By Jewel Kilcher
I have discovered that no longer all poetry lends itself to song -- a few recommendations must be sung in basic terms opposed to the silence. There are softer and not more tangible part[s] of our selves which are so necessary to peace, to openheartedness, to unfolding the imaginative and prescient and the religious realm of our lives, to exposing our souls. - Jewel, From the Preface Writing poems and holding journals when you consider that early life, Jewel has been trying to find fact and that means, turning to her phrases to checklist, to find, and to mirror. In an evening with no Armor, her first selection of poetry, Jewel explores the hearth of past love, the fading of ardour, the giving of belief, the teachings of betrayal, and the therapeutic of intimacy.She delves into issues of the house, the relief of kinfolk, the wonderful thing about Alaska, and the dislocation of divorce. after which there are the photographs of the line, the folk, the bars, the planes, areas unique and mundane, loneliness and friendship. Frank and sincere, critical and all of sudden playful, an evening with out Armor is a skilled artist's intimate portrait of what makes us uniquely human.
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A. Dark secrets h u n t i n g h e r insides, softness sucked out, a deep sadness i n h e r eyes. 29 I he blow /Vligration aciers The slow migration of glaciers unfolding through the centuries their heavy wing burdened with all the weight of the earth they move and carve and breathe swollen rivers thick with soot my pony and I drawing deep sharp breaths as we cross submerged in all that is natural and Holy To r u n free with you once more to let my hair tangle itself in a wind that knows only motion to lose my heart once again in the thorns of primrose on the plains of Fox River Valley lost in a maze of Timothy and Blue Grass hay.
H e b l e n d s it with a m a c h i n e that wakes me every m o r n i n g . It makes a l o u d growl. H e is w o r r i e d , I think, he won't make it to my h i g h school g r a d u a t i o n . O u t s i d e , winter swallows my footsteps as quickly as they are laid, which makes m e cry. 43 Dylan I had a dream last night that a little girl came to me. Her hair was a halo of warm light and color dripped off her tongue She was your daughter and in her I saw the fruit of everything I'd ever fought for or believed in, or dreamt of.
He reads people's palms. " 36 1966 I turned off the TV. Looked out of my window to the streets below. Dry sidewalks. A line had straightened up stiff as uncut ribbon beneath a sign that read Army Headquarters. I stared at the boys' faces. They looked itchy and awkward like my brother's. I don't know what kept them in that line, the sun was hot and unrelenting. I wondered if my brother would stand in line, too. I wondered if it would take him somewhere. I wondered if all the brothers in all the world were leaving, and if there would only be us sisters left to occupy the empty rooms with doll clothing and postcards.