We have made our way into San Francisco.
All around us is hushed.
Those sounds do not sing,
your eyes are not blue.
Hold my hand Reptile.
Walk our storied path to Golden Gate Park
and try to remember
when I ever loved you.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Golden Gate Park
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
The Game
The Devil resides between layers of chocolate cake,
moist, yielding, the promise of melting in my mouth.
Hunkered down in creamy, dark ganache,
he knows I am weak.
He lurks down dark alleys and lonely streets,
shadowy, making noises unseen.
Dredging up feelings of fear and uncertainty,
I hesitate, cower, and turn toward more traveled roads.
He waits beyond steep mountain curves,
sheer and achingly beautiful.
I grip the door of the car harder, looking straight ahead
as he laughs at the scenery I have missed.
It is all a game to him,
To overcome or be overcome.
moist, yielding, the promise of melting in my mouth.
Hunkered down in creamy, dark ganache,
he knows I am weak.
He lurks down dark alleys and lonely streets,
shadowy, making noises unseen.
Dredging up feelings of fear and uncertainty,
I hesitate, cower, and turn toward more traveled roads.
He waits beyond steep mountain curves,
sheer and achingly beautiful.
I grip the door of the car harder, looking straight ahead
as he laughs at the scenery I have missed.
It is all a game to him,
To overcome or be overcome.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
The Devil
I sometimes feel the Devil
rides across Planet Earth
looking for points of easy entry.
Like a hacker probing the system for flaws
Diablo works day and night
to access our vulnerabilities.
I, have been made dimpled from all my probes.
Skin stretched from point to point
in a constellation of scars.
Just as one puncture heals another one appears.
Satan knows well my systems peculiarities,
and exploits them quite elegantly, quite easily.
The world seems to be splatters and dots of red
and I wonder when enough blood will be spilt.
Attracted to weakness, The Prince of Darkness
(seeking his own safe place just as mortals do)
flies to the house with the Crimson porch light,
crouches in the corner, and silently waits for me to walk by.
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Downstream
She told me she was a stone, smooth and tumbled,
worn down by steady currents so gentle, yet insistent and powerful.
Her crags and crevices abraded away,
bashed and broken,
pounded by constant forces so strong, yet glacially slow.
Until one day there was nothing,
no protrusions to catch on, to wedge her in place,
and she was smooth,
tumbling endlessly downstream.
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Flor de Fango
 |
| you will be covered with shame |
Break Down—Break Through
DNA shards sloughing off
through our sojourn in Obidiah
With my nest not set in the stars
But in the rich Spanish Fango
Sephardi in my bloodlines with
A kink in my spine to prove it
We travel to our home of destiny
My little Flor de Fango
My sweet Mud Flower
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Sunday, June 23, 2013
Fantasy
Tell me your fantasies, he whispered,brushing a whisp of hair,
rich and glossy as honey dates,
away from her eyes.
Tell me your fantasies, he whispered,
tracing the line of her arm,
warmed and tanned by the desert sun,
with his finger.
Tell me your fantasies, he whispered,
gazing into her eyes,
blue and refreshing as the life-giving water of an oasis.
Tell me your fantasies, he whispered,
and I will tell you mine.
