Fly Talks . . . Pillow Walks: Spirited Stories from a Poetic Mind

By Jaye B Whyles

Whimsical at times heart-expanding, imploding, exploring, Fly Talks Pillow Walks reflects the varied nature of day-to-day life looked at in a slanted perspective. The author ties together moments of inspiration, loss, and sheer glee to a lyrical backbone of spirited prose that toes the line between poetry and spoken-word storytelling.

Soul poetress takes everyday life experiences connects them to the divine.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press
• Release date: Aug 12, 2016
• ISBN: 9781504351058

Jaye B Whyles

Sixty-five year old, Minnesotan-born author wandered into magnetic-domed Sedona, Arizona, in 1976 and has remained there ever since. She is widowed, mother of a son, and second mom to a daughter. Her motivation for writing is to offer sui generis presence, everyone having “one of kind” artistry to share.

Book preview

1

Fly Talks

There was this

fly, you see … and it was

a-bothering me. So i asked buzz

lord, might this be one of yours? Heard

no reply, squashed that fly. Felt

no regret, nor fear. Just relief

that bug was outta here.

Happened a

glance to where its little

body lay. Stared at it, wondering

. . . oh, my gosh, what would

albert schweitzer

say?

When from this tiny

pile of broken remains, a

phantom body rose

and winged its way to the end

of my nose. What!? i croaked, hardly

believing what in fact could

still be breathing. A body of light

it was now, hovering just

beneath my brow.

I thought you

had died, fly, says i.

Died? Give me a break, the

fly replies. Nothing real dies, just

the part bound up in lies. Zabbity zoops

. . . oops! It was gone!

So, now i’m

wondering, did i really

kill a fly or just stop the buzzin’

of a lie? No hate had i for that little

guy, or did i? For certainly, i had

been distraught at what it

had been doing.

Perhaps this

pesky fly, had been

a thought. That if i had

pondered it, i would not have

drudged up from the dregs of

subconscious musings. Nor brought

into being through wrong minded

choosing. Then dismissed with

a conscious slap, the

undoing.

Now maybe, i

understand the existence

of this fly. For both its beginning

and ending, have they not come from

the chaotic workings of this

mind of i?

That’s

all, thinketh …

pondereth

. . . unthinketh, then

rethinketh, i.

2

Black Widow Lover

I recite the fly poem

to friend, marcus. He casually

states, he avoids killing insects, though

he’s aware of unconsciously putting to rest

millions of microscopic organisms

every time his foot meets

the ground.

Mentions a

black widow spider

and her web, just outside

his door, he’s adopted as a

pet. Then calls me, the

fly killer.

Begins with

flies and then what’s

next? Beetles, bats, then

squirrels?

I enjoy

the good natured

jab and turn to walk away

when he motions me

back. Apparently, something

more surfaces that

needs airing.

Several evenings

ago, a moth found entry

inside his apartment. He caught it

as daylight faded to near gone. Released

it outside. The instant the moth took

flight, a bat swooped in

and snatched it.

The following

evening, the same type

of moth came inside. Once

again, marcus caught it, stepped

outdoors, tossed it into

the air. This time, a

bird snagged it.

What is that

all about? he asks.

I say, i think

it means that birds

and bats eat moths. As i

wander off, amused, i whisper

inaudibly, moth killer!

About a year

later, marcus updates his

black widow spider story. Surprise

to hear the arachnid still alive, i ask, how

long has it been there … and

where, actually, is it?

Just outside my

door, main entry. About

two years now.

Web and all? He

nods. Really, i marvel. For

some reason, didn’t ask about

possible hatchlings from trysts with

males or if these romeos had

been eaten, soon

after.

During the telling

of this tale, another memory

surfaces of a recent rescue story

he told to me prior, when he saved a

spider while shopping in a home

improvement store.

He, engaged

in conversation with

fellow customer, watched

a spider dangle down from the

ceiling. Land, then crawl along the metal

mesh of a cart. The man was about to kill it

when marcus spoke up. No, don’t do

that! Cupped it in his hands, took

it outside and released it on

a flowering bush.

Still under the belief

he doesn’t intentionally kill

insects, all the more surprised, am i, to

hear the latest news. Out of concern the

widow has enough to eat, he set about

tossing live flies and moths into her

net. Explains how he catches them without

mushing, because they need to be alive

and wiggling to alert her that

mealtime has come.

I walk

away, relishing

the discrepancy. Under

my breath, a soft utterance …

fly killer, murderer of moths, black

widow lover.

3

Spirit Guide

Have a hunch

my spirit guide is fly

with strong competition

from mosquito. Waiting list for

dragonfly, hummingbird … lifetimes

long as well the lines for eagle

and coyote, wolf or raven.

Fly won out

cause blood sucking

culex would have sent me over