Friday, November 29, 2019

Through the keyhole,
I see such lovely dirt
With sprigs of grass growing.
Through the keyhole,
I see gray slats of boards
That make a porch.
Through the keyhole,
I see the fine Italian shoes
Of a man who's ringing my doorbell.
If I bend a bit,
I can see his trousers
And the tail
Of his blue coat.

And now, quite suddenly,
Through the keyhole,
I see his eye looking back at mine,
And this is quite embarrassing,
For I was trying to hide.
But now, I see,
That he sees me
Through the keyhole!
What an audacious thing for him to be!
Someone who peeps at other someones,
Right through their own keyholes!


-jenn
Let's Don't and Say We Did 
(on Opposite Day!)

Sometimes I just need someone to talk to.
Will that get us in trouble?
If it will,
Maybe we should just go ahead and get naked?

I'm cold.
Are you ?
I don't see why anyone 
Would begrudge us
Trying to get warm,
But if they would,
Maybe we should just go ahead and get naked?

I feel some deep rumblings
From way inside me,
Just from the mere abstract thought of you.
It's nice and tropical in my head,
And gears are just beginning to churn,
Just beginning, you understand.
Just a few tremors are starting to shake
Like Vesuvius warning Pompeii,
Fully clothed,
And all at once asking,
"Maybe we should just go ahead and get naked?"


-jenn

Wednesday, November 27, 2019

I used to tell my children stories about 
My rosy childhood.
And then one day when they were older,
I finally broke down
And told them the truth.

And they told me,
"We always knew!"
And I asked, "How?!"
And they explained,
"Because we know you so well!
And we know your family,
And even if we didn't,
We can see
How you treat yourself 
On your own birthday:

You get up like you always do
And pour what's left out of yesterday's
Lo-carb Monster Energy
With a squeeze of lime,
And feed the cats,
And take time to hug us and tell us good morning,
And ask us what we want to eat.
And we've tried giving you nice things for your birthday,
But you always say you don't need anything,
And we know you would never ask 
Even if you did."

And then the younger son stepped up 
And said, "I got you something, anyway,"
And handed me a rock,
A small plain-Jane one he said 
He found in our back yard.

And then he kissed me on my cheek.

And truly, it is exactly what I would have wanted,
If I ever would have wanted anything for my birthday.

And so today I feel such peace,
Because I know there are a few people
Who know me
And love me anyway!


-jenn
I used to tell my children stories about 
My rosy childhood.
And then one day when they were older,
I finally broke down
And told them the truth.

And they told me,
"We always knew!"
And I asked, "How?!"
And they explained,
"Because we know you so well!
And we know your family,
And even if we didn't,
We can see
How you treat yourself 
On your own birthday:

You get up like you always do
And pour what's left out of yesterday's
Lo-carb Monster Energy
With a squeeze of lime,
And feed the cats,
And take time to hug us and tell us good morning,
And ask us what we want to eat.
And we've tried giving you nice things for your birthday,
But you always say you don't need anything,
And we know you would never ask 
Even if you did."

And then the younger son stepped up 
And said, "I got you something, anyway,"
And handed me a rock,
A small plain-Jane one he said 
He found in our back yard.

And then he kissed me on my cheek.

And truly, it is exactly what I would have wanted,
If I ever would have wanted anything for my birthday.

And so today I feel such peace,
Because I have two sons who know me
Better than anyone else,
And love me so much anyway!


-jenn
Son's friend: Do you want to go shoot some guns in the country today?

Son: No.

Son's friend: Why not?

Son: I've shot guns before.

Son's friend: Well you've breathed air before too, but it looks like you're willing to do that again.


Son: shows what you know! I don't breathe air. 
E chord rings somewhere in the room,
And the E string on my guitar resonates.
The train goes by.
My cat begins to purr.
I think of you.
My hips gyrate,
Imperceptibly at first,
And then break loose
In a wild uproarious samba.
My soul shakes loops of
Heavy ropes away,
To dance freely through the night
And into the light of day.

And as the sun shines,
I feel my heart at peace,
First rays of morning 
Warming my feet,
Kissing my toes,
Working its way 
Up the rest of me.
Love dawns on me slowly,
Like rhythm, like rhyme.
It comes for me wholly,
Like a stitch in time,
Looping me back together
Sweetly with soft comfortable threads,
Cradling my head in its hands,
And kissing all my temples,
Loving me all along my E strings,
And everywhere else between,
Making beautiful music in my soul
And I hope, in yours, too?