Wednesday, June 12, 2013
Pouilly Fuisse
We have spent the day at the beach
(my lover—my mistress—my paramour)
our towels merely feet from the tide
as close as we can get is what we want
We lay side by side and fall asleep
(the heat—the sounds—the mist)
the tides creep closer to our slumber
bodies paralyzed by liquid dreams
Washing out to sea with no cares
(divorce—family feuds—sunburns)
floating on the endless sea grass
we finally crack open the Pouilly Fuisse
Drink my love, drink
and I will drink to thee
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Monday, May 27, 2013
At the shore
Firmness
Standing the water's edge
scrunching toes digging in to gritty sand
grains scratching, itching
bringing my attention to unnoticed places
I dig deeper
marveling
at the absurd firmness
of countless grains of sand,
a million acrobats
balancing on one another's shoulders,
suspending me,
above what I don't know
The water rushes in to take its turn
swirling
enticing my acrobats
to abandon me, one by one
I feel them leave
as my feet sink down
deeper
lowering me,
toward what I don't know
Standing the water's edgescrunching toes digging in to gritty sand
grains scratching, itching
bringing my attention to unnoticed places
I dig deeper
marveling
at the absurd firmness
of countless grains of sand,
a million acrobats
balancing on one another's shoulders,
suspending me,
above what I don't know
The water rushes in to take its turn
swirling
enticing my acrobats
to abandon me, one by one
I feel them leave
as my feet sink down
deeper
lowering me,
toward what I don't know
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Kite flying in the Spring of 1968
I am ten years old
and it is time to fly a kite
For what small change
I can squeeze out from
the small slit of my fathers
plastic change purse
I can fly a kite
Running to Parade Market
I make a list:
Kite
String
Stick
Rags
My sense of pride grows
as my kite fly's higher and higher
with each tug of the
long white string
and it is time to fly a kite
For what small change
I can squeeze out from
the small slit of my fathers
plastic change purse
I can fly a kite
Running to Parade Market
I make a list:
Kite
String
Stick
Rags
My sense of pride grows
as my kite fly's higher and higher
with each tug of the
long white string
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Thursday, May 16, 2013
The Kite
The kite soared,
danced and tumbled,
Teased by an erratic breeze.
Tail up, tail down,
Not unlike the four year old
at the end of its string.
Mommy, she cried. Look!
The kite
is flying
me.
danced and tumbled,
Teased by an erratic breeze.
Tail up, tail down,
Not unlike the four year old
at the end of its string.
Mommy, she cried. Look!
The kite
is flying
me.
Friday, May 10, 2013
Conception
One conceived in ignorance
One conceived in trust
One conceived in love
Two conceived in lust
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Child's Play
I want sleep, I can't sleep, I want sleep, I can't sleepI want sleep, I can't sleep, I want sleep, I can't sleep
I want sleep, I can't sleep, I want sleep, I can't sleep
I want sleep, I can't sleep, I want sleep, I can't sleep
I want sleep, I can't sleep, I want sleep, I can't sleep
I want sleep, I can't sleep, I want sleep, I can't sleep
I want sleep, I can't sleep, I want sleep, I can't sleep
I want sleep, I can't sleep, I want sleep, I can't sleep
I want sleep, I can't sleep, I want sleep, I can't sleep
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Trefoil Crown
will you take a walk with me
slow past the future
a ramble to an alternative universe
not yet hatched
sometimes it might be best to close your eyes
or cover your ears
but having been there and having learned the lessons of fear
i will hold your hand
i will sooth your brow
and when you want to scream i will say:
shush, shush everything is ok
will you take a walk with me
slow past the future
i am not scared she trumpets
the past
the present
the future
is my trefoil and i wear it as my crown
there is an ambulance wailing in the background
and as she runs down the street
away from me, just away from me
and holds tightly to her trefoil crown
she flashes out a thrill charged smile
at no one i can see
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
Monday, April 29, 2013
Sidewalk Shrine
_-_Foto_G._Dall%27Orto.jpg)
Someone has set up a sidewalk shrine
next to the pharmacy on Agua Fria Street
An Orphic Abuelita sleeps there every night
beneath crocheted blankets and handmade quilts
Teddy Bears and metallic balloons
sympathy cards, birthday cards
plastic flowers and real flowers
faded photographs
frozen tears
magical wishes
alleged confessions
false sympathy and
enough regret to keep her warm until morning
All this piled on top of one frail aged woman
who dreams of flesh and blood
while lightly touching an empty yellowed cradle
Tru Dillon has been involved in art since she was born. Drawing, painting, singing and writing have captured her interest above all else. She wrote her first book of poems at 12 years of age and has since written many more poems and is hoping someday to create another book of her poetry. For now she is content to write on the World Wide Web. To contact Tru Dillon please go to her web page http://poemandprose.wordpress.com/ and send her a comment.
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