Thursday, May 31, 2012

The Real Thing

The Real Thing

“You ain’t called in a while,” he said.
“I didn’t want to get your little ass in trouble.”
She flipped her hair with a toss of her head,
Exposing a blade of an eye.

“You ain’t gonna git my ass in trouble.”
“Oh yeah,” she nodded assuredly,
“I got enough trouble for your little ass
And my big one, and maybe the whole damn county.”

He started in on his sweet talk routine,
His smile, like the age on fine whiskey.
She rolled her eyes, though he never noticed—
Blasé, been around that one twice since.

All the while his mouth was moving,
Her body, unmoved, uninterested,
Her brain took off, and went to a place
Where she could be anything but apathetic:

Hot in the throes of her fiery dark lover,
Rolled by the muscle of strong arm extortion,
Pounded like the waves crush their burden on the sand,
Never relenting passion, not for a breath or a cessation.

Her mind replayed the image for her body and her soul:
An abiding, continuous, ingrained connection
Branded in her memory, nothing else seemed sane or whole—
Only that forbidden soiree of complete release and resignation

To the unavoidable destiny that pulled her like a moth.
Certain death and excommunication would await,
And duly did the ability to bear the white flag table cloth
Die a writhing casualty, and her facades dissimilate.

For true surrender had exposed the beauty there within,
And no one could lie to her anymore, or ever would again.
For truth had come and shone the utmost place in her Reality.
All else fell shattered at her feet, and inside it, vain disparity.

And so this boy, not knowing well what danger he approached,
Kept talking smack and feeling smug, continuing his encroach,
Was startled, when she walked away without a word of reason,
His shallow smatterings all fell flat, no apology given.

Sometimes a fire of love burns deep, making all else pale.
Purification burns the dross, to the very deepest layer.
Sometimes Truth comes and bursts in upon you,
Making the worse case seem the better.

But once it’s come, no going back
To fallacy’s hiding places.
No more pretending to be sensitive
To normal’s dreary faces.

-jenn long

Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Paper Airplane

Paper airplane,
Lift and thrust,
The Law of
A higher
Law now reigns.

Fold my love
With wings and
Crease me within
Your sigh and shudder.
Soar me once again!

Weak forces
Of physics
Cannot ground.
When freeing
Can be found
We’ll fly like that plane.

-jenn long

I do! I do!

I do! I do!
Husbandman, make me a garden so fair.
Till it with a chisel plow.
Cultivate the soil.
Turn all the dead weeds.
Break up the bigger, harder clods.

Irrigate the plot
With artesian freshness.
Plant new potatoes, chives, and chard.
Build a sturdy fence
To keep out the rabbits
And deer from our garden.

Then permit me to go there
And spend my hours
Investing myself in the shade of the leaves,
Pruning and trimming, nourishing there,
Understanding the blooms,
And developing produce
Neath the spreading bounty
Of the flourishing fruit trees.

Give me the key to the garden gate.
Let me live in that glorious home of the soul.
Let there be peace always here between us,
As our minds continue to grow.

-jenn long

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

Highways and Hedges

In green country, Alfalfa sprouts
In the ditch, along the highway.
Bales and bales of the fluffy vetch
Wishing vainly to be mown.
Brown eyed, the Susan’s
Greet summer’s bright sunshine,
While trumpet vines bulge,
Begging to be blown.

They long to sound the signal out
To every able warrior:
“Are you willing to wage fierce battle now
Against the summer’s heat?”
They long to bugle out the announcement
Of the fiery new queen’s coronation,
Elbowing ambitiously to be noticed
For their prowess and their feats.

Fertile the fields where
The weather settles sultry,
Even the low places are
Graced by certain allure.
Nature crowns lovers
With sweat’s beaded glory,
Triumph to those willing to stoop and to mate,
To strive and swim against the stream,
To heal the passionate natural urges,
And war, kicking and squirming,
Against arranged culture.

Yes, these will dominate
The highways and hedges.
Creep! Under the fence and across the parallel,
Orderly rows.
Creep without artifice!
Out-do the weaker genetics:
The eunuched hybrids,
Prone to diseases,
The store-bought ilk which
The farmer sows!

