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Phyllis Jean Green

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· Carrboro Poetica

· Above and Below

· Spinning Straw: the Jeff Apple Story

Short Stories
· Scrawny Kid Clerked at Thrifty

· Euceless Laughs, Y O U Laugh {Capice?}

· This is Your Lucky Day by Euceless Liesalot

· Christmas Fax for da Broads in da Audience

· Flashing

· Owner Will Repair Kitchen Floor {flash humor}

· Courting Able

· Amnesty International Pressing for More Anti-Rape Legislation

· Bullying has no Place in a Democracy

· Calling Dr. Mengele, Calling Dr. Mengele

· Show and Tell by Karen Vanderlaan - Review

· Valley of the Shadow by Sybil Austin Skakle - Review

· Courage in Patience by Beth Fehlbaum -- a Review

· Heart Attack Symptoms Differ for Men and Women -- Read and Share!

· If you Have Been Kidnapped or Abducted --A Letter from Someone who Cares

· RICO for Kids - Help Missing Children, U.S.A.

· Reason to Celebrate! {re O N E's impact re suffering in Africa}

· Listen to Your Muse, Then get up an' do Your Thing

· Poem an Inside Job

· Vicks, Flannel, and Great Expectations?

· Rumor January 19, two Thousand Thirteen

· Snow Night with Bird

· Gunned Down

· Shape Shifter

· Fought Tooth and Nail, I Know You {for Ellie}

· Night-Light

· We are Here to Tell You

         More poetry...
· Featured in Creative Thinkers International!

· Second Appearance in Leann Marshall's Sketch Notes

· New Appearance in The Yarn Spinner

· Bullying has no Place in a Democracy Featured at Creative Thinkers Intnl

· Poem to Appear in Sketchbook

· Poems to Appear in Sensations' 21st Century Issue

· In Richard Lee King's The Price of Freedom

Phyllis Jean Green, click here to update your web pages on AuthorsDen.

  9,104,205,830 and Count
by Phyllis Jean Green
Monday, December 19, 2005
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Recent poems by Phyllis Jean Green
•  Listen to Your Muse, Then get up an' do Your Thing
•  Poem an Inside Job
•  Vicks, Flannel, and Great Expectations?
•  Rumor January 19, two Thousand Thirteen
•  Snow Night with Bird
           >> View all 483

...almost the nine millionth revision of this prose poem. Hope it is finally. . .halfway there? Peace!

Nine billion, one hundred and four million, two hundred and five thousand, eight hundred and  thirty sisters and brothers cling to Earth.  Give or take.    Pollsters "extrapolate."   Big word meaning guess.  Nailed it with statistics and damned statistics.    Snowshoe Siberia and machete jungles pollsters "forget,"  find number nine billion, one hundred and four million, two hundred and five thousand, eight hundred and thirty-one.   Couple more holed in a bar on Staten Island.   Vegas?   So why linger over hands impressed a long-buried tomb?  Hear sobs echo.   CRACK.   Suddenly important to erect a screen.  Play at Tut playing teacher.   "Put up your hands and don't put them down until I call your name."   Each student wonders if she or he will be allowed to stand tall.   Be acknowledged?   Could be hauling Sphinx-heavy block.  This way we get a few yuks. Talk a little trash, send Short Straw for beer and cloves?   CRACK.   Choking, and it isn't all from the dust.   Try another joke.   See their eyes, see kohl-circled smoulders.  Cross Omar Sharif's with George Clooney's.  Women all Cleopatras ala Liz Taylor sporting contacts and dressed to kill.  Reek White Diamonds.   CRACK    CRACK    Dust to dust rankles more and more.   Names dotting stone.   Scroll to pontification.   Please.   Bring back a mouth.   Ears, legs, sex.   Something.   Tell us if home was mud-brick or cage.   Not enough to end calipered and tweezed by a grime-coated archeological buff for tv.    Potsherds  and bling can't grin.   Goofy smirk saying head-over-heels.   Thighbone a slap next to splitting to give birth.   Counting ten tiny fingers, ten tiny toes.   Skull or pelvic depression can't mouse under a bed to thrill to moans and thrashes.    Give us the sea-tonguing odor of yielding, demanding, or fighting-to-free flesh.   Close-up, please.   You over there with the squint.   Uncorrected vision?   Oh, well.   Sweat renders glasses useless.  Only slide down.    Some of you suffer from break-outs, looks like.  Cry No justice, too?    Longfingers' second toes protrude from unraveling sandals.   Other feet bare.   Blisters break, pus runs. Wardrobe,  put all in whisper-soft.   Breathing  cotton stamped with reflections side-walking free.   Come, sidle into our time machine.   Stop at war museums for perspective.   Case after case of spectacles, love letters,  pliers to pull teeth.   CRACK-shattered buttons, tags, pails for leeches, tatterdemalion flags.    Touch-proof dummies in bullet-holed uniforms.  Blood now dun.   Talk to us, soldier   Tell us you chose sobs and cracks.  Weren't trained to raise your hand for a machine?  To be one?   Mine slash blade slash gun slash bomb get you?   Had friends, right?   Someone sewed your clothes, someone waved?    Blew a kiss?   Shop, or was Life a farm?    Rice or potatoes your thing?   Art or accounting?  Doctor, medicine man?   Allergies-?   Scar above your elbow was where you fell from a tree?   Tatts-?   Did your eyes light before. . .where did everybody go?

