In Observance of National Poetry Month


Sometimes I indulge in a little free verse. Sometimes I indulge in bars and shout “Free Bird!”  Anyway, hope you like it.

Desert Inn

Lovers, like impressions in clay
leave behind their sweetness.
Blue eyes, brown, this one, that,
a lifetime.

How many kisses in the dark?
Adoring, no hesitation, only love.

I welcomed you like the sun
pouring over me,
a golden glaze
never hardening.
Wraps round me now, a whiskey spun cocoon,
mere memories.
No regret.

I breathe. I live. I continue,
the sum of every tender touch.

Push into me with mercy, I pray thee, recollection.
Check your daggers at my door.
Screaming neon vacancy sign,
glowing evermore?

Palm tree, "Brad" cowboys, free WiFi,  what more could a girl want? A vacancy!

Kinda where I was going. Literally.







About Jean Ellen Whatley

Writer. Dreamer. Sometimes schemer. Journalist/memoirist/observer and sometimes constructive irritant. Prisoner of demon muses. Mother to four humans and two dogs. In my spare time, I delete phone numbers of former boyfriends.

Facebook | Twitter | eNewsletter | RSS | Subscribe to Blog by Email | Buy Off the Leash


  1. Crapola! You write prose AND poetry? *itch!

    Jean, I love the images, especially the “whiskey spun cocoon.”

  2. Well now you’ve gone and proven that you are also a poet. Your visuals are poignant: impressions in clay. May the good memories calcify.

  3. Benny/Sue brown says:

    You continue to a amaze me!:))

  4. Love your poems. Still remember the one you wrote for Big Bro….I shed some tears.

  5. Ooops. I forgot to put a smiley face after “*itch” to indicate my tongue was firmly in my cheek. The curse was hurled your way with love (and envy).