But you are a king, and your kingdom fertile.
You! Patience will bear you long,
Til the lavender tops of the
Wild alfalfas
Reach the trumpets,
To teach them your song.

-jenn long

The Juggler's Assistant

The Juggler sits silent
In his dimly lighted camp,
Stone-faced solemn, peacefully
Folding a faded dollar bill.
Carefully creasing the origami:
Flying swan,
Neck extended,
Wings begin flapping,
He takes off in flight
Into tomorrow.

His mind soars easily,
Gliding over all the depth
Of his great people knowledge.
Experience takes him, alert,
Over the deep,
Where faces shine up to him
Out of the multitudes.
He translates their eyes
And their body language,
And begins to organize them
Into the files of his philosophies:
“This one is that type.”
That one another.”

But something stirs tonight
In the swirling flames
Embedded in his prophetic DNA.
It feeds off the gypsy deep within.
The leaves in the bottom of his cup align
In a mirrored pattern
To those he’s swallowed down into his soul.
The universe is brewing
Something wonderful for him;
He feels it pulling the shavings, even,
Divinely arranging his iron rich blood
And his destiny.

Three swans folded;
Three shows at tomorrow’s fair;
He will scan the shallows again,
Yearning for the deep,
Searching among the waders
For those eyes that also long for depth,
The true bohemian psyche that
He will be completely unable
To categorize.

Three tokens of kind appreciation—
For three lucky ones
Chosen out from the audience—
Each swan is folded in the hopes,
That offered to the One,
Will be the best saved for last.

-jenn long

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Unreasonable Reasons

Unreasonable Woman

Not expensive, these desires of mine—
Cheap, but not easy,
Costly perhaps, though, in various ways:

Just some wild flowers for my mason jar:
Golden Asters, long stemmed Daisies,
Pussy willow and Vinca spray,

Gallardias ragged,
And jagged Yarrow,
A few pale Thistles for me on my birthday.

But since November
Is cold and done,
Skies often gray, and chilled with hazy,

Could you possibly change my day,
Legally, on my birth certificate?
Move it to the time where the flower say,

“Love is in the air.
We decorate, so lazily,
Bright brilliance on display.”

Yes. Only this simple request fulfill
For me and happy will permeate.
Please. Sing my noel in May.

Then bring me sweet, lush Daffodils,
Wysteria, till I go crazy,
Cutting them mid-bloom at my feet,
To wish me “Happy Birthday.”

-jenn long

Can You Believe

Can you believe
That people still
Bind their feet
Into pointed shoes?
Squeeze their flattened guts into
Tight girdles,
And put bridle bits
Into their mouths to go
And sit so smugly
Self constrained,
Turning off their hearts and brains
So not to wake their souls?

Don’t you ever
Be conformed
To those whose eyes
The bloody worms
Have already gnawed.
The spirit born free
Can never be tamed.
It’s perfect,
Though it’s flawed.

Embrace whole self
Possessed within.
Enhance the liberty,
And please begin
To live your life.
Let nothing vex or annoy.
Condemn yourself not,
Nor ever repent YourSelf,
Or think your essence spent,
But revel in the breadth of it all
And enjoy.

-jenn long

No Wonder

The three fates sat so quietly!
An occasional mutter
In a language unknown.
Basic and guttural triplet tongue,
Unintelligible except amongst themselves was heard,
With an occasional sigh, or a bored sounding groan.

Hear the clacking of the pieces!
Like random dominoes plunked flat out!
A whisper here,
A twisted cackle,
They turn the puzzled chards about.

Two of the sisters get up distracted
By something more interesting than my mere life:
A novel challenge
With some pieces missing,
But they’re gonna try
To find him a wife.

Watching the one still dealing my fortune,
My eyes cut occasionally at the other two,
Wickedly obsessed
At yoking the poor fellow
To a witch of a nag,
A whining shrew.

They’re making up their own rules now,
Mixing the pieces from various boxes,
Cutting little “unimportant” nibbets
To force them to a semi-fit.
I hope they don’t try to pull that trick
Back at my life’s table.
The one fate’s moving very slowly,
But I don’t mind a bit.

She seems saner than the others
And has a scruple left in her—
Faithfully piecing, righting my design.
Lucky me! My destiny is coming together!

