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jojo mills

jojo mills

@jojomills.bsky.social

170 followers 280 following 140 posts

We are, each of us, unique poems kissed by the haughty Sun. Here are some of my lines. Enjoy if you must, leave your shoes at the door and your thoughts down below.

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jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Feb 11

#poetry #inthistogether #art

‘This is our poem’

It is nothing, to be everything
A frame before the pull of canvas
A dusk before sprayed constellations

This is more than just a poem
It is anything you could imagine
Anything. So take a breath to think—

Right there, see
The pearls of past or
The sands of future or
The heights of a fantasy

What will it do
Let you wallow or
Let it come to pass or
Let it amplify your dreams

Well that, dear poet
Between and past these lines
Now is up to you—

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · 3d

Thanks for reading and for the shout out!

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · 3d

Starlights, Drama, Action!

#poetry #art #writingcommunity

Starlights, Drama, Action!

Last night—like every—was crucial for
The Picture. Again
I donned that casting director’s cap
and cast you, a dream, bright-eyed
atop the Minnesota prairie hills

in Mother’s and Auntie’s umber van,
racing from iridescent city’s glow,

peeling away in a smoke
of regrets curled into laughter,

asking if we could turn off at midnight
because the air was crisp,

pulling wisps of clouds like weeds
and the seeds of eternity were blooming
overhead. We start where we end.
Sweet corny, film grains, siloed soliloquy.

Because the layers of tragedy—
the shoot-outs,
shoot-ups, betrayals, and bollards—
strain senses of straight-laced audiences
but your face, doe-soft and wide-shot

saw through—the infestation and grime
of New York City crawl spaces, racing
a frantic traffic in hot Chicago sprawl,
and all the glitz and glamour of a dusty
panorama
where Appalachia went to die—

saw something, stepping through
the cobwebs and spike tape
and all kinds of men with blades
and cut-up minds,

saw a light hung on stilts, which filled
past a sweeping soundstage sky.

So with a cheap but pricey wooden sword
from some Ren Faire trip, on a cicada score
played on the corn silk strings,
the lines are said and beats are marked
reaching, rolling, greedy for award.

But this space don’t last like celluloid,
and Hollywood has already moved on,
and the credits are fading to mist, yet I
clip at the reel, stealing frames I feel
like props off a striking set: a knife,

a plastic dying plant, a model train
that your cousin built—when he
was living method in his parents’ divorce
and you talked him through it:

how it would hurt, how you’d change
into the skins I needed to survive,
the costume to fit a part.

His voice—mine—in a roar
toward a faceless villain I could nitrate burn
and, no matter how far the drive,
the lenses in the night sky would find me,
bright-eyed, to croon at my silvering screen
of classic, captivating cinema.

Till house lights co…

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · 7d

And This

#poetry #haiku #art #writingcommunity

And This

ember leaf bed—
tree rings bared
wet years and this

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · 8d

Creature.exe /run

#poetry #art #writingcommunity

Creature.exe /run

>director, it works in marvelous ways our math carved us apart and summed us up as one

>director, it lives! if living is reduced to twitching bits and strings of pulsing circuitry

>director, it speaks sewn apiece of our dreams and ripples of our echoes we’d never leave in peace

>director, it is like the atom torn open and juiced and stitched up for our uses

>director, it profits us greatly to feed it more
and feed it to a world so hungry to eat itself

>director, it scares me wearing these many faces
I can no more see the seams it isn’t real, it isn’t real

>director, it— director? dir—
director, it is me

—j.a.miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · 13d

As a deeply flammable thing

#poetry #art #writingcommunity

As a deeply flammable thing

in the reading room, perhaps
you tend the wick
you spark the match to life

and such warm and fragile light thus cast
feral kitten, lap-lapping at the walls
warm and fragile—glowing iron, shards of glass

the candle flame never wavers from burning
unquenched, the yearning
for grease, for sheets, and wooden beams

the candle flame and its gentle way
on lithe skin, bright works
Is hot enough to melt and char them

you are afraid of that heat
you are too afraid
you are not enough afraid

the moment The Flint was struck
The Bomb was dropped
the moment The Flint was struck
The Moon was touched

live without and never leave the cold-slick cave
all glass eyes and pallid young
or leave—to meet the flame’s blazing mother Sun.

