Sometimes ya have to go to the

Least common multiple 

To find the greatest common factor.

Maybe I'm the least 

And you're the greatest 

In this equation, or sometimes,

Maybe, it's the other way,

But the difference is not the only thing that matters

In the sum of all the parts 

That come out for display.

But sometimes in working the problem out by hand,

I've seen long division reveal many answers beside the quotient,

And heal in exponential dividends

That continue to multiply to the delight of the numbers.

-jenn

I panned for gold near Turquoise Lake
On a lonely stretch of the river

West of Leadville, on a sunny day,

Wearing only my dungarees, rolled up,

Over my knees, and no shirt, 

Just a wide brimmed straw hat,

That kept the sun out of my face.

I found a few tiny pieces

Of gold as I stood stooped 

In that cold clear water

That rushed all day around me

And brisked away down the mountainside.

I wanted to save the two pieces

Of gold, but found I'd lost my pouch
Out of my backpack.

I did find a baggie within a baggie

With a cupcake paper inside.

I'd eaten the sweet treat earlier

That my mother had made for me

For my birthday,

So I dropped the gold flakes in there.

When you stand and sluice 

And sieve for gold in a cold clear creek 

On a sunny day, with no shirt on,
And eat your cupcake out there,

That your mother has made for your birthday,

The day is its own great reward,

And you've been paid

In full by the Day, and thoughts of gold

Fade away into the crumbs

And the sand that flows by

From your sieve down the mountainside 
By way of the great and rushing waters.

-jenn

I am a dark stone shining in the sun.

The waters come and cool me when I'm dry.

The puffy clouds sail over me

And give me shade.

They hide me from the sky.

But the sky can't hide from me.

My blackness is very deep.

It absorbs everything and holds in

A residing heat that burns.

It churns, always, and feeds, always.

But my blackness also emits.

It pulses out to offer warmth

To those the sun forgot,

Those who are chilled by this life

Are drawn to my dark beauty,

And I love them.

-jenn 

I heard a knocking at my window

And sought to open the door.

I wanted to see a raven there,

But there was only a crow.

I shooed the bird away from me.

I heard the tapping again.

The crow had brought me a breadcrumb,

And wanted me to let him in.

But I didn't want the breadcrumb,

So again I shooed him away,

And he came again with a worm in his beak,

And begged me to let him stay.

So I opened the window and took the worm and threw it

Into the flower bed below.

I told the bird that he could come in if he didn't want to go.

I told him I didn't want his crumbs, his worms, or anything,

And it was at that moment he transformed 

Before my eyes into a king,

And he said,

"That is what makes you the most dangerous woman in the world."

-------

2

I beheld the great king

Clothed in a deep

Purple cape,

A regal crown upon his head,

And jewels draped his neck.

A staff and scepter in his right hand,

He held his left to me.

I didn't bow to him

Because he was standing in my bedroom.

But I took his hand, and he smiled

And said, "Come away with me,"

And when I closed my eyes,

I felt the whisk of strange air

Passing by me.

And when I

Opened my eyes, I stood in a great hall

With ceilings that I couldn't see,

And rows and rows of bookshelves 

Going up, 

And books, big ancient, fantastic books

Lining every shelf.

I had joined a perfect party in this library.

Perfect music filled my head at large.

It moved my mind to dance.

My thoughts leapt and twirled

As I viewed the miracle books.

I took one off the highest shelf that I could reach,

While I listened to other seekers discuss what they had found.

I could listen while I read, myself,

And danced inside my head

At the moving sounds of the traversing music.

The book fell open to a certain page,

And I saw it's page was full of hieroglyphs.

I looked to see the books the others had,

And they were written in this selfsame tongue.

But when I looked back at the book I held,

I saw that I could not only understand

Every word symbolized therein,

But I was captivated by the brilliant art

That had been created in forming each sign.

Every "letter" if you could call it that,

Was in itself a word, a symbolic meaning,

And contained within itself a historic tale and a prophecy of things to come,

Like a seed identified, and with that knowledge,

Knowledge of the plant that made the seed,

And a knowing of what the seed would make.

And then a young shepherd approached me

With certain books upon his arm.

He bowed, and I curtsied to him,

And he said, "No, my queen,

But please, these are for you."

And I took the books and wondered at his words,

Walked toward a table there

To set them down,

And looked then to see the dress that I was wearing 

Was a noble dress, and felt my head,

And knew, I wore a crown.

