Julianne Carlile--Scribblings
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
Irresistible
Violet pearlescent eye shadow;
watermelon tinted chap stick;
cover stick to cover the blemishes and
give you that glow;
rose gold eye cream, only to be worn
at night at some posh function.
You can never wear too much blue eye shadow
someone once said in a movie and, by George, it's true!
A fresh tube of lipstick, a new shade...
oh, wait, it's the same as the one in my drawer.
Time in front of a mirror with a palette
to choose from, my face the blank canvas...
I have a cousin who's never worn make-up.
Of course, she's very beautiful, but how can she resist
the irresistible?
© Julianne Carlile
watermelon tinted chap stick;
cover stick to cover the blemishes and
give you that glow;
rose gold eye cream, only to be worn
at night at some posh function.
You can never wear too much blue eye shadow
someone once said in a movie and, by George, it's true!
A fresh tube of lipstick, a new shade...
oh, wait, it's the same as the one in my drawer.
Time in front of a mirror with a palette
to choose from, my face the blank canvas...
I have a cousin who's never worn make-up.
Of course, she's very beautiful, but how can she resist
the irresistible?
© Julianne Carlile
Sunday, August 2, 2015
To My Little Dog
Do not worry my
precious little one,
When relatives' dogs
come to stay,
Please know you are
my only one.
Though I will feed
them one by one
And I will feel
affection for their play,
Do not worry my
precious little one.
When in the yard I
throw the ball for one,
And you look at me
and feel you should stay,
Please know you are
my only one.
When at the vet and
you are number one,
And I hold you on the
table to make you stay,
Do not worry my
precious little one.
After the vet, when we
are done,
And we are home and
you are once again gay,
Please know you are
my only one.
After you are gone I
will miss all the fun,
And worry again that
I made you stay.
Do not worry my
precious little one,
Please know you are
my only one.
© Julianne Carlile
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
The Mukwonago River
where
arrowheads were found for many years.
The river is
a really big giver
of crappies; fishermen shed happy tears.
I’ve never walked
there, though I’ve been here years;
it’s for
other people, but not for me.
I smell it
when I go by and my leers
rival those
I have for a lake I see.
The deep,
wet odor, earthy and salty,
and the mist,
tickling and teasing my skin.
I resist the
pull as it calls to me.
It calls: come to me please, and please come in.
And I wonder if I will ever go;
the years I have left do not go by slow.
And I wonder if I will ever go;
the years I have left do not go by slow.
© Julianne
Carlile
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Friday, April 24, 2015
Bumblebee (Photo credit: Wikipedia) |
on purple thistle
a bumblebee lulled and still
sun slips heaven sways
© Julianne Carlile
© Julianne Carlile
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
The Dream Fish
My
grandmother used to take us fishing.
Feet
dangling from the pier,
she’d
bait our hooks and
take
the fish off.
Most
too small to keep,
she’d
throw them back.
Sometimes,
we’d get one we could take home.
Once
in a while we’d catch a crab.
They
were tenacious and hard to shake off,
despite
our best work,
and
Grandma was often tasked there too.
.
Years later I had a dream of that shore:
Years later I had a dream of that shore:
I’d
waded in, hands in the water,
trying to catch a great big fish.
The
fish was beautiful,
all
the colors of the rainbow and more:
it
seemed to shine with gold and silver;
it had a preternatural light.
it had a preternatural light.
No
matter how hard I tried,
I
could not grab that fish.
Long
after I awoke, the dream stayed with me.
I
couldn’t catch it,
and
I couldn’t let it go.
© Julianne
Carlile
Saturday, November 15, 2014
The Voyage
Sometimes I
wonder about others
when I am on
a voyage,
thinking to
myself in the silence.
Where do I
have to go, how far away,
to lose this
incredible burden:
my talent
for doing so much harm.
It is not
only that I do harm,
but through
my neglect the others
shoulder my
terrible burden
and go off
on their own voyage.
They go
their own way, they go my way,
and I am
left alone in the silence.
What happens
to them in the silence?
They pass
ahead into time; is it harm?
Why do I
think any way they go is my way?
They are
complete minds—they are others.
Yet, we all
make the same voyage,
and to be
separate is a great burden.
Not to see
you as me is a burden,
a painful
wall of immense silence
that causes
us to go alone on our voyage.
On the other
hand, harm
can also be
seen in seeing others
exactly as
myself. I want my way.
This is why
I run or walk away
with my
sack, my mysterious burden
which I hide
from all the others.
Do you think
they know in the silence
that I
almost wish to do them harm,
that I am
jealous of their voyage?
Do we
protect others on their voyage
by making
them believe they own their way?
Or could it
be that we’re doing harm,
causing them
to carry their burdens
through an
eternity of silence--
a silence
that leads each of us to be an other.
On my voyage
I’ll remember a burden
that took me
away in the silence,
where my
harm is equal to others’.
© Julianne Carlile
1994
© Julianne Carlile
1994
Sunday, November 2, 2014
You Go On
You go on, not remembering,
or else don’t care, which is the same,
and I think on the lovely ring
you took back, worn by what’s her name.
Nature consoles me; it has heart,
a heart I did not find in you.
Nature will not leave me apart.
Nature, in fact, is just and true.
The shorn grass falls out in my wake,
the swallows follow on my way,
I resolve to make a mistake.
Before I see the boy, I say,
"I love you," and your voice or God’s,
on the summer wind answers, nods.
© Julianne Carlile
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
Star-Crossed
I would
often ask you for the stories
of how I
ended up here
and you
would tell me:
I met your grandfather when
he came to work for my parents.
He was a really sharp dresser.
Then you
would laugh.
I wondered
if you knew what you were really
telling
me:
That grandpa
had been given used clothes
by your
lover, a man you were enamored with
and at
first, at the play,
you
thought grandpa was him.
(His scent
permeated the room;
you could
feel him—his essence,
like a star
beam covered in gold dust.
But then
when you looked,
you saw it
was grandpa.)
It must
have been really funny,
but what’s
really funny is that’s why
I’m here.
© Julianne
Carlile
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