Friday, August 31, 2012

They Took Strange Vows

They took strange vows.
She swore a lot,
And he promised never to tell.
Life threw them together sometimes,
And then the never-oaths would come—
Heaving like the passion,
Cussing like a sail
Against the forces of adversity,
As they cut the bounded main.

Contiguous was only the silken thread
Of Shakespeare’s sluttish time.
Webbed linens stuck with yew
At thoughts of symphonic harmonies unrehearsed.
He rolled as in death, closed his eyes,
Released, and she spewed,
Scandalously undone.

-jenn long

Love Me Now

Love me now,
While I am young(ish).
Love me now,
While I love you.
Love me now,
While the morning dew’s
Still wet on the blooming flower.

Take me in your bushy arms.
Tell me how my essence charms
You, and how you love
The ways that I am,
The ways that I’m not,
The ways that I respond and move.
Love me now.

-jenn long

Thursday, August 30, 2012

You Make Me Smile

You make me smile.
And that is worth a million
Of the choicest, polished rubies.

I would give you everything,
If I had anything to own.

You make me smile,
And cause my pearly whites to hasten
Out of the dark cave where my intellect
Tries to keep them hid.

-jenn long

A Conjugal Visit is Fine

Oh, a conjugal visit is fine,
But in this timed sentence,
Give me solitary.
Give me the one room cabin
On the back side of the mountain,
Where even the bighorn won't congregate.

Give me a pack on my back
And a lonely plum bush to sleep under,
And I'll come to town when I need to.
When I must hear the hum of electricity,
And the buzz of idle chatter,
When I get too full of quiet,
The grimaced faces of hurry
Will quickly empty me,
And push me back to my unfenced confines.

Let me take a vow of silence for a year
And listen--
To the mighty rush of water,
To the hush of transient snowflakes,
To the wind that speaks it's wisdom
From the tops of cedar trees.
And when I overflow with lonesome,
May my eyes shed drops of treacle
For my brothers and my sisters,
And the stark serenity of all Life.

-jenn long

Wednesday, August 29, 2012

The Locust and the Lotus

 The Locust bleats
In bloated heat,
Like the creaking groans
Of the ancient springs
On the old, iron featherbed.

Long overdue,
Longing moans,
And finally, the Lotus blooms and blows,
And sheds its fragrance on the day—
Illusion, and revelation.

-jenn long

Beyond Belief

Freedom soars beyond belief.
The life of "the everything" flows
Through the cosmic blood--
The zipping current of essential
Ethereal fire.
Why indeed should we fear death,
We, who die a thousand times?
We will not be free from life
Until death surely comes.

And since it surely comes to all,
Why should the fear of it pour the mold
By which we shape some sad existence,
Eking barely along?
Give me liberty,
And give me death.
So set my poor soul free to live.

-jenn long

Supper with the Sun

The sun pulled up a chair and sat
At my kitchen hutch with me.
His royal robes of scarlet magenta
Flowed out in godly majesty.
He said he’s smelled the brisket roasting
When he’d passed mid-day,
And knew perfection would be its name,
And asked if he could stay
And sup with me, and who am I
To tell the sun to shoo?
And so we broke Hawaiian bread
And twined our arms just so—
Like they do in the movies
With the cups up to our mouths.
We drank sweet tea, and he said
He might set tonight in the south.
But I knew he didn’t mean it.
How could the Sun do that?
And so I wasn’t surprised at all
When he rose, tipped his crown like a hat,
And rolled away, for I’d heard his stallions
Neighing just before.
They were getting barn sour
And couldn’t lag here anymore.
But, as I see him ride the rails
I raise my tea in high toast.
Though, I am very careful now,
What type of meat I roast.

-jenn long

The Grinch and I

Always so grumpy to my face,
And I have never known why,
But, on your porch at dusk, I catch you—napping.
I watch you there for a calm minute.
Your sixth sense tells you someone is looking.
You wake, flustered. I smell the bourbon.
And it is in this state that you smile at me
And stammer,
“I want to clone you.”

