Tag Archives: Prose

Ring of Fire


And she jumped through willingly, every ring of fire, an animal doing tricks, in hopes of pleasing her trainer; presents-a-plenty whenever she succeeded, loving words and tender touches that soothed the wounds and eased the burn. And though he longed to be her master, he misstepped one too many, and as any wild lioness, being tempted to be tamed, she didn’t take kindly to his mishandling, and that would-be masters heart she maimed.

©2014 jillterry | jillterry.com


Time to pause


I stood at the sink with the window open, the succession of sounds were such that I was wrapped in a single moment of absolute peace; the sound of the knife as I peeled the skin from a potato, the crinkle of newspaper being folded from the next room, a crow cawing as it flew through the trees past my window, and the soft strum of the guitar as the first chord was struck. Simple elements of sound which had a profound impact on my soul.

©2013 jillterry | jillterry.com

Single thought


Not a single thought was given when he opened the first bottle just a little past noon, savored the flavor and called it lunch. By three his productivity was lagging and he looked at the clock, wondering if he’d make the five o’clock deadline or just make a quick call and push out delivery till tomorrow.

Not a single thought was given when he stuck one in the drink koozie for the forty-five minute drive ahead, slightly staggering once he reached home. Ten minutes of nonsensical conversation with the wife then stop off at the fridge for another on the way out to the man cave. Half a bottle later and he was done.

Not a single thought was given when his son returned from his date, coming through the back instead of the front, finding him slouched in his recliner, head hanging as if his neck was made of rubber.

“Did you see your father?”
“Yea, he was sleeping.”

She shook her head and asked how his evening went, knowing full well he was passed out cold, but saying so would only incite a defensive leap of denial, so she said nothing instead.

An hour later she went out and looked on him, just to make sure he was still breathing, then returned to her room where she went to bed alone.

Not a single thought was given when he rolled out of bed the next morning, donned his biker wear and headed out for the day on two wheels. Leaving a hole in the screen where the cats could get out, a sink full of dishes she’d been looking at for a week; a courtyard taken over with vines and weeds, empty cupboards with nothing to eat.

She heard him coming down the road not long after he’d left, wondering if he realized there was much to be done and decided to stay and help instead; but he’d only run to the bank, walked in and put money on the dresser, told her he’d be back later, as he turned around and left.

Only a single thought was given when twelve hours later he returned, found her note that said she was done; went to the fridge and got himself a cold one, mumbled under his breath, “Crazy Bitch…”

©2013 jillterry | jillterry.com



She wanted to know why, if as he said, she was the love of his life, the twin of his flame, the mirror of his soul; destined to be together, through this life and all others, what then were they waiting for, and why waste any more precious time.

Forever playing the pitiful victim and prophetic poet, he responded as such –

She stands, disgusted, watching the Hunter curl into a ball at the edge of the Forest. Shield and weapons broken. Antlers splintered and shattered, clothes and skin torn and bleeding, tears stream down the face of the weak one. The one who never has the courage or strength to even know what to do…

This is not an answer. This is me at my worst, unable to answer yet. And hoping beyond hope that you can swallow your contempt, and bear with me…

Indeed, he was the worst; the worst womanizing, manipulator she ever had the misfortune of loving. It was only after that she came to know true contempt; so tightly welled inside that she’d never be able to swallow – only purge at random, broken bits and bloody pieces, that she choked on daily and left her gasping, each time she tried to take a full breath.

©2013 jillterry | jillterry.com

Autumn splendor

My heart aches for the beauty of the fall; the last big hurrah before winter’s chilly dawn, covers the earth with a blanket of frost. The eternal beauty of autumn’s colors lost.

©2013 jillterry | jillterry.com




As I walk along this sand covered patch of earth, the wind cool upon my flesh, bringing the waves to a crashing end, just inches from my feet; it’s hard for me to fathom that there are people dotting the same world, who woke to this day, hearts filled with hatred, souls set on death and destruction; under the same beautiful sun that kisses my skin even now.

©2013 jillterry



He finished drawing up the dreaded contract, drank the last of his coffee and thought about her sleeping; her new heart beating strong. He crept into the room and sat beside the bed, so wanting to kiss her but not wanting to wake her. He sat for a moment more, admiring and loving her in the silence of the night; then off to the office and back to work, two rooms down the hall. Several hours later, deep into his project, she peeked her head into the room and smiled at him; each thinking to themselves how good life finally was…

©2013 jillterry

Pablo Picasso. Spanish, 1881–1973.
Meditation (Contemplation). Late 1904. Water-color and pen and ink on paper



Words echo and swirl, pounding dully at the frontal lobe of my skull, having risen from the base, trying desperately to make their way to the crown, to be released into the vastness of the universe that resides outside my mind.

