American poet

Snapshot Dreams

/ jill autrey dorman
Photo by Tina Nord

Pages of snap shots in my dreams.


I rise early in the morning a few seconds post dawn. The melted butterscotch sky is streaked with baby blue and left over indigo. A nice squall blew up last night and the sand has no footprints in it. The sand dunes are pregnant with sea oats. The oats, my favorite tropical grass, sway charmingly in the breeze and quietly support the island with their roots. The large oats smell like salt and theirs stalks tall and sleek weave into grass.


Just in a snap spot of my dreams I take off running from shore as the rain begins. I dash and grab my laundry on the clothes line.. At that moment your camera just happened to find my face and you say,” your eyes are blue- gray, like seawater.” I close my eyes. When I open them you are gone.
Shutter stop.

The Knockout Punch

/ jill autrey dorman
Photo by Musa Ortau00e7

The knockout punch…

I have eaten nothing in three days.

The pain in my chest is a slow agony.

I have no memory of warmth with others of my kind.

Although fading, my longing drives my soul forward.

A primal memory of Joy beats like a captured bird in my brain.

Yet somehow I know Him and see the full Glory of God.

So she called the name of the Lord who spoke to her, “You are a God of seeing,” for she said, “Truly here I have seen him who looks after me. Genesis 16:13

Watercolor Garden

/ jill autrey dorman

Camellias are blooming stout and ruffled in oh so many rosy shades of pinks!

Azalea bushes lay a thick carpet for Gulf summer heat and rain.

The golden-green sea oats weave and spin the island’s core in an endless ballet.

All the while, the Faithful Morning Glories, pink and yellow, vine along the sand like a hodgepodge of holiday lights.

The salt sits thick upon my skin and hair.

I am baptized in a wave and the horizon melts into carnival colors of pulled taffy in my Watercolor Garden.

High School Fiction

/ jill autrey dorman / 1 Comment
Photo by Polina Zimmerman

These high school halls are not hallowed halls but they are unsurpassed in the scheme of life lessons….Truth and Fiction …

Remember that boy with the unfortunate eyebrows hurrying down the hall as if afraid or embarrassed? He was.

Remember that girl passing a note to her “steady” guy declaring her undying devotion because he said he “loved” her? He did not.

Remember when you thought a certain friend’s family seemed so perfect? They were not.

The stereo- types still linger in these tales of fiction. Fifty years later and I can name them all by heart.

We all wanted to be (well most of us) to be prettier, cuter, thinner, funnier, taller, shorter, darker, lighter, a better singer, a better dancer, the beauty queen, the sports star, the math genius, or the valedictorian.

I guess it is like the “Breakfast Club” and the “Big Chill” movie all rolled up together. (we did have the best music though). I always felt like the adults in my days of high school tried to minimize the harshness of the unspoken boundaries. There are many people that I admired from afar and would have like to have known better but there was also a nagging burden of exposure.

Ends up that about ninety-nine percent of High School Fiction left some of us hurt and even wounded and that is where reality steps in. No, we had not yet let our tender souls relax in the discovery zone of finding there is no such thing as perfect. How could we know that what lay ahead would require a lot more truth and a little less comparison?

Just saying…

When Trials Come…

/ jill autrey dorman

When hardship comes your way, will you tell yourself it’s a tool of God’s grace and a sign of his love, or will you give in to doubting his goodness? Paul Tripp

Photo by James Wheeler

When the road seems shorter than before.

Wherever you turn there is no open door.

Your life is in convulsions like vomit on the floor.

All the paperwork of your life is yellowed and rotted.

Is the God’s grace of love or is it cruel?

Who do you worship and let rule you?

Will you head for the hills of Babylon?

Look for ways to numb your sorrow?

Will you turn to the One who made you?

Will you cry out and hang on to your pew?

Will you doubt God’s goodness in the dross?

Will you walk away or toward the cross?

Riding on the Wing of a Plane

/ jill autrey dorman

Photo by Mark Neal

Blackbird screaming in the top of a tree, the Sun goes passing by.

A full moon shines at the crossing in the road exposing all the lies.

Good girl hiding in the alley in the night, she’s praying no one sees.

Looking for love in the darkness, now alone, it’ll bring you to your knees.

Our children are riding on the wing of a plane, the want to try to die.

Looking for peace from pain in their lives, they’d rather crash then try.

Poor boy in hell at the top of a bridge, he’s praying he can flying.

He’s looking for love in the water down below, it wasn’t in his daddy’s eyes.

Can this bring us around or does history say we lose,?

Does the Cross mean no one goes to Hell or do we have to choose?

Hope for today and tomorrow in not gone, nor does it fall asleep.

Jesus is waiting for us to seek His face and only there will we find peace.

High Desert Winter

/ jill autrey dorman

Photo by Adriatik Rudari

High desert winter.

White-out blizzard coming soon.

Laura Nyro on my stereo.

She warns me of the heartache coming on.

Wood burning stove keeps me warm.

Laura’s voice does the rest.

We got the blues and got it bad.

Wrapped in my Navaho blanket

Still shivering to my soul.

Henry Bridge (We Belong to the Day)

/ jill autrey dorman

Photo by iPhone Photography

Sitting on the Henry Bridge watching the river run.

A little boy is skipping river rocks beneath the glitter of the Sun.

Autumn breezes gold and ruby red decorate the beaver’s dam.

A little girl hold her baby doll making sweet life plans.

We belong to the day free to be living in a symphony.

Walking of of the night no more darkness to see.

We belong to the day.

No sorrow left to see.

We belong to the day.

Observation of a Friend

/ jill autrey dorman
Photo by Jan Krnc

She walks like a warrior, straight-backed and crown high. Yet, humble.

Her avian eyes propel with the speed of light. Yet, no guile is found in her.

Her strong and steady hands caress a heated brow or wield a sword.

She walks like a warrior. Her sword discreetly at her side.

She is wise and does not invite chaos into her life.

She equips herself with helmet and shield, both righteous and redemptive.

She walks like a warrior. She is keenly aware of the night.

She nimbly opens the lantern that guides her path.

She walks with a quiet understanding of how this goes. Yet, she delights in Hope.

And every day she wakes and walks like a warrior.

Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil.  For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness…

Ephesians 6:10-12