Cancer and Sagittarius
You were
hardened shell
weathered
ready to show a tough exterior to life.

I was
soft outside
easily damaged
unprepared to face life with such thin skin.

a hermit crab wanders about
defenseless
soft
searching for security
protection
a home.

it finds a shell,
a little too big,
lots of room to grow
  change
  to get comfortable.

ahh,
inside is warmth,
safety.

seasons change,
the crab grows
the shell aqueezes tight
both need more space.

The crab investigates the possibility of a new shell-
upon returning,
finds the shell occupied by another...
the fit is not as snug
or as warm
or as comfortable.

Jean A. Miller
c. 7/4/91

Jean's Poetry Page
Roby

need
ing
him
will
never
be
lazy
I
boil
scream
worship
trudge
sweat
shake
heave
stare
sit
but
cry
not.

-Jean A. Miller
c. 1995

Dive In
Ahh...
to feel the cool waves
reach up to kiss my fevered brow,
to feel the wind caress my hair.
To be young again,
a child
uninhibited by life
unafraid to dare,
take a chance...
Dive into the waves.
What wonderful days...
wishes came true,
(so I thought)
but who cared
anyway,
if they did not?
It was enough
to make the wish
to dream the dream
to see the promise of a new dawn.
It was enough
to feel the cool waves
to feel the wind.
Enough
just to dive in at all.

-Jean A. Miller
c. 7/28/89
Missing Roby
I,
weak from life,
never pictured you
shadow-black
sleeping
like winter
but always so still
no moonlight.

I scream in my frantic dreams.
his smell is gone.

how mad those visions
leave me.

Jean A. Miller
c. 1/97
AIDS

slithering like the serpent
you are
you wind into my life again.

you greedy greedy snake
you steal things
squeeze them tight
the life drips from your victims
s l o w l y .


no mercy.


quiet like a stealth bomber
you enter the combat zone
undetected
you set about destroying your enemies
they know nothing.

they never even feel the deadly blow.

Jean A. Miller
c. 6/23/93


Alone With the Ducks

"I used to come here
to cry,"
you said softly.
I could see in you,
a grown man,
the small boy
you once were,
crying in the park
where the ducks are.
Crying with the ducks
because they were the only ones
who listened to you.

"I've always been lonely,"
you said.
I could see in you,
a grown man,
the small boy
you once were
sitting alone in the park
where the ducks are
so needing
so loving
so alone.

I was lonely, too,
but that was only
when I didn't have you.
Now,
neither of us
has to sit in the park
alone with the ducks.

Jean A. Miller
c. 3/15/86
Quest
I gaze around the dance floor-
bodies gyrating
smoke swirling, colored lights spinning
people seeking
    bumping
    grinding
    searching.
Tidal wave of torsos
odor of alcohol
cigarette smoke
(their burning tips candles on a sacrificial altar)
dance-sweating bodies
anonymous, still,
strangely inhibited in their ebb     and    flow.

Pulsing strobe lights
reveal the true nature of the dance-
phantoms moving
  touching
  caressing
haunted souls
yearning.

I make these observations
timidly.
I, too,
seek something
undefined.

I will not find it here.
These answers lie not in the music nor
the frenzy of the dance...
the questions are only allowed to surface when my tide is
low.

Jean A. Miller
c.6/23/91
Sign InView Entries
Popsicle Memories

8/22/91

Summer-baked air
blasting, scorching
cannot burn you from
my thoughts.
Each popsicle
has a story of you
frozen inside.
Every smoldering day
I sweat
I burn for days like this
from my other life
when you gave more to me
or was I just more grateful
for even the tiniest morsels
you tossed to me?

I want to feast.

I want to gorge myself
on you
so much so
that I would never want to
partake
again.

Carefully, I take my memories out
like photographs
and sort through them.
Some are out of focus
               blurry
some overexposed
off-balance
close-ups
distance shots...
I can't wait till winter
when I can take them all
out
wantonly
I will wrap them around
myself
a fur coat
smelling like Opium
and you
warm and cozy
touching me all over
not just the summertime graze.
Right now
it's too hot to hold them close...
I might get burned.

c. Jean A. Miller

The hands
silent but elegant
flowing and changing
fluidly
the language of sign.

c. Jean A. Miller  5/8/90
A sliver
luminescent and proud
floating and dancing
gracefully
the moon.

c. Jean A. Miller  5/8/90
A scourge
deadly and sinister
spreading and killing
eagerly
the AIDS virus.

c. Jean A. Miller  5/8/90
Keepsakes

Purple wishflakes
painstakingly cut
Hefalump pins
symbolically given
Glow-in-the-dark moon
spectral in the dim room

little trinkets
cherished and precious
line my life
memories
heart
soul.
Such miiscule tributes to
monumental moments,
mapping out my past
like breadcrumbs on a
pathway.

Promises made
a silver mermaid clutching a moonstone

Promises broken
a leather bracelet, well-worn, discarded...

Each treasure priceless
irreplaceable
unrecognizable
to the untrained eye.

I am the guardian of these gems.
Sit down. 
Get comfortable.
I'll weave a tale...
soon, you, too,
will see their value.

c. Jean A. Miller   11/4/90
Radiant color
blankets the ground brilliantly...
dawn of fall.

c. Jean A. Miller  5/14/90
Soul Revival

I hear the ocean
beckoning to my longing heart
I answer the call
without you by my side.

My mind recalls
other soul revivals such as
this...

the sound of your laughter
echoing across the sand
your touch on my shoulder
your hand holding mine
that look
"let's jump in!"
a glint in your eyes.

This trip is not the same.

c. Jean A. Miller    11/23/90