The sound of a spirit flute wafts gently through and mingles with my essence, and yet it does nothing to soothe me; a most painful and damaging violation, being the vehicle of anothers fantastical joyride;

toppling worlds
destroying lives
too much damage
nothing but lies
suffocating darkness
not enough light

And though the physical rejection of these ever present and haunting thoughts are duly noted and somewhat medicinally eased, I have yet to find the key to unlock the door that will set this monster inside me free.

A long and arduous path, this one of spiritual healing; taking back what has been ripped away, reclaiming all that has been stolen, so as to one day puzzle the pieces back together.

©2013 jillie

Christmas Angel


The place was packed with cold weather coffee drinkers and the line started at the back door. I took my place in wait, aggravated, anxious, and feeling extremely worn down. I grabbed a Folio, read the front page, stuffed it under my arm and looked around at all the happy, smiling people. Young couples snuggled on the sofa, whispering and giggling in love; another at the table sitting laptop-to-laptop, each lost in their own space, but together in it. Families gathered for the holidays, glowing in each others company, and me standing alone, wishing I was anywhere but there.

I took a mug down off the shelf, trying to distract myself, tune everything and everyone out, but it seemed the happy din only grew louder, ringing in my ears, getting closer to the trigger. Did I really want coffee bad enough to put myself through this, I thought as I placed the mug back on the shelf. I decided that I didn’t and when I turned to leave, there she was; sitting at a table right there in front of me, completely oblivious to everything and everyone, but for the blueberry muffin she held in both hands and raised to her mouth.

She was wearing a little Burberry plaid dress with a dropped waist, white anklet socks and black sparkly Mary Jane’s. Her mother wore a purple cashmere sweater with a pretty patterned scarf adorning her neck that flattered her stylish hair and brought out the color in her eyes; eyes that never wavered from her little girl, eyes that sparkled with love; eyes that reflected her truth and concern, as she reached out and caught a crumb that fell from her child’s mouth.

The line moved and I stepped forward without thinking. I watched as the mother set the crumb on the plate then reached up and stroked the little girl’s face, which lit up with a smile as bright as a Cheshire moon; a smile familiar of children with Down’s Syndrome, but a smile most certainly all her own.

The line moved me further away, and as I was finally standing at the other end of the bar waiting for my drink, I saw the little girl get up from the table. There was nothing graceful about the way she walked through the crowd, seemingly unnoticed by everyone she passed, and yet I was drawn to her presence, as was her mother, tuned in her chair watching her all the way. When she reached the corner where a young girl was standing and said, “Pardon me,” as she made her way past and deposited her muffin wrapper in the trash, I felt something warm begin to grow inside me, and soon recognized it to be my heart.

Tears filled then spilled out of my eyes, as I watched her give her mother a high five when she got back to the table, for having successfully completed her independent feat, just as Tiffany called out my name and wished me a good day.

I walked outside and the chill hit me hard, and I felt the tears cold on my face. I got in my van and just sat there; unable to move forward, unable to move at all, for I was caught in that moment, still looking back. I finally placed my cup in the holder and saw the candy cane neatly wrapped where I had mindlessly left it. I picked it up, got out of the van and made my way back around to the back door and went inside. I walked up to the table, the little girl had her drink in her hand, her mother was holding her own cup and was telling her that the pretty little piece decorated with stars was called a sleeve and it was there to keep her from burning her hands.

The mother looked up and our eyes met only briefly, I looked down at the little girl and said, “Excuse me?” to which she immediately turned her attention to me, looked up and said, “Yes?”

I leaned down to her level, so that my face was right beside hers and said, “You look like a Christmas angel in your pretty dress and sparkly shoes,” she looked into my eyes and said, “Thank you.” I held out my hand and gave her the candy cane, wished her Merry Christmas and stroked her silky hair; her eyes grew wide and that smile covered her face, only this time that smile was for me, and I inhaled it deeply and let it fill me. I stood up and looked at her mother, whose eyes were now filled with tears of genuine gratitude, “Thank you,” she said, “that was so very sweet and kind.” I smiled back at her and nodded, hoping that I had somehow conveyed what my heart was feeling. I turned and walked out, only this time I felt no chill, and as I walked past the window, I turned and looked in, the little girl was wrapped in her mother’s arms, candy cane in hand and though I couldn’t see it, I knew she still wore that smile.

As do I…

©2012 jill terry

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