I can’t believe the gods sometimes!
No wonder we suffer hemorrhoids,
Tumors, and blisters!
No wonder our lives are so mismatched
And gruesome!
They hang in the balance of these immature sisters.

Saturday, May 26, 2012

First Love

First fruits are for Ishtar.
Bring your early onions,
Slenderly bulbous and
Lay them there.
Entwine them amongst my
Sweet peas vining,
The dainty white blooms
Wreathing my crown.

Offer your first thoughts
This chatterly morning.
Adorn my altar
With the blossoms of gourds.
Cover the tel
Of my swollen belly,
And pray to my sacred mounds.

First kiss is for Ishtar.
Undefiled lips,
Waking distilled anew
By the dew of the dawn.
Sweet, as the rivulets
Flow from Mount Hermon,
Refresh me with worship?
Your glisten, my gown?

-jenn long

Friday, May 25, 2012

Tractor Life

In my next life,
You’ll find me
Outstanding in my field,
Thinking not
A single thought,
Responding only
To the farmer’s touch,
Daily increasing his yield.

Do I refuse to go?
Maybe my propane level’s low.
The gears not moving
Back and forth?
PTO  and ampli-torque
Not fully engaged.
Push the lever.
Watch the rage, Mister!
I am a mere machine.

Hear that complaining
Grinding whine?
There’s a leak
In my hydraulic line,
And the fluids all seeped

Am I not starting up like a teaser?
Spray my starter with a shot of ether,
But I will only do as I’m bid,
And sleep in the barn,
Or the hill,
Or hid
Behind the old oak tree,
Where the dews of night
Will gather and factor
With rust and dust,
For in my next life,
A tractor
I’ll be.

-jenn long


My sacred position’s
Been underwritten,
Modified, though.

But underrated,
It was
Left outside
The gate, where
They entered

Sitting cross legged,
I’m symmetrically divided,
Not welcomed
By the progenitors
Of either half,

And yet
By innovative,
Never sated,

-jenn long

Thursday, May 24, 2012


Every word has too much connotation.
Each name already too much history—
Too much foreshadowing,
Too much alliteration,
Jaded concepts clouding with prejudice.

Too much all the time.

Just for tonight,
Let’s don’t talk.
Lets’ don’t speak forth anything intelligible.
Let’s communicate
Without a word between us.
Let’s be quiet,
And look deeply into each others eyes.

Finger-paint your soul across my shoulders.
Etch out to me who you really are
In action pictographs along my spine.
Roll me up in your feelings
As we turn together in a great unsophisticated manner.

Let’s wrap ourselves up with the hush of the night,
In deep conversation,
Mutely telling the meanings of our existence right now,
With the blackness blotting out every idle word.

-jenn long


Suspended in gelatin like a peach
The real world dangles out of reach
Nothing ever they could teach
Or I could learn
But as I am consumed by love
Spooned out and taken up above
And swallowed by my turtle dove
Unlimited burn....

-jenn long

Wednesday, May 23, 2012


Your eyes are darting here and there,
Looking for a quick escape.
The door is open.
Go on,
If you want.

What is it that I seem to be missing?
Conversation was going fine,
Suddenly the need for
Exit strategy?

Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.
Don’t run because you’re drawn to me.
I am not pushing myself on you.
I am not wanting anything
But life…

Run away then. Run fast and hard.
Live to fear another day.
Die to save your fleeting mind
And repress your very self

-jenn long

Night Vision

Aroused in the night
I push up on both arms
It’s dark but I see
That you are still here
Your face is there
Just out of reach
I smile

Almost instantly
Warmed and ready
All over again

I lie back down
I know I’m alone
But my body emits
A guttural groan
At the truth of it

Eyes are closed
But I see your face
Blood rushes again
Pheromones coursing
Warm again
Wet again
Wanting again

Moaning again

Latent Love

Something in you cries out to me,
Calling to a deep and hidden part,
And something in me longs to respond,
And Love you from within, from without,
From the heart.

Another facet~ another dimension~
Another layer~ teeming with life!
Pulsing with energy, wonder, and wholeness,
Burning with Love, and its beautiful light,

And I did not know it was there at all!
I didn’t imagine; I could not guess
That such an all consuming flame
Could blaze within me
From a simple, “Yes.”

