Jill Domschot: I found your website by accident, and I was inspired by the poetry of Charlotte Mew. I'd never heard of her; my favorite poet in the past has been Emily Dickinson.

I've written poetry most of my life, but gave it up at about age twenty-two, because I decided prose was superior. I'm now 26 and trying to value poetry again. I'm mother of two, and have written two books, as yet unpublished. The poems below were written at age 18 or so; I can't remember. Obviously, my poor memory is not due to age--merely to daydreaming and the affects of caring for children under age five.

I have lived most of my life on or near the Oregon coast; now I live in small-town New Mexico.

a sonnet

You told me of my hard-nosed love
That ground the stone to sand and sea,
Out past where onion grass grows tough,
Where live the still anemones.

You stole the spines from urchin backs,
From brackish pools of blood-star bright
And left the thorny sides intact,
Then cast star-board to close-hauled nights.

The spines looked weathered round my neck
For fishermen with netted hands
To see how bitter beauty breaks
In bays where tides precede the land.

And now you're netted hands rust o'er,
The stone is ground, and I am poor,

Copyright 2000 by

a free form poem

La estrellita from the sea,
The starry, slapping northern sea
That slaps its ryeful face and leaves.

How black lies the northern water,
How gold the old face of thunder--
Washing stones with broken laughter.

Donde es de estrellita?
Soy del norte, del viento.
Se la mar y la nortada.

Se la rosa y la cara
De la chica del viento.
Rose dulce, amarilla!

The roses have been cut for her,
The eye of heaven blinks at her,
The yellow sea is in her hair.

La estellita from the sky,
A star-point of the eye of Christ
That stretches out the bones of time.

La estrellita from the sea,
Swallowed by the salt-drawn water,
The pot blackened belly of sea.

The steepled sky points to the star,
Its hands are crossed in bitter light
And caught up in its yellow hair.

Cristo del cielo negro,
Cambie la mar, su car.
Venga aqui al gran fondo!

Copyright 2000 by Jill Domschot

Villanelle For a Windy Day

I hadn't really thought about the wind,
Although it flaps the sails of may ships,
But now it brings the sea into my mind.

I saw a ship that had three sails to bind,
While still at bay, the three sails cracked like whips--
I hadn't really thought about the wind.

This ship was held at bay for lengths of time
That in my soul I longed for stormy trips--
The wind, it brought the sea into my mind.

And I would smell the creosote and brine,
And feel the wind, and taste it on my lips--
I hadn't really thought about the wind.

I'd only thought of sunshine on the lines
Which anchor in the sails of many ships;
I hadn't really thought about the wind,
And now it brings the sea into my mind.

Copyright 2000 by Jill Domschot


I sent you cosmos on the hill
And stood before the gate
That rusted in the morning time,
As though the night were late.

I rattled Sweet Pea on the stalk
And glory in the vine,
I knelt before the one-eyed saint
That bowed the columbine.

I saw the light between the slats--
I saw you sleeping there--
Between the slats of darkness,
Upon the summer briar.

The blue eyes nod without me;
I knock upon their door,
With yellow roses from the sea
Set inside my hair.

Copyright 2000 by Jill Domschot