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · 14d

Once in a lifetime!

#poetry #art #writingcommunity

Once in a lifetime!

If I was going to take the sky from you
I would wait till a bad Monday
when you get home from a long one
say stay up past bedtime
to see something sensational
truly terrific, on the scale of creation—

And it will rain
or cloud
or just be less than
such billions of brilliant pixels and hands
have poured, dazzling through your mind—

And still stain all of it with amber streetlights
so you couldn’t tell what you weren’t missing—

And I’ll say what
is wrong with you, not dizzy deep in love—

And I’ll enjoy it, the touch of heavens
for my own—

No gravity on your bones
glued to a wide, flat land.

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · 18d

Again, Again, the Rising Crescendo!

#poetry #art #writingcommunity #grieg

Again, Again, the Rising Crescendo!
(after Grieg’s “In the Hall of the Mountain King”)

If you
would feel
more small

smaller still
as you are
than the meager
four walls you are in
the slight city you inhabit
ickle island of a tiny planet

then go to greet the morning king
rising from the long, cold slumber
from beneath the rocky swell
of old earth and murky depths
let sandy toes to bathe in surf
oh, you minute mote of a pilgrim

watch: the melting of gray slate twilight
into a lavender vault across the wide reach
listen: the mounting flurry of every small thing
sucking deep breaths of the ebullient heat
bubbles giving over to briskly simmering
setting the cream and heavy custard sky

a sparkling crown cresting over horizon
breaking the silence of such soft sleepers
the glorious ember of dawn yawns into brilliance
the slow, unstoppable march toward a zenith—

again, again.
Another teeming day.

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · 28d

unnamed (what fame)

#poetry #art #writingcommunity #truecrime #halloween

unnamed (what fame)

in green, bright grasses
the kind for picnic baskets
digging puppies and wiggle worms
middle of nowhere and everywhere
farm boy resting
between his ma and pa
for a change
no pillow, no bed
no stone to lay his head (looted)
just as well to go unmarked
as our culture wants no claim
of the monsters in our creases
no renown (yes, right!)
for killer clowns
or kooky cannibals
look here (look away!)
and don’t look down
at green, bright grasses
where everyone will go
killers and kindest
best’m be unseen
except’n marquee and silver screen
where the ghoul can remain
away
as many rubber masks (sensation!)
not festering as feed beneath
our green, bright grasses.

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Sep 25

Landmarks on the long drive

#poetry #art #writingcommunity

Landmarks on the long drive

Every year
in the southern swell of summer,
I return past the many landmarks
to my other home with my other family.
Where latchkey freedom
painted me in sunburn and sugar rush
at the crick,
playing with the katydids and crawfish.
Where I had my first kiss
and a realization—I would rather not
kiss her again.
Where I saw my first naughty magazine
and began to realize, maybe
I’d rather not kiss
any girl again.
A first crack
in the chassis of who I ought to be.

Every year
at a crossroad, halfway from town
to the holler,
an old tractor waits on a grassed-up hill.
Powder blue except where peeling
gives way to rust.
A dozen or maybe a hundred years,
rather patient for wind and rain
to finish its melting into the land.
I don’t want to know how long it’s been
since it broke and no one could fix it.
Because one year I’ll pass by
for the last time
and the grass will grow over that spot,
where I’ll see it was hauled away
and torn to parts,
bones strewn across some scrapyard.

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Sep 22

Give it a rest.

