Tag Archives: observations

ignis fatuus

ignis fatuus

Enveloped in a cocoon
Safe in a protective crowd
Intent in this technique
Forever shielding himself

Lost in glorified illusion
To keep from coming apart
His ugly unknown truth
Self-serving lies

A knife looming
Forever in darkness
Threatening to shred
Threadbare foundation

Alone in the corner
When everyone has gone
Haunted by echoes
Broken wailing hearts

Eloquently manipulated
Some forever scarred
All unknowing victims
His sick twisted vice

©2013 jillie
Jillterry.com

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Universal Wheel

Calendars with pictures and numbered blocks; devices keeping time that buzz or tick-tock; schedules and appointments, days rushing past; constantly looking forward, no time to look back; living on the planet is a commonality we all share – but living in this magical world, is something too few of us do.

Without a calendar to give advance notice, under the cloak of penetrating darkness; my ancient oaks spread their limbs, shaking off all that had clung through the winter; a universal knowing of the changing of seasons, nature’s internal clock by which all others are set.

Instilling hope and acting as reminder, that if we allow the universe to do the guiding instead of grasping to illusory reigns, convincing ourselves that we’re in control, the world would be a better place, for having us live in her and not simply on her.

Happy Spring!

©2012 Jill Terry
Jillterry.com


UNCONSCIONABLE

“Look at all the little shells – why’s the beach all mixed up with shells,” the little boy asked inquisitively; football balloon tied to one hand, a man he looked like he had no business being with dragging him toward the shore with the other.

“The beach is all shells, ground up and washed ashore, called Coquina, ” I wanted to tell him, when his question when unanswered and completely ignored; but remained silent instead, keeping a watchful eye, as something about the situation gave me an unsettling vibe.

The man stood and watched for a while then made his way back up to his rusted El Camino, got in and lit a smoke; leaving the little boy alone, toppling over and under at the force of the waves, coming up smiling and laughing each time, when they just as easily could have carried him away.

The man finished his smoke then made his way back down to retrieve the boy, not saying a word as he excitedly asked, “did you see me…did you see me!?”

Hours later I gathered my things and reluctantly made my exit from the beach; deciding to take the short route back, instead of scenic A1A. I passed the castle house and gazed in awe, which after seventeen years I still always do, then slowly approached the corner with the carousel, tempted to stop and take a lone ride; and that’s when my stomach turned, as he came into sight.

The little boy with his deflating balloon and a cardboard sign that said;
“I’m HUNGRY – Need MONEY for FOOD!” standing alone at the 3-way intersection; and the man in the distance laying in the grass, cigarette dangling from his disgusting mouth, leisurely relaxing under the shade of a tree…

image & prose ©2012 Jill Terry
jillterry.com


Glancing back

I thought for a moment, and then told myself no; it couldn’t possibly be. Then the Barista called out your name and you stepped up to get your coffee and when the light over the bar illuminated your profile; granted is now covered with an intricate and deliberate layer of just the right length stubble, I knew that face and remembered it well.

Sitting round the campfire, barely ten you must’ve been; the others off gallivanting and running wild through the woods, and you at my side, paying the others no mind; drawing pictures of George Washington in the notebook I had in my bag, talking about the Civil War; opening and sharing yourself and your interests, wanting to see my reaction more than anything; see if I thought it was silly and dismissed it, or took and interest and actually listened.

And listen to you I did.

When you gathered your courage and asked if I ever have thoughts in my head that I can hear, that drive me crazy and that I can’t make go away; and at that moment, it mattered not where your father was, who he was off playing the attention whore for or with; everyone else at that campground disappeared and for that brief moment in time, you and I connected; not as adult to child, not as a troop leader to one of her cubs, but as human beings. One very much aware and in-tuned with spiritual self, and the other just beginning to figure there was a difference.

You said it drove you crazy that you couldn’t make them stop and you didn’t much like the things they said; I told you I understood perfectly, have them too, and the best thing you could do is write those thoughts down – get them out of your mind and onto paper. And I promised you it would make it better, because that’s what I’ve done my whole life; and you looked at me with that sweet little smile and your eyes lit up as if I’d just given you the secret to the universe.

And then you turned the page inside my notebook and wrote something that I have never forgotten, nor will I ever. You wrote; No matter what thoughts are inside our head, it doesn’t mean we really are who we think we are.

Then you handed me the notebook and watched as I read it; and if I somehow failed to express with words to you at the time, I hope that in some way you realized how moved I was by the profundity of what you bled onto that paper and shared with me.

So young, so innocent, so filled with confusion and questions and self doubt; yet so naturally curious, inquisitive and knowing; knowing there was something more than the trappings of our daily lives and so ready to grasp and understand it.

I told your father what an extraordinary and gifted boy you were and that you needed special spiritual attention; that you were at the point that feeding your soul with the proper knowledge was crucial. He told me your grandmother was a religious woman and you spent a lot of time with her and that he and your mother planned to start going to church on a regular basis, not to worry about it.

