Jean Jones is our November 2009 Selected Poet 1
You can email Jean at jjones138@ec.rr.com
OUT OF THE STORM
Out of the storm come only good things,
or at least, beautiful to the human eye from a distance.
This is what we believe, or would like to believe,
in a world small, yet vast,
where the purple in the waterspout in the horizon
matches the purple around the eyes of the dead girl,
her face and body the same as her rapist and murderer
remembers, in all his dreams and nightmares.
This is not what the couple in the white Mercedes sees.
They see the whirlwind descending in the horizon
like an elephant lowering its trunk in the water,
and they see that trunk in the horizon
far, far away in the distance as beautiful.
They cannot see the fish being sucked up in the vortex of the storm,
or the purple around the eyes of the dead girl,
her mouth in the perfect "o" of a stifled scream,
her dead body still perfect preserved, just beyond
the couples' Mercedes, only 1500 feet away in the sand.
No, the couple in the white Mercedes
see only the storm in the distance,
and they conclude as we all do,
that out of the storm come only good things,
or at least beautiful to the human eye
from a distance. . .
THE WHITE WITCH
Stare at me. I have eyes that can turn people to stone.
Fight me. The bones of heroes litter the walls of my house.
Open your mouth to me, and let me kiss.
Fresh souls satisfy me.
Dare me and I will reach out my hand.
Take it and stare into my mouth forever.
THE ANGEL OF DEATH
The Angel of Death sleeps beside me
At night, her black hair, and dark eyes
Stare at me like photographs,
Hanging from the wall; she is a skull
Grinning constantly at me, she is smiling
And her eyes flash every time she stares at me
I am in love with her
I want to go where she goes
Where normal women can never go,
The Place where we all meet in the end
The harvest ground, the wet, cold earth. . .
There is tiredness to this land
And everything in me feels it,
From the way I pour sugar in my coffee
Every morning
To the time it takes
For me to close my eyes and remember nothing. . .
Everything is nothing to her smile, though
I want to go and find out where it comes from
Show me.
HOW IT MUST FEEL TO BE GOD
I felt like God,
like God Himself tonight,
watching these fat flies
gather around my kitchen,
their legs attached to my cabinets,
and since I hadn't killed them in days,
they were relaxed, they felt comfortable.
Well, I couldn't stand those flies anymore,
so I killed them, one by one,
and their reactions were so pitiful,
flying aimlessly, trying to make sense of it all,
it made me think of my fellow humans,
how we react when people we know die,
we run around aimlessly, physically, or in our minds,
not prepared for the sudden death of someone we knew,
out of nowhere the hand of God
slapped our fellow friend (or fly) down
and the killing could continue, endlessly or possibly does,
until God gets tired
for now.
Jean Jones
Originally from Bandung, Indonesia, Jean Jones received a BA in English in 1986 from
UNC-Wilmington, and an MFA in Creative Writing: Poetry in 1988 from Bowling Green State University in Bowling Green, Ohio. Jean currently teaches Basic Skills at Cape Fear Community College in Wilmington, North Carolina. He has had two books of poetry published by St. Andrews Press from St Andrews College, North Carolina; the most recent, Birds of Djakarta, was released in 2008. Together with his friend and fellow poet Scott Urban, Jean Jones has had a brand new book of poems published by a brand new Wilmington, North Carolina publisher called "Shaking Outta My Heart Press." Jean's book from that publisher is titled Tornado.
Jean is also co-editor of the online poetry magazine Word Salad which can be found at:
http://wsmagazine.net/VolumeXIVNoIV/
You can view Jean's poetry at:
http://wsmagazine.net/VolumeXIVNoIV/poetry-by-our-staff/9-poetry-by-jean-jones-co-editor.html
And at:
See Jean on YouTube at:
https://www.youtube.com/portcitypoetry#p/u/5/Y1XgCGNhG-k
https://www.youtube.com/portcitypoetry#p/f/3/9UDLORdiycM