-jenn


It used to be people could look in a mirror,
And as they turned to walk away,
They would forget what their image looked like,
But today, I look at a clock 
That's in my phone,
And before I can put my phone back in my pocket,
I've forgotten the time.

Am I late?
Am I early?
I don't have anywhere to go.
Why am I looking at my phone
To see what time it is?

If I ever have the nerve
To come as I am
And let you smell me
And touch my skin
Without any cosmetic creams
Or false bravado,
Then I won't bother looking in the mirror,
Or forgetting my image,
And I won't bother looking at my phone
Ever again.

-jenn


Monday, November 25, 2019

The torn page resembled the place
Where the ocean foam washed up,
And for a while, the tide would bring the wave
To that exact spot and to that very line
That stretched along the shore
As far as I could see.

But tides change, and slowly
It went out.
The horizon came to resemble
A page torn now in two different places,
Waiting to be torn in three, or four,
Or burned in a fire.

But luckily, the moon was pulling.
The swells renewed and came in high,
And foam that had been disregarded 
Along the beach line corresponded
With invigorated splashes
And kissed the sky,
And entered in to all the cycles of life again,
And smiled again.
And then could see,
The page only looked like it was torn,
As part of the graphic quality
Of the artwork.


-jenn

Wednesday, November 20, 2019

"Where am I and what have I done with myself?"
I ask myself from the bowling alley bathroom.
I've been reading a fascinating play
In the privacy of a center stall.

But I'm going to have to re-enter the throng sometime.
I've already had two people ask to borrow my bra.
I should never come here, alone, I know, 
But they have the best french fries in town.

In dreams I come naked to
The bowling alley and actually bowl.
People notice, but let me be.
Sometimes it's cold in here,
And I put on a coat,
And the other bowlers show obvious relief.

I think I should write a play about this, and 
The moral will be, "Live and let live,"
And the title will be, "What Women Want,"
And maybe someone will read it in the bathroom,
And maybe someone will weep
At the beautiful ideas I've proposed.


-jenn 

Tuesday, November 19, 2019

There may be many ways to Jesus,
But there is only one way to Walmart,
And I went down it wrong.
I found out when this new aged hippie gal
Honked at me and shot me the finger
And screamed some blood curdling obscenities my way.

I smiled and waved
And put my hand in my purse
On the pepper spray.
I saw she had one of those "COEXIST" stickers on her Subaru,
But I was ready just in case,
Because even though hypocrite comes in all sizes,
There seems to be nothing more intolerant 
Than some of the peace-lovin parking lot nazis
In sheep's clothing around here.


-jenn
The morning sun,
Shining just so,
Through yellow leaves
Still soft from autumn dew,
Squeezed my heart
Like an olive in press,
Between its light
And the tender voice 
Of my teenaged son,
Singing with Ray Charles 
On the radio,
"Georgia On My Mind."


-jenn

Sunday, November 17, 2019

In fog, at night, when you want to see,
Maybe counterintuitively, you have to take 
Your lights off bright 
And click them down to dim.

And sometimes while chasing forest fires
Through sand,
You may have to let some air out of your tires
And slowly forge the littoral
To make it through the trails at all
Without a tow.

And sometimes, when completely overwhelmed with love,
It pays dividends 
To blow out three of the four candles you lit,
And sit very quietly until,
Loves comes to you in the dark.

-jenn


Squirm, Magic Pumpkin,Squirm!
While I wave this wand at you 
That I saw Aunt Circe throw out.
There's still a little battery left
And I want to see what you can change into.

I've been told
That changing something half the way
Is a no-no.
The strange hybrids tend to grow into monsters,
Like Cerberus and Apis Bulls,
But I'd kind of like to see a Pumpkin-taur,
And I think knowing the gourdic nature
From whence it would start
Prohibits me from being too terrified
To see it form.

If I could be happier,
I would,
But since I can't,
I'm good
Being a half-assed excuse for a demigod,
And wasting my time by creating 
Other weird misfits in my image.

-jenn


They told me no life could live this deep,
Nothing could handle the pressure 
The mysterious sea exerts,
But I donned a suit and went over the side of the dinghy.