The next day he was grumpy at me again.
I just nodded and smiled.
“Uh huh…”

-jenn long

Monday, August 27, 2012

Death of a Rainbow

I should have stayed
Just one more minute,
And watched the Argonne pastels fade
Into that forest archetypal,
That hilly massif just by Champagne.

The watercourses mingled with the Aire.
The watercolors white washed in the sky,
Beside the still shadow of Lorraine.
The last breath of the Rainbow,
I should have seen it die.

And did I miss the fading glory?
Did the neons blur and disappear
As the sunset quit the misting,
As I turned at the forest there?

And seeing not the region for the trees,
And seeing not the time, to then, redeem it,
And, like a fool, thought it would wait for me.
Sluttish function bellowed me to my rut,
And like a slave, I did what was expected,
And overlooked the miracle—
The chance to marvel at the rare occurrence.

-jenn long

Be Nice

We are ugly stepsisters all,
Who try to force that glassy slipper,
Who think the grass is so much greener
There on the other side.
We won't so much as lift a finger
To walk a mile in their moccasins,
Or spend a day in their hide.

But, even for those who are wont to try,
It's hard to have real empathy.
Too great the diverse humanity
To step in the same stream twice,
And this is why we cannot judge,
Or understand enough
To hold a grudge,
And so, should just be nice.

-jenn long

Salt Silver

Your kiss is a pool of the Great Spirit’s tears.
Your love comes and troubles the waters.
Silver and gold shine in your rivers,
Myrrh in your warm embrace.

Ebullient healing fills my mouth
At the taste of you kissing me.
I shed my skin and become something new,
Beholding myself in your face.

-jenn long

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Scar-us Interrupt-us

A scare interrupts me lulled mid-stride.
Something hissing madly in the ditch,
Like the nagging voice unknown inside,
Evasive, and yet, ubiquitous,
That says, “You’ve missed your period,
And you don’t know who the father is.”

The jump, the hiss, the shock, the stare
Of the grasses parting to reveal
Truth vanish, like some ungraspable
Phantom dissipating through thin air.
Un-celebrated, it slithers to re-conceal.
I face death between heart beats, and swear,
“Just this one time, I’ll never forsake the prayer wheel

Again.” But, my I’m glad this happened here—
The racing pulse, the adrenalin upset,
The micro-breakdown transcending fear.
Hysteria opened my eyes for a minute.
I saw a vision that made me feel
Alive, like I do when love grips me.

-jenn long

Where is Peace?

Where is this place of peace you speak of?
Is it in the government cabins
Littering the reservation
Where the stamps provide for all,
And no one tempts or wants too much?
Is it in the tepee’d village,
Smoke swirling up thru tops of wigwams,
Before the customs infringed with fear,
Before colors banded to show whose tribe
Was superior?

Or do I have to travel back
To even a more distant time,
Before the language,
Before the bonds of any lack, or any grace,
Shed their false ideas and notions,
Obligating, strapping humanity,
Hunching its shoulders and bowing its head in shame,
To an epoch before the dna changed?

I want this peace of the golden age.
Should I look forward or back for it?
I want it to be here and now.
But when I hear it spoken of,
I wonder.

-jenn long

Wednesday, August 22, 2012

Excommunicated into Salvation

I hesitated and was lost.
But there seemed much to doubt, to me.
The maxims made no sense at all,
And crumbly, the truths that I was taught.
            I tried to assimilate them,
But found them to be old wineskins
That couldn't hold new thought nor wine.
Bursting at inappropriate times,
They made a mess of me and life.
            I turned to dissimilation,
And there I found a better friend,
One who would gladly take me in
Just as I am, without the mask,
Able to hold me, skin, and cask.
Ironic, the annihilation
Was really what cracked the truth within
Out to a place where it could reign.
The lying wonder was liberator—
The devastation my Excalibur—
Excommunicated into Salvation.