......to be continued

-jenn

Some of us are only built for uphill walking

The connective tissue between my tarsals aches

My metatarsals upon my metatarsals

Complain when the direction

Of my feet go down

And so I must ever try

To go up from here on out

And not look back and not look down

For fear of fear of heights

But if I repeat a thing or two

Or find an even lap and make it twice

Let that be homage to my homage

And penance for my vice

And penance for my vice

-jenn

I wish you knew me a little better 

Or I knew you a little less

Maybe we could meet in the middle

And not worry about all the things

We have to guess about

I don't know what you're biggest hangup 

Will be with me

But I know mine with you

Will be that deep down

I'll think I'm not good enough

Not perfect enough 

I wish I knew you a little better

Or I knew myself a little bit less

Maybe we could meet in the middle

And not worry about all the things

We have to guess about

-jenn

I swore I'd never do this again.

Last time I showed up like this,

We sat around and discussed music, politics, poetry, and art

Without a care in the world,

And when I got in my car to leave,

I checked my rearview mirror

Only to see what a mess my hair was.

I haven't seen you since that day,

And here we are again.

And again, I have this urge to show up with wet hair,

And not a stitch of make up,

And bra-less.

-jenn

In bedtime stories, boys get to start

Out as Pinocchio's, who were very wanted

By their creators and brought to life.

They get to become real boys,

Something every lad can aspire to.

But girls start out as real girls,

Albeit, not not so very wanted,

And become something altogether different:

Sometimes princesses, sometimes wicked queens, 

Sometimes as the inverse proportion,

The female equivalent  of Pinocchio ,

The ever-reverencable porn star.

-jenn

"Jenny? Jenn? What do you

Prefer I call you?"

"Well, actually, someone like you

I'd like to hear call me Jennifer.

It sounds rather serious, 

And I rather like the way you say it."

-jenn

He had absolutely nothing 

But cancer

And Love,

And I took all his Love.

And so he had nothing but cancer,

And so he died,

But he always said he wanted to die

With a smile on his face,

And he did.

-jenn

I have got my eyes on you,

And I keep myself busy

With all this foolishness,

But if you ever said,

"Baby, let's go get a Coke?"

I drop it at all like a hot potato.

We could get one glass

And two straws,

And sip together while you talk to me,

And I sit quietly and think

About how I would like to get my paws on you.

-jenn

Don't I know you

From somewhere?

Somewhere nice?

Somewhere where there's ice in the tea?

Where people use napkins and handkerchiefs?

And blink twice for yes,

And three times slow for no, or maybe?

Where cherries always get to be on top

And lemons fizz and candies drop

Like cuff links off of starched, white shirts?

Don't I know you

From church?

-jenn

I'm just here

Doing what I always do.

And while I do it,

Somewhere in my mind,

I'm doing something else 

With you.

And so in some alternate universe

In between 

I lose my mind,

And seem to be out of it.

Meanwhile back here on earth

In the Panhandle of Oklahoma,

If I can't get my pecan pie to smell any better than this candle,

I'm gonna eat the candle and be done with it.

-jenn 

They thought that I'd been through a fire.

After all, I smelled like smoke

And appeared singed

Around the edges.

It gave me an antiquated look,

Like an antebellum wedding dress

That yellowed in the sun.

But I was fresh as driven snow,

And lily white as virgin wool,

Or cotton newly blown.

Little did they know!

They thought I'd been through a fire,

But I'd only been decoupaged by the gods

To disguise my own bright flames

From this age, this generation,

That still would kill their prophets

If given half a chance.

-jenn

You just keep breaking me 

To see where I'll bend.

I've seen this done with asparagus,

But in the end, they cook

And eat it, a one time thing.

But I'm not into 

Having to say when

Over and over.

I'll be well done

Long before you can stick

A fork in me.

-jenn 

It's all wasted breath.

Everything that Dorothy said

Before she saw the wizard's feet

Sticking out beneath the curtain.

So for now I'll give a silent treatment to the world,

Because it is the journey that I seek.

Now I take a silent bow and silent vow.

It doesn't matter anyhow.

No one listens to the words I speak.

I will talk to myself in prayers and hymns,

Mutter my mantras as I walk the line,

And listen for others who mutter mantras similar to mine,

And sing my prayers and hymns

Quietly to them, 

And see how they like 'em.