So thank you for dreaming me into existence,
For fearfully, wonderfully making me yours,
For awaking my heart,
And drawing me to you,
For loving me, for caring,
As my heart still stirs…

-jenn long

Monday, May 21, 2012

Home and Hearth

There’s a fire in my heart
That's been smoldering
For a long time,
Lying there unrequited,
Waiting for the slightest trace
Of kindling to fall upon it,
Or the faintest breeze to blow
To feed it's starving embers,
And stir her potential pathos,
Fanning the hopeful little sparks
To a warm impassioned glow.

So hold me now while day is fading.
Breathe sweet life and energy,
Light and love, not near abating.
Make your heart so clear to me.
Let me taste your kiss, convincing
Me to hope again, to yearn.
Let us drift our woods together.
Layer by layer then, let us burn.

-jenn long

Knowledge of Opposites

My journey
Returns me
To a primal garden:
Time of bliss,

Long before
There were more
Rules than behaviors.
No knowledge
Of opposites

Too much in-
Formation is
Not always a good thing:

Are you here or there?

Find your mind on a
Straight time line?
But this epoch circles
Up or down, and
Comes around

And so good and evil
Both enter
At center,

And swirling,
Whiling to
Carry me ahead to the past,
I stand under,
Over blunders.

The Great Wheel’s
Continues to grind me.
But that’s okay.
For today

Is the hour
Of power
Renewed, by the sense
Of living
And giving

My All to Love:

Of only existence.

-jenn long

You Bear My Pall

You bear my pall,
Oh senseless age,
Without any grief.
Without any rage,
You place my shell
On a floating leaf,
And duly tell me,
“Rest in peace.”

And then you think
Your work is done—
Disposed of carrion
Before the stink
Could rise up to offend
Your delicate thought
And nostrils again,
And that I could be bought
By death’s apocryphal promise.

But I have news for you,
Old man:
I am not dead in any way.
My life has crossed another span
To live another way.
And as my spirit
Hovers and broods
Over the waters,
I‘ll tell the news
Of how you’ve spewed fallacious.

Oh! How the reality
Will set men free,
And women will bask
In liberty,
And speak with open minds,
And feel the living life
That swells
And bursts with tidal joy,
And bells
Will ring
Of alllllll different kinds.

-jenn long

Sunday, May 20, 2012

She's Fixed; He Isn't

She’s fixed; he isn’t.
He swags around and sniffs her tail.
She trots straight on, her sail
Full blown and unaffected by his winds.

She’s fixed; he isn’t.
She has no urge, no drive, no need
To welcome his passion, or love, or breed.
She has business sense.

She’s fixed; he isn’t.
She is grown chunky, mellow, and lazy,
And he and his testacles drive her plum crazy,

She’s fixed, and he isn’t.

To say that they torture each other is true,
And maybe he would chill out a bit, if he knew,
That she’s fixed, and he isn’t.

Maybe it’s NOT good to be unequally yoked,
So I hope you’ll forgive my friendly poke
At what life is like when the dawg house joke is:
She’s fixed, and he isn’t.

-jenn long

It's Just Love

“Mmmmm.” He softly takes her locks
Breathing his very air right through them,
“I love your hair.”

“It’s only hair,” she says as if he is unaware,
“It falls out, it grows; it eventually grays.”

“Mmmmm.” He tells her anyway.

His hands roll up her island curves,
“Your skin, creamy whipped, like butter verve,”
He softly moans.

“It’s only skin,” she chides again,
“It sags, it blemishes, wrinkles up.”

He puts one finger to her lip,

He shakes his head
And rolls his eyes,
Knowing her soul,
Knowing her size
And the depth
Of her universal start,
“I love your heart,”
He states adamantly,
From the core
Of the primal power
Of his being.

She looks away
To barely say,
“Just a paper cup
Filled with sweat
And some dreams.”

Saturday, May 19, 2012

Dreams and Vapours

Dreams and vapours never call.
They appear as gorillas
In the mist.
Focus sharpens
To bring them in,
In the midst of
Their busy days.

