Jill Jones Poems
|1.||Sorry I'M Late||5/8/2012|
|3.||The Dress Sonnet||5/8/2012|
|4.||The Kitchen Light||5/8/2012|
|5.||The New Aesthetic||5/8/2012|
|6.||The Night Before Your Return||5/8/2012|
|7.||The Phantom Division||5/8/2012|
|8.||To Sleep Inside Rain||5/8/2012|
|9.||When Planets Softly Collide||5/8/2012|
|10.||Whispers And Courses||5/8/2012|
|12.||"It Wasn't Anywhere"||12/21/2016|
|13.||The Beautiful Anxiety||12/21/2016|
|15.||My Ruined Lyrics||12/21/2016|
|17.||Afternoon Grey In||12/21/2016|
|19.||Facing The Harbour||5/8/2012|
|20.||Heat In A Room||5/8/2012|
|21.||In Deep, Down Past Sleep||5/8/2012|
|22.||Inside And Outside Houses||5/8/2012|
|25.||Mother I Am Waiting Now To Tell You||5/8/2012|
|26.||Saturday Morning In Ashfield||5/8/2012|
|27.||A Taste For Hunger||5/8/2012|
A Taste For Hunger
I have put my hand out to the word.
It’s been there for days. Hovering
between the newspaper and the television.
It’s been crying. I can tell this pain. The pulling
apart. Pages in telephone books and directories,
their rough skins drag the air.
It’s between the kitchen’s song — making,
a smell of it. What’s left in the corner,
wrapped in old newspaper — And
the song of living rooms, steady humming.
An excuse for silence these days.
And when the crying doesn’t stop
the word becomes water bowl,
salty in making. This taste of hunger,
In Deep, Down Past Sleep
The way you turn at night toward me
so I take your breath across my face, then
away. And I breathe you, back bare
as a beautiful open country, pale surface
for my lung’s warm wave to draw as my pen
like words that don’t dream but stir.
I turn, the roll of sleep and feel you
reach me. And you are deep behind
down past sleep, with the warm wells