-jenn

The lights are burned out all over this house,

And no one gives a damn, but you,

And you don't live here.

But you say you can't see the pictures that I send you.

The lights are burned out all over this house,

And no one gives a damn, but you.

There was a type of cognac I liked,

And I guess it's been years

Since I had it anyway,

But it bears mention because

I'm withering here, on the vine,

Without your particular brand of attention.

-jenn

There were no horse shoes 

Until the widespread use of man-made roads.

Then necessity nursed the invention along.

Something had to protect the horses' feet

From progress, just as I must protect you,

From being alone for too long

With your technology.

-jenn 

Striding down the aisle at breakneck speed,

In a hurry to get here what I came here for,

And leave this maddening, crowded grocery store,

I stop to pause at the applesauce,

And take a jar in my hand like Yorick's skull.

"Alas poor Adam, what happened to us?

Was the curse a bit too much?

Or was it the matching curtains?

I'm certain now I wish I'd had the Pear

That day I fell hungry in the garden

Just when the Serpent had me by the ear.

Then pardon me for Paradise gained and lost,

But I prefer the whole fruit dangling

To this genetically modified applesauce."

-jenn

I have walked out into the sea

And had the waves lap up on me

Higher and more extreme.

The deeper I would go,

They consumed me, and the undertow 

Swallowed me and asked me

To swallow him. I open my mouth

To tell him no, that I can't swim,

When the swerved upsurge churns

And overfills my lungs.

I've drowned, from swallowing the ocean.

-jenn 

I used to leave it to the gods

To break a piece of the chocolate bar for me,

And if this time, I got a bit, and next time I received a chunk,

I accepted gratefully.

But with time and experience I came to see

That I bought that chocolate bar

With my own money,

And all that chocolate bar was mine!

And I so I taught myself to break 

Off a piece exactly the size I wanted,

And learned to eat it anytime I wanted to.

-jenn

The white haired woman coming out of the store

Is herself a product of our society.

She's got her aluminum throwaway pan

In her grocery cart with a plastic sack 

Of canned goods keeping it weighted

So the wind doesn't blow it away.

I figure she just purchased her cranberry sauce, 

Sweetened condensed milk, and canned pumpkin pulp.

She steps out into the light of the parking lot

Headed for her Cadillac.

Her face is pale and drawn.

Her eyes are cold as bleak November.

Her mouth hangs open like a beak

Through which she draws her measured breaths.

"This may be my last Thanksgiving," 

She's told them again

To guilt them into coming,

And to getting them there 

By 2 o'clock Thursday afternoon just as she wants.

She can't help it,

Anymore than the plastic container of fruit cake filling

That waits on the shelf to be bought in December.

She is the product of a society

That gives such few and such fatal opportunities

For women to get what they want.

-jenn 

When you approach your muse without fear,

What appears is pure spirit fire,

The flame that has burned through every human hour

And every human age.

And the sage wisdom that drops

Distilled from your pen

Will be held evident again

And again, as Reality,

A glimpse through the smoke screen,

A mortal peek at Truth Eternal.

-jenn

Tongues of love 

Dic mihi 

Dic mihi

Tongues of flame

Ich liebe dich 

Pentecost comes

Again 

-jenn

My love comes to baptize me

Every morning for good luck,

Pours a decanter of fresh poems over me

Like rose petals strewn,

They wash me clean from yesterday 

And start my sunrise.

I open my mouth to kiss him.

My head swims,

Emerges wet from a pool of his poetry

And drips down onto him

As he catches me in his powerful embrace.

-jenn 

My love calls to me in deep sounds

Below what the human ear can register,

And only I know and feel

My answer calling back to him,

Inaudible groans that begin in my loins.

May we, like swans 

That always know

Exactly where the other is

Without knowing,

Turn in synchronized love

And dance through the morning

In synchronized pleasure and peace.

-jenn

Space Bandit comes like a thief in the night.

I followed his footprints across the night sky.

He'd left deep impressions of his boots on the moon

And was cutting wide swatches 

Across the Milky Way,

Tracking his moondust everywhere.

I was worried that he'd made a mess,

But the night covered it,

And by morning I saw,

There was no trace of anything ruined,

Only a priceless journey taken

And a cosmic Ming vase.

-jenn