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  Jul 2018 Jessica Jarvis
Cné

She will love him as he is leaving
without pain and tearful goodbyes
She knows he will be coming back to her
She can see it in his eyes

As he turns a smile is given to her
a beautiful vision close she will keep
"It’s only for a little while"
whispers her to sleep

Jessica Jarvis Jul 2018
Puzzle pieces,
Pretty pieces,
Punny, pretty, little pieces.

Lovely, little
Puzzle pieces
Play a part pretty places.

Pick apart
The puzzle pieces.
See the playful pieces play

To put together
Punny puzzles,
Purposefully planned and made.

Oh, yes,
Pretty puzzles,
Practically perfect in every way.
7/1/18
Jessica Jarvis Jul 2018
“They are the lucky ones.”
Since when does lucky spawn from unlikely?
How can my heart flutter
while my head, says “don’t bother.”?
The sun still shines
while I can’t understand its light.
It’s captivating,
exhilarating.
I’m wrapped up in your laugh
and immersed in your eyes
and charmed by your grin
and blessed by your chivalry.
I’m in love with the unlikeliness of you,
the unlikeliness of us,
the odds of our opportunity,
that spontaneity,
that loyalty,
the utter selflessness and gumption
of you in our calls
I love it all.
"Unlikely" didn't have to mean "impossible".
It’s because of this that I think we’ve earned being
“the lucky ones.”
6/28/18

Wrote this just to write... That’s how this works sometimes, right? Maybe.
  Jun 2018 Jessica Jarvis
C Mahood
Jealous of the sea.

He was always jealous of the ocean,
How could he write songs like the waves?
The timpani drums on the breaking tide,
Crescendos written on corral staves.
Harmonizing whistles from a shoreline quartet,
And the gentle reeds blow a soft minor key.
How could he ever write songs like the ocean,
How could he ever compose like the sea.
Jessica Jarvis Jun 2018
Misting sprinkles float right above, then grace the gentle ground.
How beautiful is the intensity surrounding that falling.

Sprinkle sprinkle.
Your eyelashes twinkle
To exemplify the radiance
In the rain dance.

Building trickles take me back to remind me of your town,
Our town, the town we made our own once you set out in your calling.

Trickle trickle.
How do frequently fickle
Memories still glance
To that rain dance...

Intense patter. Pitter patters fling towards my window now.
“Wake up, wake up! You can’t drift now... Gaze upon the sky’s enthralling.”

Pitter patter,
The rain still chatters.
Their numbing little trance
To keep me in the rain dance.
6/22/18

It rained last night. I sat down to write this with completely different intentions, but this is the story that ended up being told instead.
  Jun 2018 Jessica Jarvis
Ryan O'Leary
Some people seem to think
e were a Cockney.

E were caught nickin money
from the donation box,

but, e shafted two topers,
ou were waiting for the dregs

of the communion wine,
after last mass.

Thieves e said, pointing at em, as
they leaned on the holy water font

by the entrance, where a baby was
about to be baptised, by Father John.

Just then, as Inry were leaving by
the apse, a metal detector chimed

and Pontius Pilote discovered e ad
a fist of Roman coins in ees pocket.

Inry were taken by the cavalry to
their fort on the ILL where they

crucified em, facing Bromley-by-Bow,
'cause they knew e were anti-semantic !
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