Place Your Bet

I could write poems about her collarbone.
I could craft sonnets about the nape of her neck.

I could assemble a booklet of haikus concerning the

     hollow at the small of her back.

A year's worth of letters to the editor

     could be filled

    with my thoughts about

     her earlobes.

Her blue eyes: chapters 1 through 12 of my Great American Novel.

To describe the curve of her hips, I would learn French.

For every part of her

I could compose

a masterpiece with paper, ink, and pen,

to titillate,

to thrill,

to transfix and captivate.

But the softness of her lips,

that's just for me.

-kj 

10/19/2022

The Fiercest Of The Species

An FB post on March 17th, 2021:

I was digging through boxes in my closet last weekend, looking for old tax receipts, and I found a bunch of notebooks full of poetry I wrote in college. They are all various shades of terrible (I was 19, adept only at drinking beer in the woods and chasing girls), but this one has always made me laugh:

sweet nothing,

you are moving.

in my eyes and in

my head

full of insects

buzzing 

and 

always,

always

running full-tilt

into a brick wall

built

by your mother.

kj 11/8/96

HAPPENINGS

It will be about to happen, 

or it will be happening, 

or it will be over

you will be glad it happened, 

or you won't

you will probably forget what happened,

either way

unless it's one of the handful that you remember 

fondly

for the rest of your life

a life filled mostly with

the endless forgettable

punctured

with brief, white-hot moments

of joy

-kj 

7/8/17

Pumpkin

all the things

I've loved and lost

if I got rid of them I'd be

jack-o-lantern

hollow

if I gave back

the silver medals

my trophy case would be

bare

they say

if you wait long enough

every love story becomes

a tragedy

that part came early

everything that doesn't kill you

they say

so here I am

2nd place strong

full of memory

-kj 06/24/22

Another Year

the wind is howling

and the rain splatters

like the tears

of some heavenly chorus

forced mute

by the dark and the cold

trees turn colors

and burst 

earth-tone fireworks

embers falling

into a pile at their knees

leaving them 

naked 

and ashamed

for not thinking things through

the intersection 

at the end of the drive

thumbs its nose at the 

futile attempts

of man

and becomes a lake

birds and old people 

fly south

memories of you 

grow mellow and smooth

like bourbon in a cask

another year takes the angel's cut

and leaves only the 

best parts

-kj

11/7/21

Ghost Story

 i have never understood the phrase:

"never speak ill of the dead"

why? they're dead. they don't care.

please, i beg you

when i am dead and gone

and the sum-total of my earthly works

are viewable from 

start to finish

like a movie

please, i implore you

speak ill of me

speak well of me

speak however you felt of me

if i hurt you or helped you

if you loved me or hated me

speak your truth

whatever that may be

if there is an afterlife 

i promise not to take offense

i swear not to come back and haunt you

(the living do that well enough on their own)

i vow i will not mind

as long as it is true.

-kj

11/6/21

SEMI-PRECIOUS

Some are fast. Most are slow. The one about rhododendrons took me all of an hour to write. I've been working on this one for the better part of a year. I've re-written it half a dozen times, and I re-wrote half of it, tonight, while typing it up. It has never been exactly right, but I like this version more than any of the previous ones, so here it is:

SEMI-PRECIOUS
If I had known how rare it was
I would've tried harder to keep it. 
Instead, without a thought
I let it go.

As if lightning would strike again
whenever I called.

If I had known how hard it was 
to find the good kind
the kind most only see
once or twice in a 
lifetime
I would not have let it slip away 
so easily.

As if my lawn was made of four-leaf clovers
instead of grass.

If I had only known then
what I know now
I would have dug in my heels
and my fingernails
bit down with my teeth
and held on
instead of just standing there
watching the wind 
blow it away. 

As if the sea was full of mermaids
and fish only exist in fairy tales. 

- kj 
12/19/2020