-jenn long

English Poetry I

English Poetry One, Chaucer to Gray,
That’s breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day.
I peel it to the middle, and there sits
The meadiest sweet of all, sans the pits.
William, tucked ripe, between the bitter skins
Of lesser moved, less passioned, more locked in
Souls who tried to force their pens to glide o’er
The pages of inconsequential shores.
I thank the heavens for the open tongue
Of one whose booted poems keep me undone,
And for the fiery freedom that still lives
To any willing to throw their heart out,
Over beyond what Fate may simply give.

-jenn long

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Chance of Stars Colliding

Not enough words in one lifetime could say,
And yet, no words are needed.
Forecasts said, “Chance of stars colliding,”
Though I never believe what I see on the news.
But the meteors just had to fall that way,
And the showers of iron and iridium dust
Sprinkled the night with precious gems,
And peace and bliss in that one lifetime,
And that one night...

-jenn long

I've Tasted Bitter

I've tasted bitter,
Gorged myself on dull,
Had my fill of sour things to eat.
I think I'm full,
But would fancy something sweet.
I'm not hungry just now,
No longer care for dining in or out.
My heart is closed and drawn.
Nothing can tempt this mouth
To open except the genuine,
Thoughtful, offered, delicate, deserted soul,
Given in sweet kindness,
And in whole.

-jenn long

Dark Comfort

Draw the shades! The world is too bright!
Darken the room again for me!
Let not the harsh light shine on me—
This disappointed life of mine!
The harsh, stark contrasts are too much.
The disapproving looks glare in.
Pointed stares don't understand me,
But hard, cold shoulders illumine.

So, let me stay here in my room,
Safe in the hazy, dim of gloom,
Where no sharp objects lie about,
And not even hunger can draw me out.

-jenn long

Uphill Both Ways

She went back to re-trace the steps
That her mother said she'd walked—
Hot brick in her hands to keep them warm.
There were no damn potatoes.
A resigned sigh escaped her mouth,
Agape with hard, labored breaths.
As she discovered the heartless truth.
It really was uphill both ways.

-jenn long

Biography Lived

I didn't seem to need to read
The biography to understand.
It felt like I had lived the stark reality.
So hard to make it to that place,
Bordered by eggshells all about,
The delicate middle grounds that exist between
Right and Acceptability.

And so we lived in a little cage
That sat just to the left of it all,
Survived on torn out pages of Proust
That they had used to wipe.
We cleaned them off and read them,
Fed them to one another,
And tiptoed cautiously into their world
When we needed to cry, or to type.

-jenn long

My Knowledge Of You

My knowledge of you
Is somewhat limited,
And somewhat intimate,
Part illusion,
Part delusional,
Mostly fantasy,
With just a dash of reality
Here and there,
To keep my feet
From defying gravity
When I'm with you.

jenn long

Saturday, August 18, 2012


I've tasted bitter,
Gorged myself on dull,
Had my fill of sour things to eat.
I think I'm full,
But would fancy something sweet.
I'm not hungry just now,
No longer care for dining in or out.
My heart is closed and drawn.
Nothing can tempt this mouth
To open except the genuine,
Thoughtful, offered, delicate, deserted soul
Given in lucious kindness,
And in whole.

-jenn long


Nocty, come.
Let never we speak of this—
This romp at midnight,
This nefarious tryst,
Overturning trashcans in the alley,
Touching tongues and fingertips.

Unspeakable bandit,
With your black gloves,
Dipping clothe-less in the water,
Leaving your scat on the sidewalk!
Be discreet! Like the otter!

But, oh, he can't!
Shamefaced, scarred,
His mischief as clumsy as his big behind!
Masked, he steals the night itself,
And wishes somehow, he could be kind.