As I drifted down I saw the usual creatures,
Then very deep, my eyes adjusted,
And I began to see strange features
That no one had ever seen.
An ocean of undiscovered, unnamed, unstudied species fluoresce.
They were giving off their own heat,
Applying the feat of chemo-synthesis, and
Illuminating all the faces of god.

Or is the pressure too much for me?
I'm dying.
Someone's chasing me.
Someone's chasing you, too,
But you may have something to offer.

Nothing tips the iceberg like you.
I float like a dead man,
A beached nude,
With absolutely nothing to show for myself.
And now the scientists will take a net
And dredge below, 200 feet,
And "discover," and name them all
After themselves, in a fatal stab at immortality.


-jenn

Friday, November 15, 2019

If a Hyperborean Maiden comes to you,
And asks you a favor,
You're screwed.
Damned if you don't, and if you do
What she asks,
There'll be Zeus to pay.
Especially if they tell him how cute
They think you are!

So carry your moonbeams in a jar,
And be on the lookout
For Hyperborean Maidens.
Be sure to see them before they see you,
And stay very far away from them,
No matter how lovely or distressed 
Those damsels appear to be.


-jenn
Maybe we were forbidden lovers in a previous life,
Or born into a strange taboo
That our generation cannot comprehend.

A night bird flies against the grain at dusk.
It hurts to make it home before dark,
But as the days grow shorter,
The night bird, forbidden, loves her 
More and more and more.

The canopy of the clouds holds rain.
The rain holds a sweet darkness.
Goodnight bird just has enough time to stop
To buy a loaf of bread and some wine
And maybe just one bottle of champagne
So his wide smile can disguise 
Itself among the bright bubbles
And never give itself away
Midst winter's gray.


-jenn
She works hard on her yard all summer,
And then Winter comes,
She sits on the couch and pouts,
Looks out the window,
Buries her face in the tv,
Buries her mind in a form
Of hibernation,
Tries to forget about the three bears she lives with.
They sleep all winter quietly in their beds.
She tries out their chairs, instead,
And experiments with making Strange porridge and puddings.
She tries to think of nasty tasting things she can put in.
Sometimes it is only this that can bring
A smile to Goldilocks, whose Father 
Forced her to marry Baby Bear
After she turned up pregnant
And gave birth to a hairy little son.

She's warm within the den,
But cannot sleep the entire winter like the Bears do.
She feels her biological duty is through,
So now what?

-jenn



Some days like this,
When the wind has tangled my hair,
I have the chance
(And take it),
To brush my hair hard
And in frustration 
Just the way my mother did
When I was young.
I can almost start to understand 
Why she always cut my hair.

My mother did not understand my hair.
Hers was so different,
And she always kept her hair so short,
But I always wanted mine to be long.

I always try to understand other people's hair,
Because it's very sad when people
Don't understand each others' hair,
Much less each others' hearts.


-jenn

Thursday, November 14, 2019

Come to my house, Sweet Pi,
And I will make you sweet potatoes for breakfast,
Apple dumplings for lunch and rhubarb pie.
We'll take the circumference 
Using you,
And build a henge,
And sing the stones right into place
Like Merlin did,
And make a name for ourselves,
And if not a name,
Then at least a spiraled haven
Where we can convene
And shout our praises out
In splendor and in ecstasy.

I sing your hymn,
A glorious irrational number,
For you cannot be expressed
In conventional ways.
Let's cut the cake 
And feed one another,
And think of all the ways we're roundly blessed.
A little more than a trinity,
You are all the more divine.
3.14159, or, pi.

-jenn


Now that the leaves are gone, I see,
I have four Druid watchmen 
That live in this tree in my yard.
They watch over me,
But they also watch me.

They are very hard to get by,
These soldier guards,
And they set the bar high for me,
Because if someone's going to make the cut,
His spirit will have to be fit and tough,
His mind has to be quick and witty,
His eyes must shine and a manly smile
Grace his rugged whiskery face,
Because it's easy to pale in comparison 
To the stoic beauty of the men in my oak tree,
Whose faces are made up of twisted branches,
Who look at me with intense glances
Of deepest love and desire and admiration.

I like the way they look at me.
I love the protective nature.
Their stature is grand.
They stand guard above me
And keep me content
Until my TrueLove can come and love me
With the same intent and heart
As the Spirit of the Oak Tree does.

-jenn