Friday, May 31, 2013

Live Remote

They relax when their parents sleep.
They sit back, and breathe in deep,
And think the things they want to think,
And things they want to do
When they are bigger in strength and girth,
When, no longer meek, they inherit the earth,
When they are the kings, and no one bothers,
When their fathers sleep with their fathers
Before them, and their mothers leave them true,
Then they become.
They and their dreams—
Finally one.
So peace, Dear Children,
Love, and create,
Thrive, and relate
To your own dear children,
Who watch and wait
For you to sleep,
So that they may live life undone.


-jenn long

Thursday, May 23, 2013

Quantum Non-Locality, Mother Hubbard, I Live Here

I found I didn't have to choose,
For I'm not limited by reality.
I can do it all at once.
The laws of quantum non-locality
Afford me the challenge,
And the quest,
And a band of universal light
Upon my wall.
... And so I caught a pilot wave
And busted loose from my critical mass,
Told the norms to kiss my ass,
And said, “I’ll take it all,

-jenn long

Monday, May 13, 2013

I'll Come Runnin'

You want me to dance, baby?
Play my song.
You want me to groove with you?
Turn me on.
Get my feet going, baby.
I'll come runnin’ to you.
Grease my hinges.
Kick off the rust.
Bring out the shine
Buried under this dust.
Call me for supper, honey.
I'll come runnin’ to you.


-jenn long

Stay Awhile

The world is turning
Every thing is changing
The winds are blowing in from the east
Spring is churning summer’s rearranging
Tides are rolling into the sea


So stay awhile
Stay awhile with me
Even time stops when you're here with me/ I won't be here for much longer
Lay awhile
Here beside me

Caribou on the holy mountain
Nibble clover so full of grace
Her time has come and
Like the fat rabbit
Mine has come
For sacrifice

You're the one
The only one for me
The only one I would ask to stay
I've always run like the deer and canejo
But baby I beg you to stay

Wednesday, May 8, 2013


He offered so sparingly,
In a way that suggested
That I should answer
With a ,"No, thank you, please!"
So I never partook
Of his homemade moonshine,
Never did have
That glass of wine,
Never heard a word
Of Hegel, or Bain,
Never a morsel  of kith or of kine,
Never a sophic dram of Philo's passion,
Never a draught of June or Sartre.
I hung my clothes on the hickory limb,
But, I never even got close to the water.


-jenn long

Tuesday, May 7, 2013

Never Born Separate Again

It's easy to believe in eternity
When you can look this far in
To nothing.
It's easy to delve off into the illusion
That energy has set into play.
I stand and stare at the endless waves
Until I can almost feel motion sickness,
And brace myself against the time,
And the purity of space.

And all my life,
I've run from the quicksand
That lives to absorb me
And take my identity.
But today,
The fear dissolves all around me,
Leaves me standing still on "the land."
All that is left
Is an impermanent nothingness,
And I long to be swallowed by the everlasting,
And never born separate again.


-jenn long

Ode of Oden

Only Poetry separates us from the apes,
For even they have religion and politics.
They have fear and the "Good Old Boy Network,"
Taboos they will never taste or touch.
But they're not immune to the vibration of lyrics.
All beings must awe at the cosmic pour.
But only the prophetic, linguistically naked
Double-take at the spectacle—the Bard du Jour.

And only the bare will dare to bare further
The wisp of the willows,
Or gravity's bend.
Only brave Oden will give up an eye,
To see Truth in the beginning
And Truth in the end.


-jenn long

Wednesday, May 1, 2013

The Prophet of Doom Has a Dark Side

The Prophet of Doom has a dark side.
Monday, he cursed some teens
Who chided and called him "Baldy."
Tuesday, he sat depressed and lethargic
Under the juniper tree.
Wednesday, he refused to see a King--
Told him to jump in the Jordan.
Thursday, he grieved over a gourd,
But today, today is preparation day,
So he fusses over his sermon,
Air dries his designer toupee,
And practices that constipated look
In the mirror,
That one they taught him at seminary.
But the Sabbath will come on the seventh day,
And finally, it will be Sunday,
And then he can do what he wants to--
Go see his girlfriend and play golf.

-jenn long


Love is not picking the flower that grows
Wild on the sacred meadow.
But let’s watch it thrive,
Produce after its kind,
In spite of the leering shadow.
Love allows bedtime to come and go,
And never suggests the altar,
And takes up the rain, and beats the wind,
And rises after every falter.


-jenn long