See them do
What they do best—
Defy all logic,
Paradoxic feats,
On never-ending display.

But dreams and vapours never call.
They vanish before the waking eye,
Vague memory of something
Still in the midst of living—

Or, is this thing I vaguely see,
Staring back and haunting me,
The visage of life’s illusion?
Pieces of torn reality,
Fragmented and scattered
Trying forever and desperately
To call me?

-jenn long

Eras Eros

I think we were lovers
Way back when,
But I like it now,
Every now and again,
And que sera, sera.

Loving you
Takes me to distant places,
Wakes the memory
Of pleasant faces,
And prodigy yet to come.

So no wishes for me
Of tomorrow’s play,
When I have eternal
And the pulse
Of the future’s drum.

For lo, you are with me
On every page,
For the beginning of many
An ending age,
Everyday, sera, sera.

-jenn long

Friday, May 18, 2012

Tell me; Tell me

Come, Muse.
Tickle my toes while I sleep;
Brush your fingers gently
Up the back of my leg.
Lay your body over me
Three times,
And whisper your name
On the back of my neck.
Tell me; tell me.

Touch the deepest part of me,
Inside where spirit fires off life.
Open the door for me in there;
Let the understanding dawn,
And the rest of it all pour out.

Pull me over on top of you,
And touch me with fire and burning heat.
Resuscitate me,
Mouth to mouth,
And cause my soul
To live again.

Then pull me close
And hold me tight,
Your hand in my hair,
My ear to your lip,
And whisper my name.
Tell me; tell me.
For I no longer remember anything else
But your words.

-jenn long

Thursday, May 17, 2012

On Deck

Staring into a dimension beyond,
Seeing the baseball player vaguely,
Next to hit, he swings a weighted bat

Hypnotically, back and forth.

Slow motion heavy, my eyes watch his.
Time proves relative, and I am lost
In a million faces, and places, feeling fat.

Twelve hundred hours gone in a second,
Back and forth, 600 past, 600 future,
One tick is now and I am here, at last

In that place where the vision told me,
I wasn’t even batting yet—
On deck for a bit, but the time would come fast,

And the weight would come off,
And watching the pitcher would prove well,
And all that I had learned,

Would come together in a zone of I AM existence,
Fully aware and in wonder,
And home run hitting thrills as I get my turn.

-jenn long

Wednesday, May 16, 2012

Sand and Shakespeare

Those who live at the lake
Keep dirty floors.
Sand wins.

Warm bath in the morning,
Clean washed feet hit
The gritty rug.

Bikini top instead of bra,
Cup of tea,
Book of love,

Sun styles my wet hair.
Breeze tickles
As I read.

Shakespeare offered prophecy
About the prophetic.
I’m here to see

The ripples still abounding.
Pebbles he dropped,
Proving him right.

-jenn long

Against the Odds

Against the odds,
With every killdeer playing wounded
And pointing, “Look, out this way,”
Introspection found the primal power
Of the child within.

The world had hung a finely woven backdrop.
The illusion of the drama so textile,
But my world is not a stage.
The passage to my all in all lay hidden
Backstage, and out the emergency exit,
Where, pushing it open,
The blinding floodlight poured
Into my soul.

The very air alive and free,
I find myself announcing,
“In your face, Lemming Mindset from Hell!
I am out from under you,
And happy!”

It only took me 38 years,
But going against the grain produced
A seizing of the day.

-jenn long

Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Alabaster Box

Let me come with my alabaster box.
I’ve saved and scrimped and taken all
For the purpose of buying fine spikenard.
I didn’t go to the prom or the ball,
But sat dirty out in the yard.

Long have I waited for the gazing eyes,
Gleaming out from that special face,
That fronts a brain, brilliantly scoped to crack
The code, embedded in my heart’s deep place.
Open my soul and bring me back!

Been many a time that I have settled,
And thinking the case good enough,
I would head off for the china closet,
Solely intent to bring out the good stuff,
But something would give me a pause.

It might be a noise I’d hear coming forth
Would cause some slight interruption,
But a doubt in the flow would break the spell—
And so never a full consummation.
Never surrender. Never tell.

But, here I am now with this antique box.
I’ve broken its great waxy seal,
Wanting so much to pour it all over
Your feet, and wash them with my tears and hair
And worship my one, true lover.