-jenn long

Friday, August 17, 2012

Getting Ahead

What is this I feel?
My loins long to be an alma mater.
My bosom wants to suckle a new generation—

To love them and to be for them a home
Free from the curses of old ancestry.
A pure salvation based on nurturing
The True, the astral gifts that burn within,
The natural, freeborn curiosity.

How, when we barely reinvent the wheel,
Will we ever reach the mountain’s glowing glen,
Where love reigns, and the value seen in all—
Each life, in itself, a free verse poem.

The crushing blows of life will ceaseless come.
Incremental losses full in view.
The gains are seen by the heart,
And seem insignificant,
But maybe they are incremental, too.

-jenn long

A View To Bravery

When a wrinkle snaps taut
And the gossamer thins,
The curtain tears.
You can see within
For just a moment.

And, you know where you’ve come from.
You feel where you’ve been.
You recognize the age old pains,
And realize the scanty, meager gains
Humanity’s made—

Maybe even retrograde,
In retrospect.
But there is something so comforting,
Something so droll,
To comprehend the agelessness of the stroll
You take for this short span,

And to know the great company you keep,
The cloud of witness that never sleeps,
The nothing-ventured-chance-you’ll-live-again
Allows a bit of bravery.

-jenn long

War Bills

There is a devastating power
In surrendering all to love,
Not knowing what, if anything, else may be,
In throwing caution to the sun and wind,
And pulling up the roots of Fabian policy.

The wine advances past the rampart’s wall,
Shining the apples,
Gladdening the violets
That grow just outside the holy stones,
Relaxing the mortar, ramming, and crumbling it.

And tomorrow, another war will hail the south,
And who shall say what mercenary gunner
Will turn and fight me with the opposing band,
Who today, worshipped with me, and the missionary,
And kissed my peaceful hand.

But now,
Let me shake my head in awestruck wonder
At how a brilliant woman can fall away,
Believing the lying clouds and fickle thunder,
Hoarding war bills, and swept by the bleeding breeze
Of pearls thrown out to swine, like black eyed peas.

-jenn long

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Mistaken Identity

I thought I saw you today.
My heart skipped a beat.
I smiled to think of how we used to be.
I froze to remember the bitter words we said at last,
Then thawed a bit,
Knowing it was all okay.
And as I drew nearer,
I saw it wasn’t you at all,
But an old bald headed woman.

-jenn long

Penis Envy

In her next life,
She wished to come back
As a large, athletic, black man.
Tired of her mousy, anemic existence—
Not even the cheerleader type,
Her heart’s desire was to be given a chance
To be aggressive out there on the field and the court.
She longed for the fight, for the kill,
For the sport of having her choice of sexual adventures,
And never to have to sit and wait
Until someone was finally
Turned enough on.
Come to think of it,
Even coming back as a white man would probably do.

-jenn long

The Gift From the Horse's Mouth

His mother gave me a coded disk—
Said I should give it to him for his birthday.
It was full of pictures, she said,
Of us when we were kids.
Stone-faced I received it.
Internal eyes were rolling.
I swallowed a primal sigh of bitter
And placed it in my pouch.

He came in from kiting.
I took the disk and gave him.
I hadn't bothered to wrap it.
He pooches his lips for a kiss.
I give him a peck, then turned and said,
“Your mother wants you to have it.”

His hopeful face, he anticipates,
“I'll be done in forty-five?”

“I'll be asleep by then,” I say,
Turning to walk the other way.
I've tried, but I just don't love him that way—
Poor little orphaned kit.

-jenn long

To Forgive Is Human

“I saw what you did,’ the woman sneered.
The hair stood up on the back of my neck.
I thought of how I’d scratched that inappropriate itch.
I didn’t think anyone saw.

But the woman wasn’t even addressing me,
But a poor little boy that stood—
Head hung down, posture drooped,
Eyes on the gritty ground.

We all do the best we can, Woman.
Are you casting the first stone, now,
When you have been forgiven much?
Where, oh, where is the love?

The upright stand,
Knowing imperfect
Is fine,
Knowing that itches come and go,
And to err
Is truly divine.

