Tag: Patricia Wellingham-Jones

Weekend Morning by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 01. Apr, 2012 in Color (Apr/May/June 2012), Writings

The tea kettle whistles
its wake-up call,
tea fills the mug,
double-strength.

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Joy At The Meeting by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 01. Apr, 2012 in Color (Apr/May/June 2012), Writings

A woman in my county
doesn’t play on a green field
or hold court on a gymnasium floor.

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Noises Outside the Tent by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 29. Dec, 2011 in Jump (Jan/Feb/Mar 2012), Writings

At the tag end of summer when Earth shifts
under our feet and the trees start thinking
of Autumn hues and shedding leaves
we go for one last camping trip at the lake.

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Lens Life by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 29. Dec, 2011 in Jump (Jan/Feb/Mar 2012), Writings

Through a lens, clearly,
the woman watches life pass.
Her body a box of troubles,
her mind a scrambled nest,
her eye focuses on the square
that makes uneasy sense.

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Stories in the night by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 01. Nov, 2011 in Burning the Midnight Oil (Nov/Dec 2011), Wasteland (Sept/Oct 2011), Writings

Stories pricked the dark
heavy with leave-taking
driving love away

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Shapes of Gray by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 01. Sep, 2011 in Wasteland (Sept/Oct 2011), Writings

Morning fog fuzzes the edges
of fences, trees, a bull grazing.
Forms I think are ducks
float on the creek.

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Old House by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 01. Sep, 2011 in Wasteland (Sept/Oct 2011), Writings

Tear down this house
rid the land of rotting beams
the kudzu-covered walls
pock-marked and bowing

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Committee by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 01. Jul, 2011 in Forbidden Pleasure (July/Aug 2011), Writings

All dressed up
for the meeting
her secret self dances
inside the gray power suit.

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Tear Up by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 01. Jul, 2011 in Forbidden Pleasure (July/Aug 2011), Writings

Tear up your lecture notes,
leave your book bag behind
and your I-pod and your cell phone.
Feel on your fleeing body
the touch of freedom.

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Advice from the Mothers by Patricia Welingham-Jones

by on 01. May, 2011 in Childhood Memories (May/June 2011), Writings

The mothers told us,
Hide your brains. Boys don’t like
girls who are smart.

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Message from Above by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 01. May, 2011 in Childhood Memories (May/June 2011), Writings

I cuddle on the couch
with my boyfriend.
In her bed over our heads
my mother watches the clock.

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What Is True by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 01. Mar, 2011 in Reflections (Mar/Apr 2011), Writings

I write about connection between women
with no history except heat—
creeping through loins,
waking them nights, weeping into pillows.

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Dream Language by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 01. Mar, 2011 in Reflections (Mar/Apr 2011), Writings

Your hand twitches
You sink into sleep
as you do whenever you sit
Body at rest
the right hand clasps
a folded paper towel in lax fingers

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Metacreation by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 01. Nov, 2010 in Metamorphosis (Nov/Dec 2010), Writings

(inspired by Sara Umemoto’s ‘Metacreation’) She blows fireballs from her mystic lips in a sheltered pool behind flowered walls. Water slick as oil rings radiates from her glowing skin. Lightning stabs in silent slashes between curtains of rain. The arch of window, intricate carve of wooden rail enclose her in the watery womb. She focuses [...]

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Flight of the Witches by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 01. Nov, 2010 in Metamorphosis (Nov/Dec 2010), Writings

(inspired by Francisco de Goya’s ‘Flight of the Witches’) The witches cackle under their pointed hats, spring skyward hauling their burden. The man, stripped to his quivering skin, writhes and screams in their claw-fingered hands. Under a white cloth thrown over his head the victim’s friend scuttles across the rocks, prays nothing can see him. [...]

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Down-sizing by Patricia Wellingham-Jones

by on 01. Sep, 2010 in Mother Nature, Father Time (Sept/Oct 2010), Writings

The box in the closet fills every few weeks and I lug the contents to Salvation Army— clothes too big, trinkets people gave me, glasses and cups I never use, a travel bag, flowered lamp, a small wooden table. My down-sizing rituals grow by the year. I can picture weeding myself out of house and [...]

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