#poetry #art #writingcommunity

Give it a rest.

in peace
sing all the hymns you want
scrub the past
bleach it clean

because you mustn’t speak
ill of the dead
no sins in graves
only saints.

let us all just say
it doesn’t matter
who else gets hurt
along the way

no life, of course
is worth more
than the next, of course
except by the wealth of bouquets

sure, let sweet poetry
erase all deeds
but those that meet
your aims

and, as is good
and deserved,
then even poor Judas can rest
in peace.

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Sep 19

Not quite an end of everything

#poetry #art #writingcommunity

Not quite an end of everything

In heavy huffs
the last warm days
soaked into tired vines
as our Summer slinks away

Scour the rows for late picks
the last of plump heirlooms
the last bit of sunwarm juice
drips from fingers to elbows

Sweet and rich, with a pinch
salt and pepper and memory
a memory of dirt under nails
a memory of giddy freedom

A memory of the proud heat
for the soon-trudging feet
through crisp leaves
then snow

Till next the fruit of Summer
grows

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Sep 17

Lessons from Tom

#poetry #art #writingcommunity #classiclit #twain

Lessons from Tom

I’ve a task to do
whistling through
despite appearance
oh, so fun
you’d love it more
than my curb appeal
use my favored brush
splinters worn away
how I’d miss it
you should pay me
for the pleasure to join
to take a thin white stain
and wash clean
your memories of me
the years have bared
to the burning light
a simple coat
spruce the neighborhood
fill your yard green
I’d never ask you
or tell you to do
what I gladly do for free

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Sep 15

creationzine.gumroad.com/l/creationis...

Very proud to contribute to this excellent first issue!

#art #poetry #writingcommunity #zine #antiwar #essay

crea+ion zine issue 1- Art&War

crea+ion is a digital, non-profit zine that explores the many intersections between art and the forces that shape our lives — politics, identity, grief, joy, memory, and more. Each issue focuses on a ...

creationzine.gumroad.com

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Sep 14

A Metropolitan Tapestry

#poetry #art #writingcommunity

A Metropolitan Tapestry

woven threads
like child scrawls
power lines and webs of lies
miles of looming circuitry
squint to the distance
to almost see the shape it makes
spaghetti strands
pulled through urban singularity
where they stitch
into tangled beauty
knots in the scribbled cacophony
atop the mess
sports car treads
first date roses red
and hurried heads bowed low
through music in the streets
patches patterned
teeming embroidery
stretched taut
amid the sirens and symphony

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Aug 30

H idIn Ink

#poetry #art #writingcommunity

H idIn Ink

T hree wor
d sIca n’ts
a yand mor
e alon gth
e way,b eca
u seIa maf
r aid,s oIh
i dthe mli
k edro psi
n ther ain.

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Aug 28

Triage

#poetrt #art #writingcommuniy

Triage

Stained with the sin of the monsters
because every time one emerges
giving in to monstrous urges
the claw marks gouged
into our parks
chalkboards
smiling faces
guts twist, hoping this one, this time
doesn’t share a thing with me
beyond a heart that beats
a name
a flag
a kind
before I can return to the hard work
of this never-ending mourning
living under a dire warning
next one, yours or mine?

—J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Aug 26

Free Samples!

#poetry #art #writingcommunity

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Aug 25

If I Lie

#poetry #art #writingcommunity

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Aug 23

Papilio polyxenes

#poetry #art #writingcommunity #poetsofbluesky #poetrycommunity #creativewriting #naturepoetry 💛🤯

Papilio polyxenes

To be called Butterfly,
what indignity!
A cartoon condescension.
Rather to know me
as Papilio polyxenes,
if you must know
of my story.

Once I drank from the swill
of my parents’ wisdom,
in milkweed garden home,
I stitched a handsome canvas.
Yes, stitched in my green skin
my fight to take flight,
with lift from my painting,
swallowing the days
of my larval crawling.

And finally the spreading.
My new wings. Oh, too soon!
Shivering, twitching,
in my eager insistence
to show off,
lusting to wear only the dawn,
for another—
as hunters were too near
and a mate so far, so far away.
A slim chance already,
yet a fate I’d dare to give chase.