-jenn long

Friday, August 10, 2012

Going Somewhere

He was annoyed with himself—
That little catch in his spirit.
Ten-speed roaring past,
And his foot slipped off the pedal
Right there, and she saw it.
He coasted a minute,
Got himself re-situated,
And turned to see if she’d seen him err.

She had.
She smiled,
Watering her geraniums.
But it was he that should be sorry for her!
He was the whole one, he, the intelligent,
He, who was going somewhere.

There she sat in her own little puddle—
A yonic pool of nothing flat,
But she drew his orbit
Like the curve of space,
Like bees to the brim of her flowered hat.

-jenn long


I’ve always hidden my truest self
For fear that my realness would be too much,
That no one would like who I surely am.
But no more.
I am MySelf,
And if you don’t like me,
Maybe it is because the part of YourSelf that would,
Is hidden, too.

-jenn long

Light Is The Only Thing That Exists

Light is the only purity, element.
There is no earth, no wind, no fire.
There is no water flowing heavenly.
Only the Light is alive.

He popped up,
All Paperback 7,
Healing rainbow in his wings,
Stirring the images,
Shifting the paradigms,
But, Light is the only thing that exists.

Light is the only vital reality.
All things flow as a part and a parcel
Of the good, the acceptable, the perfect will.

There is nothing else at all—
No lack,
No incomplete.
The Light is alive—
Arc of brightness,
Living beam.
The extant stream,
Rolls thru the chaos.
Light is the only thing there is.
Light is the only thing that exists.

-jenn long

Thursday, August 9, 2012

Death, The Great Control-Freak

Death, the great control freak comes,
To squelch the Self,
To silence effervescent laughter,
To pop the balloon of Living's random glee.
A date with him is always the same.
The dull monologue he calls conversation,
Is just another fear-breathed “sermon-you've-heard-before”—
On what not to taste,
What never to touch.
It can only be re-warmed so much,
Re-casseroled and served again.
But you don't have to eat it.
Death doesn't give better favors to the polite.

Death and Life both exert their forces upon us all.
The spirit of Death so boring, controlled, predictable.

But when Life comes,
Wanting to give you a hug,
Asking you to walk a mile with her—
Go two.
Forget about Death and let Life have her way.
Release your will and let yourself be rolled up in the abundant clover.
Allow the streaming bubbles to have their sway.
Opportunity to respond arises fresh, so unpredictable.
Ruts can be shattered.
Chains fall limp.
And even now,
The sand kicked up in our faces reminds,
We can abandon death and live.

-jenn long

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Blue Harvest Moon

Blue harvest moon
Casts a bliss-like full
On you
Reaping the bounty
Of tiny, white asparagus blooms.

Your loving smile reaches me
From across the field.
Acres of time and distance all merge
Just south of our stony grey castle
And our twelve fine children,
Where orgasm has strewn
Tiny bursts of blinding white blossoms
Snowing up and down all around us.

A living stream of lightning strikes,
Knocking me flat down and thoroughly unconscious .
I wake and sit straight up in the fractal clusters—
Then—with straw and fresh leaves fluffed in my hair,
And rumpled layers of petticoats and skirts gathered up,
And now—completely unclothed in this king size bed.
The great membrane of the cosmos snaps to.
All time collapses together.
I subside together with you,
And I say,
“There is a God.”

-jenn long

Duality's Paradise

Another glorious day in paradise for sure!
Dark clouds and bad news,
And Yin says, "Beautipurr."

But there are things that I must do.
Heat and Sunshine, come!
Yin says, "Oh, pooh, pooh—"

I don't know just how she does it.
I never see her rush or fidget,
Yet all is calm and done.
So I want her—
So I chase—
She never runs.
But, in my haste,
I push her into day—
So far that night-ness comes.

Her shadow halts me.
I reverse my spin.
She comes longing,
Softly calling,
Where are you, Dear?”

-jenn long