| Convinto |
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| Hey! My name's Jessica Moyer and here can be found my writing and all that pertains to it. Have fun looking around and feel free to contact me with any comments. email- mjlfanatic@yahoo.com |
| Copyright Jessica Moyer, 2004 |
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| Writing News... Click for links of my web publishings. I recently placed second in a county wide poetry competition an dhave been featured in Teen Ink once again. |
| Remember to check out the More Poetry page because I'll be adding some poetry to there that you haven't and won't ever see here. Also you can find a short story of mine that might change periodically at Short Story. And there's Quotes and book Reviews |
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| Other pgs: Sketches Reviews More Poetry Short Story |
| mjlfanatic@yahoo.com aol sn- convinto jm |
| Smooth Jazz She is smooth jazz. My love for her a fresh snowfall. Her touch fire on my icy skin. Too bad I prefer rough rock 'n roll warm summer sand and won't risk getting burned. |
| Sample Delights Catch the evasive meanings when you send the soul to sample the delights of carefully arranged words. |
| I'd love feedback esp on newer ones which I'm usually still unsure about... |
| Links to other people's poetry (with their permission of course) Jana's Poetry |
| Visions on Soft Grass The shadows of dusk lean heavy on the evening sky as I fall to soft grass. My mind plays a smooth jazz tune painting for me a picture, the neon lights of a smoky joint where the song would be choice number twenty-three on the jukebox. A twenty something, real pretty and a touch less innocent than she'd like would start to sway her hips unconsciously. All this blurs as I fade to sleep because the past makes me weary. |
| Just Around, 'Til Tomorrow Running home with wet sneakers from the lake chased by a boy who grew up all too fast. The summer heat settles thick in the air. You know tomorrow will be a day for last good-byes as childhood friends set out for the rest of their lives. But for the moment you gasp at the muggy air. Knowing you're not really running from anything because children don't run anywhere, just around, and you promised not to be a woman 'til tomorrow |
| Oh So Obselete Watching her hands, I think if I have only one regret (I don't think I could handle more) let it be that I didn't learn how to make magic, make music pour from me through ivory keys and my own hands (which would fit far less perfectly than hers upon the piano) Because if I had, I could let the world hear the sounds of my tears while my eyes remained mercifully dry (I'm oh so tired of crying) and my forever inadequate pen untouched upon the table I could give form to the many loves so deep (I want to know so badly if they feel it too) I cannot express with my simple words I think, please, just give me the medium I could never master and I'll never write a single word more (because each one would be oh so obsolete) |
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| Passing with Love Every Tuesday and Saturday night for twenty odd years she sings breathy jazz and earthly soul to a tipsy mass of twenty or forty, and I, am always there. She's dreamed too hard and too loud for me to sit quiet waiting at home. So each night i bring a red rose of consolation and she gushes its everything she's wanted but she'll die with regrets and i'll still be wishing i could have been enough. |