 Photography by Reka Jellema. Copyright November 1, 2014. Untitled. Azure
Its azure secured, the sky was a kite, sidling the horizon so slightly, no doubt, to steadier eyes but I am apt to tread in curlicue among the upturned chairs and folded parasols. I am apt to turn within a turn, to find inside myself an awkwardness, a poor excuse for a two-step blue within blue to stroll along the rigid stand of woods and shore where last my heart was spied. The heron surfs my peripheral and streams, a needle towing its thread unseen, the long land and the azure of the sea kiss and enfold in suture Written by Reka Jellema & Brendan Bonsack Copyright November 1, 2014
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 Photography by Reka Jellema. Copyright November 1, 2014. Untitled. They Say
The skirl of bagpipe the fife of piccolo anything to still this prattle -- nursery rhymes, ditties, doo-dahs, loony tunes twined, transposed and snarled there is trouble in mind her head on the railway his esophagus grappled with the belt loop in the closet a bare light bulb one tug away from the dark They say the rats never left the Piper has them safe, quiet biding time while punctual trains and ritual neatness of streets grow like Labelled clothes like snaking moss on alabaster nudes They say Humpty Dumpty never fell a modern Astaire, lissome and el- egant with piano hands his wall con- stant as a Shakespearean couplet -- townsfolk wiped yolk from the pages of storybooks, made mosaics from eggshells, grew quiet at the songs of bright birds A piccolo enough to quiet trouble in mind they say air strained through tiny architectures Do re mi yes no Melody skipping The needles repeat Do re mi Piccolo Written in collaboration with Brendan Bonsack By Reka Jellema & Brendan Bonsack November 1, 2014 
Photo Art Copyrighted by Victoria Pettella. Please visit Victoria's blog for more beautiful images: http://www.heartofawizardess.blogspot.com
Minuet
she held her lace as if it were a harp and played crocheted the holes the notes that plucked the dark her lace, in knots and loops a threaded tune spun fine, desire's minuet, the kind that plays your fingers in every key of blind Written with Brendan Bonsack Copyright Reka Jellema & Brendan Bonsack 25 October, 2014 Photo Art by Victoria Pettella 
Photograph by Reka Jellema. June 2011. Untitled. For Addie.
Unraveling
Plastic taste of water in her jug, loose threads in a crocheted rug How long before it unravels Remembering my ball in the boot Just wanna kick it, kick it and run My feet punching holes in the snow Mum yellin' at me -- for doin' nothin' Grabbin' me in a hug squeezin' the breath outta me, she reckons Nana's better off here She's far better off there, Sis Look at her she doesn't even know you anymore, and this place look at it No, I don't mean it like that You know I don't mean Don't look at me like that I called I wrote I came back didn't I? How could he look at me that way? he was a liar, a prattler, like Da. My raw bones crawl into the edges of that shawl The one Mum crocheted her fingers gray and worn This bench is cold and on the road a car slow and shined as death drives by it's hard to breathe-- the playground bairns stare snowballs at me Mum is near a memory I'm losing my way home With Kathryn Ross and Brendan Bonsack By Kathryn Ross, Brendan Bonsack, and Reka Jellema October 2014  Photograph by Reka Jellema. Taken September 2014. Untitled. EMILY (Inspired by "Young Woman on the Shore," a painting by Edvard Munch) once her dress her dress was white pockets filled with snow and ice her dress its hem was endless a sentence by Dickinson sewn on a scrap small hands gath'ring a view condensed haunted by the doubled-edge of solitude, and reams of braided words that seemed a soundless stretch a depth of blue her girdle fast like a finger band a gasp cinched in a sachet a cricket caged in a locket round her neck round her hair a ribbon of red an ache escaped its lacings and clasps undo this knot twined 'neath her breast Listen ~ Her wrist pulsed slender threads a beat beneath fingertips her wrist her wrist her dress was white 'twas pockets filled with snow and ice she walked in winter on the frozen lake she pictured the thawing she saw she saw the harebell field stared like a sea dense like a promise, a splayed memory With Kathryn Ross and Brendan Bonsack By Reka Jellema, Kathryn Ross, and Brendan Bonsack October 2014  Photograph by Reka Jellema. September 2014. Untitled What Shape it Takes
See how this love for you Has channeled my face Trace tributaries From brow to cheek Give me your hand And ask what shape It takes. This love I gave in perfect drops Of melting snow The saline bead poised At the mountain top Written with Brendan Bonsack By Brendan Bonsack and Reka Jellema September 2014  Photo art by Reka Jellema. September 2014. Untitled. The Cave Divers
Slanting shaft of light, spear the rocks And chink the porous coral-rivered sea Guise the gelatinous mass of blue So what we see is fanciful: Three cubs And a bear on the hunt for food A white dwarf star that lost its place In the cosmos A hammerhead maneuvers, descends Through the murk As divers shimmy, bodies sleek as seals Illumine the deep, her constellations Of caverns And men of the cave, divers Clung to the precious last of their breaths As urchins put all that faith in their tests Slow and as sure As geology's long howl into the void Written with Brendan Bonsack By Reka Jellema and Brendan Bonsack September 2014  Photograph by Reka Jellema. September 2012. Untitled. A Whisper in Reverse
Your hand inside my ribcage found Through grottos serpentine dispersed A sonar ping, an ache resound A whisper in reverse I was your thready palpitation A confession chambered, divided I was the shape of repercussion A skein, so many-sided A heart you could not reverence A clamor clanging down the halls Braille fingers curled for clasping Written with Brendan Bonsack By Brendan Bonsack and Reka Jellema September 2014 
Photograph by Reka Jellema. September 2014. Untitled.
The Echoes of the Echoes
Recommence the wanderings In the medieval citadel Your muse shied of the shadows, Ducked from the spells Hunched under gargoyles Tiptoeing, barefoot and silent Convinced of the afflatus That chose you and prattled In the mortar The spiral stairs would wind you ever upward Your muse in cower at the echoes of the echoes Written with Brendan Bonsack By Reka Jellema & Brendan Bonsack September 2014 
Photography by Reka Jellema. June 2014. Untitled.
Our dandelions
yellowed in translation, words paling, fading stains, nicotine hands. Even our fingers fronding the air like palms couldn't say for certain what it was in dandelions -- blowhard blizzards seeds swarming. We saw the score composed upon the sky, the whirling scherzi the sleet minuets clung like the bite of a zither -- In our ears In our limbs And we danced as well as anyone did with a foot in the hive and bodies in hum at the edge of forget Written with Brendan Bonsack By Reka Jellema and Brendan Bonsack September 2014 |
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