Jill Jones


14 yard poems

The mallet squeaks against
its material echo
and hovering
cracks around the wind blows

.

Constructs, nails, chocks
the circular alarm quivers
then stilled heart pulse
and hot wind

.

The image is in the language
but you cannot find it there
even looking

.

Wind hustles along
fortunes, opinions
always something said, done
nothing blanks road you’re on

.

Letters fall away into pages
into paper
all layers and pulp
scratchings
birds eat

.

Carry away grass
to nest
a parcel of lies

the lies are again
underneath

.

Always lived by seeing
how love proceeds
the thin path from the dark room

.

Remembering layers
force, fuse, metal
breach clangs
nothing is effortless
wings have their motion

.

Ichor across the concept
insect brushed aside
and down the page
easier than blood

.

How thick waters and patterns
perhaps reflective or dull
as perceived
the spinning machine

.

Diesel rushes up
tatters day gone
sun crows clouds
outlines washing
black in breeze

.

Take me down slowly
into that place
an empty room you’ve been in before

.

Sky never disappears
and if it did
that’s bad
the road home unravels
familiar

.

Filling in the blanks
but land slides
years filled with minutes
within the moving

Jill Jones' fifth full-length book, Broken/Open, is available from Salt Publishing. She has been involved in a number of group projects, including the DiVerse series of readings at galleries and museums in Sydney, the Sydney-based c-side project, and Poets Paint Words in Newcastle. She has collaborated with photographer Annette Willis on a number of works. Her regular blog is Ruby Street.


 
 
 
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