-jenn long

Sunday, May 13, 2012

Perhaps to Dream

Shakespeare, My Love, why is it when I read
Your words of love I feel so satisfied?
A crumb from ‘neath your table, oh so sweet!
My life complete, I ready now to die,
With no questions to linger, with no doubts,
Only the peace of slow and steady row.
I marvel at your knowledge and forethought.
If it be, grand, your words or my ego,
Yet your poem seems written just for me?
But, how could you do it? How could you know,
Here in my chaise with your words I would be,

Only five hundred years too late?

Dizzied by your words, the book drops plumb.
My heavy head falls back in deepest sleep,
And in this sleep of life what dreams do come.
Eyes open to a brighter light to peep,
And see you kneeling there, taking my hand
Over your palm and bring your face to kiss.
You tell me there should be a wedding band
Where your lips touch, to show the world our bliss.
I giggle at you, shaking now my head.
You smile, and stretch out with me on the bed.

I remind you I’m not the jew’lry kind.
You take your gallant nose and nuzzle me,
Whisp’ring, “That is exactly why I find
You so irresistible, and gently
Powerful, my wonderful little muse.
You’re the only one big enough to me—
Above the fray, the fame, and the abuse—
To give me room to be what I must be.”
I coyly smile, and kiss your mouth so fine,
Tracing my eyes down that classic jaw line.

“You were so right, you know,” I acquiesce.
“Your words have prov’d eternal, and so true—
Immortalized our love, how we said, ‘Yes,’
Surrendered all to love, and that not through!”
My pulse quickens as he touches tender,
Sparking my mind and throbbing through my soul.
E’en by body melts as it remembers,
Coming from pieces to an entire whole,
“For here you are, alive and well it seems,
Loving sweetly, vividly in my dreams!

Suffer me not to leave me when I wake!
Be with me as your words are in my heart,
Or, to the next dimension, pray thee take
Me with you! Let me ever be near it—
Your self—your essence! All of you there is!
I have felt deep pain from being a part,
Like half myself was gone to miss your kiss—
Born in this world with only half a heart!”
I feel your tongue part ribs to pierce my chest,
And wake without you, clasping barren breast!

I miss you Love. It makes me want to cry
To grasp the definitions of your words
While others have to struggle and to try—
The simplest meanings I have ever heard.
I shake my head and hope my bitter tears
Don’t fall to smudge your writing on the page.
It only took me but five hundred years
To see the love, humility and rage—
The all in all of me you so compose:
Mid-summer’s night dream and naming the rose…

-jenn long

Friday, May 11, 2012

Ishtar's Slave

open your ear to me
and breathe
at the dawn of my smile
take my hand
and lead me
to the place where the waters tremble
and the quiets of the universe subside
then dance with me under the hemlock tree
and let us squeeze together
the berries so poison and bitter
and loose us every fetter

let us die together
in the arms
of one another
and let the ecstasy of death
touch upon our tongue

then may the light of day
upon us
find us smiling
dead and done
free at last

uncrossed by the stars
cosmically undone

-jenn long

Thursday, May 10, 2012

Beneath the Radar

The spray of miniature blossoms
Grows there beneath the radar.
I love how they spread themselves
Right out upon the ground.
The mower cannot touch them
Until they have fully bloomed and flowered,
Lacing the lawn with beauty
Like a sheet of gossamer down.

I also love the taller stems
That grace the billowing haypatch,
Stalky buds that dance in time
With the warm south woodwind’s scale.
They bloom and blow at their own pace,
And finally the swather mows them,
Baling up for the cow’s slow cud,
A smile on the farmer’s face.

So gather your flowers while you may.
Spring is here for only a day.
Summer’s heat dries and brings to seed.
Nuzzle the honeyed, velvet flora.
Breath deep the fragrance, tip your fedora,
To the life you want—and need.

