinates,

No guide

Except the stars,

And dreams lit by

The moon-glow of hope.

© Scarlett Rains