I tried to explain to him that religion, organized or not, was not what I mean by feeding your soul, but he either missed my point, which I doubted at the time, or simply didn’t want to hear, which I believed to be the case.

No matter, it wasn’t my place to interfere; I offered what I could and left it at that. But when I went out and bought you a journal and a special pen to write in it, he was very standoffish and almost offended; telling me that he would be the one to buy you a journal and I didn’t have to do that. I told him I knew I didn’t have to; I did it because I wanted to. And so it came to be that I was, in fact, able to give you that gift, from me to you; along with a few Civil War trinkets I’d found while rummaging an antique show at the mall.

I still have the little thank you card that you gave me, with the watermelon, pink and white polka dots and tiny bow on the front; in a little leather box where I keep special mementos. I wasn’t around long enough to know if you ever filled that journal, though I’m sure that you did. And I’d like to think you’ve been keeping one ever since.

I’ll never forget the first time I saw you, after the truth was revealed; we were in Bealls, you were with your mom and I was by myself; you saw me and smiled, made a motion in my direction, as if you wanted to come talk to me; and then your smile faded and a look of sadness and disappointment washed over your face, when you caught yourself and remembered that I was the enemy.

And so the other day when you left with your coffee, got in your car parked right next to mine; no longer that precious little boy who I once shared a special and fleeting bond with, but a grown young man, with a future wide open; you sat there and waited, wondering if I recognized you, wondering if I would acknowledge in some way; but I didn’t, because I couldn’t.

And the reason I couldn’t is because I’ve no idea what thoughts or stories have been put in your head; about me, about the situation, what truths or lies; and the last thing I wanted, was for you to think that my looking in your direction and acknowledging you with even a smile, was somehow inappropriate on my part.

But as I drove away, my own thoughts tormenting my mind as they have for so long now, I thought about what you wrote by the campfire, all those years ago –

No matter what thoughts are inside our head, it doesn’t mean we really are who we think we are.

Thank you for that.

©2012 jill terry
Jillterry.com


PAINTING PICTURES

Standing in the waiting line, minding no one’s business but her own, when a voice too familiar spoke out from behind her; “I used to have that all the time,” she heard him say; “It’s even better than it looks,” he finished with a chuckle; as her body tensed and her blood ran cold; knowing full well he wasn’t referring the pumpkin spice latte just put back on the menu.

She turned her head, glancing slowly over her shoulder; and there he stood in all his egocentric glory, with what appeared to be a new country club buddy; who looked her once over with eyes of a predator, having just identified his next meal.

She looked down at her phone, at what moments before she’d been lost in, before the unwanted, calculated interruption; slowly she grinned, taking two steps toward him; then standing center between them, she tore her gaze away, raised her head till her eyes met his, leaned in and softly said…

“I used to think yours was the best sex I ever had, even though you fumbled like a school boy, and never once did you bring me to climax.” She smiled as she looked back down at her phone, took a deep cleansing breath then exhaled the words, “Silly girl…”

Her eyes never once left the palm of her hand; her voice throaty, trembling at times, her thumb once caressed the screen in longing; and it seemed for a moment she spoke to no one but herself –

He knows the softness
The warmth
The feel of naked flesh

The helplessness
The beauty
The need
The sensitivity

All happening inside
Opening to his touch
He whispers deep
Hot on my neck

What he sees
What he wants
What’s coming next

He uses his fingers
His tongue
His breath

He touches
He plays
He makes me beg

And just as I
Reach for him
Ready to

Her words cut short, as the Barista called her name; she raised her voice in unison with her eyes, locking with his while noting his stunned expression, “Make it a Quint and hold the whip…”

© 2011 Jill Terry


Remains of the Day

I saw the shadow
Moving before me
Inching slowly
Down the coast

An illusion of oneness
Reflecting the loneliness
A solitary figure
Etched in the sand

Will there come a time
When the shadow will reveal
Hands clasped together
A twin at its side

Perhaps not along
An oceans sandy shore
Dancing happily instead
Upon a forests floor

When daylight fades
Into twilights magic hour
And that shadow of oneness
Will be the mark of completeness

©2011 Jill Terry


SHADOWS IN GLASS

Not quite world renowned, yet still slightly famous
His artistry revered among an extended circle of faithfuls
All clamoring for entrance to behold the coveted treasures
The beauty of his creations surpassed only by his vision

Sometimes a window, sometimes a mirror
Making one question their own perceptions
Forcing them to look within rather than simply at
Taking them beyond levels of personal comfort

And there at the center she lingered unknown
The one he delighted in whilst feeding her soul
Yearning to accept him in his world absolute
Define the separation between artisan and masterpiece

She peered through the window and saw her own soul
Finding the mirror that no longer revealed
That which she believed she still longed to see
Deceived by trepidation of past wounds and demons
Distracted by the notion of his possible comparison

©2011 Jill Terry


Random

He was always rather
Random
Coming and going on
Whims
Staying only long
Enough
To see her interest
Piqued

©2010 Jill Terry


Quote of the day

“All things are subject to interpretation; whichever interpretation prevails at a given time is a function of power and not truth.”
~ Friedrich Nietzsche


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