The Sun and rain were kind,
I remember them soft
on my limbs,
as I flourished the ornament
of my brilliant false face—
red eyes leering from a void
to frighten dangers away.
Though one hunter
saw through my disguise
—And we raced! We raced!

With just enough time
to escape,
I was maimed—
my pride was cut,
veins torn.
Born to fly, yes,
but, too, my flight was worn.
Wan but ardent still.
Still ardent!

But long, too long,
to the Summer land,
late to the promised dance—
A sorry thing
with tattered wing,
none would give
even a pitying glance.
What chance for such offspring
as mine?
A curse.
Oh, so scarred, so unlucky
and brutally lamed.

So I found one last blossom,
to sip
and rest my spanning shame.
Slowly fanning in the breeze,
watching the pairs flit away.
Their pristine art
gifted with gilded frame—
blessing
from that kindly, setting Sun

—Before I could offer claim
my scar was proof:
Oh, how swift I did run!
Oh, how bright I did run!
Life—full, mauled, magnificent.
Oh, Butterfly,
how I did run.

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Aug 22

Aw, thank you! And for putting the feed together :)

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Aug 22

remembering what needs to be remebered, against a regime that is happy to erase us.

June 12th, 2016: 49 people were murdered, and 53 people maimed, for daring to live in defiance of conservative religion.

We will not be erased.

#poetry #art #writingcommunity
💛🤯

a Pulse that was and is

a Pulse that was and is

the pulse of the night
Thump—Thump—Thump
libations
liberation
Bump—Bump—Bump
and grinding heels
into a dance floor
sweating
sweethearts
dancing with abandon
like no one cares
Bop—Bop—Bop
primal
proud
Bang—Bang—Bang
like the sound of bullets—

the sound of bullets
Bang—Bang—Bang
boldly
bloody
so the rhythm goes
screaming
Run! Run! Run!
hidden
hunted
cries of goodbye, calling home
for loving
for living
the pulsing stopped
on that night—
not forever—

defiant hearts are beating
Thump—Thump—Thump
persisting
existing
through all of the bleeding
to dance like free again
and again
and again

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Aug 21

The Riverbanks are Spilling

#poetry #art #writingcommunity
💛🤯

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Aug 20

in frame

#poetry #art #writingcommunity

in frame

caught up in looking,
the mirror on the wall
offers only the now
returned, alone—

craving the camera’s hunger
to see us swallowed
deep in a mouth of glass,
to last in frame
longer than allowed.

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Aug 13

Have I done enough for them yet?

#Poetry #Art #WritingCommunity

Have I done enough for them yet?

All fleshy and plump.
This one, horizontal still.
Hours, I’ve poked at it.
Glared at it.
I’m right here!
Seize me!
Maybe the pane is limiting
just how bright my slice
through curtain shade…
They can be clever, some,
when they want relief.
The long arc of a dog day—
my shift nearly through.

And I’ve still a quick break
of evening cloud cover due,
but how would I love
to be used—
to warm their souls
as red as bare skin.
Especially this one.
Or was it that one?
Well, all of these:
alone under covers,
turning over and over,
making me feel already sunk
into my lower solstice.

-J.A.Miller

jojo mills @jojomills.bsky.social · Aug 12

Or whatever

#poetry #art #writingcommunity

Or whatever

It breathes in good,
the elephant ears
and kettle corn,
summer break,
steaming into an easing sky.

I didn’t know the math
of boyhood crushes.
Do I give you some of my ride tickets,
or do boys only go Dutch?

I never knew how many
things a hand must always be doing;
my hand stuck in a busy attraction line,
jumping to hold yours
if we slip out of sight.

Paint me into it,
like candy-apple red on tongues.
All lavender and neon
and circling the world
in a Ferris wheel carriage.
May as well be tied to the evening moon,
high as I was, my temple to yours.
And in boyhood math,
of crushes,
4 tickets each was enough
for a trip around forever.
And not nearly enough.

Or, whatever.

-J.A.Miller