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Jayne Hollander Poem
Stark pineapple sap burns the tips of tongues
and tackies the soft pads of curious fingers.
Humidity that moistens the laughing brows
also drenches nervous palms.
Everything is damp and hot and on fire and sweet.
Sticky fingers course my arm, eyes glide over
my body~ half naked, glimmering with summer dew
do-
do you love me?
Say that love conquers all,
and that you won’t clobber my pulsing flesh.
Say you will not love me.
I only want respect.
For I have learned I may only choose
one of the two states.
Keep lying out of your sweet pineapple mouth
saying you do not love me.
and kiss me, trail your syrupy lips down
down my
skin~ lush and liquid
until that very body trickles.
And smile with your treacled mouth once the tap stops dripping sap
and say you do not love me.
And hold me in June-night’s heat.
Bare and sandy feet run wild across the summer beach
and unworthy mouths will dance the citrus dance tonight.
And the pineapple is almost run out.
and I am pulsing faster now
Quickly~
make sure you do not love me.
Copyright © Jayne Hollander | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Jayne Hollander Poem
Tall, strong oak tree
Tall, beautiful branches
I used to admire
Its fluttering leaves and supple wood
Only it is rotten on
The inside
Meet me at midnight, tonight
You bring the ropes,
I’ll bring the notes
I never break a pinky promise
We’re gonna flee this place
And leave ‘em speechless
At the sight of two corpses
Swinging from their tree.
The whispers in this town-
have always been too loud.
The things they say about
our kind of love,
We can run away together.
I’ll see you when the light grows dim.
We’ll pen our words for
the very last time.
And when the morning comes,
They’ll find us hanging
from the tree.
You and me.
And we are free to love in heaven.
It is this rotten soil that is keeping us apart.
Copyright © Jayne Hollander | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Jayne Hollander Poem
There is burnt wood in this house,
building up the walls, charcoal and brown
There are damp spots on the carpet,
struggling to dry as the time passes-
filling this home with a mildew scent.
Your hands- they smell of butane
as you paint over the stripped and slivered
walls- Candy-chick yellow. Why Yellow? Why him?
Your smile is all shiny, with sweat.
Your eyes are pleading, mascara running
There are no contracts between a mother and daughter
so you didn’t breach it.
"There were no colours in your face,
so I didn’t bleach it."
There is a crackle in your honesty,
a small break in the promise,
A dusty speech that’s thick
with dead things.
Dead things- I am one
Burnt and brittle-boned, lying on the charred carpet.
You bring flowers in to cover-up the odor,
fuel seeps into my veins,
Building up to a great big crunch
I want to step on all your flowers.
Rupture all your olive branches.
But I will conclude in a smile,
wiping crisp flesh from my body
leaving raw and welted skin- red and wanting,
and help you paint the walls
Candy-chick Yellow.
Copyright © Jayne Hollander | Year Posted 2026
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