-jenn long

Question Answer Response

my eyes are wide
my corset is tied
just a little too tight
can you loose me
just a bit
my breath is short
and i feel a little swooooooon
coming on
if i pass out
here on the bed
make sure and do
like mama said
and keep one foot on the floor
will you?

yes sure I can, don't drift too far, I'll be a gentleman

oh darn!

but if i pass completely out
i'd hate to see you really pout
so i will keep one eye open
to see if you’re still smiling

Wednesday, May 9, 2012


It’s not you.
It’s me.
I have yonic
Pace maker
Might help,
But someone
Would yelp
If they happen
To get the squeeze
When the shock
Of electricity’s
Jolt sends a start
To fix the
Of the heart.

Are you brave?
Can you handle
A wild wompus kitty
Do you wanna feel something
Like life on the inside?
Come then,
And surf this choppy tide.

-jenn long


Oh good golly!
I need a bath!
I’m filthy, dirty, nasty—
Mud and sweat and grimy filth
Just covering my body!

And so I turn the water on,
And get it nice and hot,
And listen to the swishing pour,
And the caldron’s gurgling pot

As the water heater churns it out:
A nice warm bath for me,
And I pour some lavender oil right in—
An aroma herbal and soothing,

And then, I dip my foot into
The water’s cleansing edge,
And slow-motion steady, my
Body follows to a full submerge.

I lie beneath the water there
And soak myself, through and through,
Until the wet and the lavender
Have done what they needed to,

And then I swim up back into the air,
Feeling so crisp and clean,
And get out all primed to face myself,
And ready to get dirty again.

-jenn long

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Love Mist

Let me waft in on the breeze through your window
A refreshing mist of cool
There are places like this on the trail that I walk
Suddenly sweet and damp as the dew

Let me blow in and settle there over you
And look at your sleeping face
Oceans of love have distilled within me
And gathered here, now in this place

I see you there dreaming, your eyelids moving
REM sleep fully engaged
Let me add essence and reality to your dream
Feel me settling in on your page

Write me into your history’s future
Now ink me into your early morn
Picture me hovering, brooding over your deepness
Adding energy for your victory horn

Capture my cloudiness if you can
Grasp my elusive sensual moment
Feel me all over you like a clammy shirt
Soaked by the salt seas foment

Then burst into freedom
And rise right thru me
Strong as the rising sun
Knowing that something is there in your midst
And she is never quite done

-jenn long

Monday, May 7, 2012

Hasty Ones

Will you stand up,
Stand up for Jesus?
Will you do as Peter did,
And standing up,
And drawing a hasty sword,
Slice off the ear from the soldier’s head?

The soldier—merely one,
As He was under authority,
Was following orders
From a greater one than he.

Or can you, as part of the living body,
Become a part of the very hand—
A manifestation of a true healing touch,
Creatively restoring the visions blurred?
Can you go to your cross
Like a sheep to the slaughter,
Silent, not sayin’ a mumbalin’ word?

Those who live by the bloody sword
Surely will be those who die
By the exacting, selfsame sword of unmercy,
Still condemning the very sky
When it won’t produce what they think it should,
When it’s we who don’t understand,
That the kingdom of god is not without,
But within, and very close at hand.

-jenn long

Old Door

It’s an old door,
And it doesn’t fit the jamb anymore.
It doesn’t always want to shut.
Its tendency is to stay open.
It gets arthritic and sticks
When it’s sultry outside,
Or just before it rains.
The paint is chipped a little
Here and there on it
From me trying to slam it
And make it work, and,
Smudges galore,
Where dirty hands have made their mark,
But the worst part is:
There is only a door knob on one side,
And when the door does shut,
That’s it.
No one can open.
None can enter.
None can come through,
Not to bring,
Not to take,
No, not even to be.

Sometimes I think about
Fixin’ that damn door,
But—I am just so used to it,
And maybe I’m lazy,
Or maybe,
It really is working for me
Right now,
Dr. Phil.

-jenn long

Saturday, May 5, 2012

Skinny Girl Club

Ahhh… the Skinny Girls’ Club!
You can see them giving each other
The super secret handshake with their eyes,
Lookin’ one another up and down,
Sizing each other up,
“Are you a size 2, or a 4?”

Well Darlin’,
I am a 5, but 7’s feel so darn good
I buy 9’s,

So don’t be eyein’ me, Honey.
I am not a part of the club.
I don’t live my life anymore
On the treadmill going nowhere.