Seeds of Peace

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Reviewed by Karla Dorman, The StormSpinner 1/22/2008
Oh, (((Pea))), the FORCE with which you write!!!!!!!!!!! Life flashes before, and then, it's gone, never to be remembered...until now. Thank you, for the ride of my life! Excellent.

(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Reviewed by Aberjhani 12/20/2005
Geez, what a thunder-filled blast of brilliant consciousness straight from the seat of the poet's soul into the rest of the world's face! Thanks for sharing this excellent write and inspiring my pen to stop being lazy:-)
Reviewed by Pierre Ortega 12/19/2005
Where did love go, and how has the world buried compassion? What happened to sweetness? what happened to caring? And where do we go from here? Excellent. Pierre.
Reviewed by Carmen Ruggero 12/19/2005
I've read this prose poem about five times and I know if I come back to read it again, I'll get more information out of it. But if I was dying and life flashed before my eyes, and in a split second I had to make sense of everything that had affected my life going back to WWII, I think it would read like this and in on my last breath I'd probably think, if I had time: "where did everybody go?" and what has all that changed?

Carmen :-)
Reviewed by Carole Mathys 12/19/2005
I too, have to agree that Sage about said it all...
interesting and thought provoking Pea, as always... and peace
Reviewed by Nordette Adams 12/19/2005
This prose poem makes me think of an empathic experience where the world rushes in and through you with images and voices, colors, blood, spit, shit, horror, pins of lights zooming in and past and you weep to dehydration.
Reviewed by Tinka Boukes 12/19/2005
Sage said it all...I cannot even pronounce that count.....toooo much for my pea size brain!!

Love Tinka
Reviewed by Sage Sweetwater 12/19/2005
Mad Max Beyond the Thunderdome and Escape from New York futuristic post-nuke where Cherry 2000 mannequins strut about with computer chip build-your-own-cyber doll! She'll even *&%$#*. Walk like an Egyptian, talk like a New Yorker, sip a dram of Russian Vodka to keep Siberia from freezing caribou sandals with a frame, teach these people something about the Pyramids, teacher. The STRENGTH of those rock-building bronzed people!! Straws came later after ale in the earthen jug, old-world gourmet hops, WHEW!! Hollywood stars violet eyes and beauty marks on the walk of fame, rich fragrance of White Diamonds a pheromone for sure, Omar's bald and Clooney's after-five shadow, gorgeous male Holly and Wood erections, prisoners of war in a bamboo cage, Inca potsherds in mud-brick, Uncle Mo picked cotton for our ribbons and bows, purple hearts and jawbreaker replica bombs in gun's 'n roses war and garden museums, tombs of the unknown soldiers and the Wall in D.C. massive epitaph too numerous to scroll, my grandpa willed me his Korean bayonet still stained with blood of the enemy, the seamstress, tailor, and cobbler keep us in friendly haberdashery, kissing the stained-breeze chinook wind, novelist, poet, shaman, healer, allergies gone from Chinese acupuncture and bee-sting therapy. No tats visible, but piercings you don't want to see, the fire in my eyes lit before and after, Apocalyptic reunion in an underground city maybe in New York where the Lady in the Harbor is still standing. Preserve these words in myrhh and wrap them in timeless ancient embalming potions and slip them into a safe cavity of a sarcophagus for public viewing, Pea.


Books by
Phyllis Jean Green

Carrboro Poetica

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Above and Below

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Spinning Straw: the Jeff Apple Story

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  1. courage
  2. Life and a Love
  3. I'm So Happy
  4. Water Baby
  5. The Usual Infirmities
  6. Beach Bum
  7. in honor of
  8. It Came Out From The Fog
  9. Poetry Causes Insightfulness
  10. Unreachable Expectations
  11. Contemplation
  12. We Were One
  13. I Wish I Could Tell You...
  14. Poem: You Made Me Rot
  15. Our Choices
  16. Begin Again
  17. Recovery
  18. Fancy Tree
  19. Blue Morpho
  20. New Life

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