Grid View
List View
  • juli_cailin 23w

    ~ Sultan ~

    The Moon is smiling
    beneath cool folds upon folds
    of blue-black velvets and satins,
    lying on his side like a sultan,
    surrounded by his sparkling harem, each waiting for their turn;

    but they are all in a state
    of eternal heartbreak,
    forever blinking back their tears,

    for anyone can see
    he only has eyes for me.

    : juli cailin :

    Read More


  • juli_cailin 32w

    ~ The Ones Who are Left ~

    There is nothing now,
    just hot dust
    and an unblinking Sun
    and whatever can be found in caves or under the ground,
    and this old woman
    sitting in a tent
    made of old winter coats and scraps of blankets
    (from the days when the earth was sometimes cold
    and when there was something called Evening
    with a smooth, cool Moon).

    The only time she stirs is for a drink
    or a meal consumed from the palm of her hand,
    and the only time she speaks is for a daughter or son,
    the Only Children Left Now,
    come out from distant clefts,
    dusty, hot scars across the Earth’s broken face.

    They come to her,
    red and thirsty,
    searching the old woman’s eyes
    and begging with their own--
    for a drink?


    And these who come to her
    don’t even speak.

    The old woman stretches out her brown, parched hand
    and receives their gifts,
    small pouches of precious water,
    and pieces of bread and fish,
    lays the parcels aside
    then touches each one with the same hand.

    This is what Those Who Are Left come for,
    her hand, her eyes, blessings.

    There is one at her knees now,
    the precious parcels are received into her lap,
    her eyes are closed.

    Minutes, maybe hours pass in silence.

    Finally, the old woman smiles slightly;
    because she is kind? -- yes --
    but also because The Touch and The Words
    they have been waiting for are now filling her up like warmed honey.

    Her eyes open, bright and blue.

    The old woman reaches out again,
    once for the parcels, to set them aside,
    now to touch This One Who Is Left,
    a young daughter of someone in some lonely cleft.

    She touches this daughter’s hair,
    following the golden, crisp strands down to her arm,
    then to her hand, which the old woman suddenly, but gently grasps
    with both her own hands, nestling it within them.

    The Touch, The Word is here,
    and the sign, as always, is tears,
    first hers and then the daughter’s,
    who now closes her eyes.

    The dust and rippling heat are forgotten
    and they are both walking together
    in The Garden.

    The angel has blown out his flaming blade
    and the two enter in at the familiar gate,
    hand in hand, tender mists quenching their parched skin.

    They walk together through the sparkling gardens,
    picking fruit for one another, eating their fill,
    and then they dip into a crystal spring
    under a congregation of quiet trees.

    As they come to the surface,
    they hear Him walking through The Garden in the cool air -- there’s no longer a reason to hide here.

    A peaceful breeze passes through the trees
    and through the two of them,
    and then He is there on the shore,
    His Spirit, His Words, filling them
    until they can contain no more,
    and then He fills them again
    until they overflow.

    “Take all this with you
    and share it with Those Who Are Left;
    I will bless whatever you give
    and you will gather then
    more than you will leave with today;
    And I promise, the day will come
    when you will never leave here again,
    but will be forever with Me where I am.”

    The old woman is sitting in her tent alone now,
    and after a very long while
    she reaches for one of her precious parcels
    kept in tattered baskets to her left and to her right.

    There are many baskets;
    She drinks from one pouch,
    then from another she gathers bits of bread and fish
    into the palm of her hand;
    She closes her eyes and dreams about The Garden
    and The One Who Loves Her,
    and about His Words --

    waiting for another son or daughter,
    red and thirsty,
    come to sit at her knees.

    : juli cailin :

    Read More


  • juli_cailin 35w


  • juli_cailin 37w

    ~ Toxic ~

    When I finally pulled the pin
    on your toxic kiss,
    I welcomed our end,
    a sky high mushroom
    of acid pink mist;

    I found my wings then

    my newborn spirit soaring
    all on its own

    into the answering
    crisp and clear chill
    of a pristine oblivion.

    : juli cailin :

    Read More


  • juli_cailin 42w

    ~ Wild Blackberries ~

    I'm trying to think of nothing, out here mowing our waving lawn; been thinking so much lately, it hurts and burns, over and over;

    but I'm thinking of you anyway;

    and then I think about how wonderful it would be to be peaceful and clean, like when the nurse first brought you to me, all scrubbed and red, swathed in that blue-white-and-pink hospital blanket;

    I gazed at you, unwrapping you slowly, like I did when I came to my last Christmas present under the tree when I was a little girl;

    I hummed lullabyes to both of us, and so many promises were made, so many about peace;

    I don't want to think; I'm trying to drown out our yelling, let this damned lawnmower get louder and louder, but I heard your words, and the hot barbs sting over and over;

    I'm sunburnt out here, sweat is stinging my eyes; that's when I spy the wild blackberries and shut off the mower;

    All I could think of then were those sweet, plump blackberries covered in cream and sugar for you, and I pictured them in a certain white porcelain bowl for you; I didn't care about the thorns and the raging ants every time I reached for one;

    I just wanted to bring you this bowl of wild blackberries, so I picked the plumpest, and hummed all the while.

    : juli cailin :

    Read More


  • juli_cailin 46w

    ~ Firmament ~

    I press against
    this vast expanse
    stretched out
    below me,
    dark and gaping

    and keep my eyes
    on the bright
    firmament above

    billowing fleece
    sparkling peace

    the wind is cleaner
    the blues are deeper

    all I know
    is I want to be where
    I can sing
    and dream
    and breathe.

    : juli cailin :

    Read More


  • juli_cailin 47w

    ~ Carrot ~

    i think
    there is death
    in all-knowledge,
    the Grand Total
    too grande;

    i think,
    as in that Tree,
    the one in the midst
    with the dewy fruit
    of the Knowledge
    of Good and Evil;

    I Think:
    suddenly open wide,
    brain-tilting landslides,
    piercing, plunging Dark,
    searing, soaring Light;

    i think,
    just enough,
    the drip
    trembling at the brim
    (dangling that carrot) --

    i won't ever,
    and i am never,
    meant to reach it.

    : juli cailin :

    Read More


  • juli_cailin 51w

    ... me ✌��

    Read More


  • juli_cailin 51w

    ~ Old Mister Summers ~

    Old Mister Summers,
    with your soap-scrubbed shoes and dirty laces, you try so hard, but a friend
    is so hard to find;

    I see you smile every day,
    asking and pleading again with your dingey* grin, hoping, and making my heart bruise and ache;

    I can't make them, make those busy, closed-eyed people see you,
    or keep those fisted, twisted-minded creeps off your back;

    but I do hollaback in my best stance, barking at the fence, and taking you by the hand, away from their teeth and clamour.

    : juli cailin :

    * dingy or dingey (DIN-jee) as in grimy or dirty

    Read More


  • juli_cailin 51w

    ~ Precipice ~

    This love,
    this honey love,
    this sweet sap coursing through my heart,
    through every throbbing tendril of every trembling extremity;

    I can't,
    I can't breathe
    when you kiss me,
    when you look at me,
    when you hold me
    you hold my very life;

    … and when I search your eyes,
    when you are busy searching me and all my enflamed extremities,
    I wonder if you even see
    how I'm dangling over this precipice
    the closest I've ever been to death, by ecstasy.

    : juli cailin :

    Read More