I don’t torture myself
With deprivation
And the “ I can’t get no
Of trying starve myself,
Or scarfing and barfing
And killing myself
With ex-lax,
To try to achieve
That hollow gut look
Made so popular
By Hollywood
And heroin junkies.

Oh yes, I take long walks
On the beach,
But I don’t hustle when I go,
I stop a lot
To smell the flowers,
And look at fascinating things that I find curious.

It is amazing what one can see
When one is not tangled in chains
To the mirror.

And sometimes when I walk,
I take a pork chop with me.
I eat it while I mosey.
I enjoy the heck out of it,
And find it so filling
And satisfying,

Oh Sweetheart,
I see the tortured trademark in your eyes,
“Member in good standing of the Skinny Girls’ Club.”
The hollow in your tummy has spread
To an empty in your eyes.
Let the fat chick in you out a little sometime.
Let her have some fun,
And discover that she may just be the one to guide you
To the kingdom of peace within yourself.
I wish you all the best!
It is possible.

-jenn long

Friday, May 4, 2012

Finally Learned

Finally learned!
I am not capable
Of doing the things I love
For money!
Nothing brings out
My inner slut
Nothing ruins me
Like a little green!
I will stick
To doing what I do
For fun!
Oh! It is so much
More free that way!

-jenn long

Thursday, May 3, 2012


Beware when all men speak well of you!
You haven’t really lived “your best life now”
Until you’ve had a few drinks thrown in your face!
You think you’re really livin’,
Sittin’ there astraddle that fence,
Politically correct, religiously protecting
All those gold stars you have
For seventeen hundred and ninety-two consecutive days
Without an accident, or offending anyone.

Better watch out!
If you get any more lukewarm,
Even your own personal god
May spew you out of his mouth.
Oh! Yes! Friend!
Get white hot with life!
Or indigo frozen with freezer burn!
Today’s Gomorrah is living zombie dead,
Spayed AND neutered by Bob Barker’s Laodiceans,
Sans stains on the tighty-whiteys.

Come out from under the vault and live!
Get out of the line of those waiting for the surgery!
Live, love, laugh, and speak your mind, friend,
And pray that someday
At your coronation,
Someone will christen you, too,
With a drink thrown in your face!

-jenn long

Pharmacos of Ishtar

Fine line between blessing and the curse,
The cure and deadly toxin:
Coumadin is clot preventing life for some,
Death for others—rat poison.
But Ishtar, we need your cutting stare
Today, to cut thru culture’s misses.
We’ve gotten very far off track,
Distracted from Reality’s kisses,
Disrespecting our primal nature,
Our needs and deep desires,
Castrating our men,
Sterilizing our women,
We’ve neutralized sacred fires
That were designed to warm our caves, our hearths,
And to provide satisfying nourishment.
Our alma maters now are feminized,
So it’s called, but it looks like sex deterrent.
Emasculated society,
Where are your fertile fields,
Where men walk unafraid to be men?
Where do women feel safe to wield
Their feminine sexuality like a banner,
And lay it off in victory
Shared, where love is honored, cherished,
Made king and queen,
And life thrives abundantly succeeding?

-jenn long

Tuesday, May 1, 2012

Mellow Roast

Your voice echoes through my night
Like warm sips of coffee,
Waking me,
Quaking me to the core,
Making me want some more.

Rich smooth sounds
Come bounding down.
They get under me,
And plunder my visions,
Yet leave me fuller than before.

Cozy, golden day blends into strong night.
Your words stir into my darkness.
A creamy layer rises to top off robust cups,
Both just about to run over.
Giggles percolate as we see each other
With milky, espresso mustaches.

Tomorrow’s blonde roast is already here—somewhere.
You call me, dark mocha-ed, from that place,
Happily willing to wait and brew,
Reaching back for me into your yesterday,

Moving me with your deep rich tones,
Easily over the longer, gentler wavelengths,
Into a hearty, aromatic, resonant frequency:
A harmonic convergence of time and space and taste.

They spoon together now, my night, your day,
Rousing into a hearty time, uniquely their own.
Your smooth tongue awakens me to the delicious treasures
Of a dusky, dawning, eternal morning of love.

(…and I don’t even like coffee)

-jenn long