I got real tall overnight,

7 foot two,

And none of my clothes fit me right,

And I can’t find any shoes.

And worst of all,

I can’t find a date,

For hardly anyone at all

Wants a girl that’s taller than he is,

So she goes to the prom all alone.

So everyone is dancing in the gym,

And then a basketball rolls out

From some corner of the floor,

And I stop dancing by myself,

And pick it up, and shoot, and score!

And suddenly a game breaks out!

And what ya gonna do?

Cause now everybody wants the girl

That’s seven foot two!

-jenn

 *“Are you on drugs?”

What has happened to my mother?

She never answers when I talk to her.

She’s married to a narcissist.

For years he’s gas-lighted her,

Made her feel that she’s the crazy one, 

Triangulated her, to make her jealous,

And to vie for his attention,

And isolated her from any friends or family 

She might have known before.

I just had someone try this on me.

I dumped him summarily.

I can’t afford to repeat this cycle.

I can’t afford to be on drugs,

Like my Mother.

Now I see her. She stares numbly.

I think she has dissociated.

There is only a hollow shell 

That cannot feel his cruel demeaning insults,

And her true self has gone somewhere else.

Or she’s on drugs,

Or needs to be.

She’s married to a narcissist.

-jenn

 Most of the things I see 

Outside my sliding glass doors 

Are not real,

Just lights playing on the streaks of mud

My dog has left on the pane

From scratching to get in.

Reflections play, inside and out.

Shadows hide. The sunbeams seek the shade.

And I could see so much more clearly 

If I would clean the window,

Or better yet, open the door,

And go outside,

But sometimes I like to deceive myself.

I’m in good company.

The human race stares out 

Through a dirty atmosphere 

To question the cosmos,

To make judgments about our brothers and sisters

Based on strange reflections of ourselves.

But if we could clean up our hearts and love,

If we could open our doors and go out,

If we could slide the pane 

That separates our brains from the cosmos,

Would we see the cosmos scratching to get in? 

Or could we see so clearly how One we already are

With everything?

-jenn

 The white crepe myrtle sparkles after the rain,

It’s petals washed as white as snow.

It’s deep green leaves shimmer in the wind .

It is beautifully unselfconscious.

It has achieved this glorious state of life,

To grow up where the rains rain and the soil is rich.

The result: success.

And yet it never boasts,

But calmly shares its grace with the sun and rain

And passers-by, like me.

I, too, have been rained on today,

And walking, til now, with my head down,

Feeling rumpled,

But my wet skin is cooled,

And freshened, and maybe I am beautiful, too,

To a few of the passers-by.

But will I achieve the greatest result

If I can convince myself 

How lovely I am,

And yet, not glory in it?

-jenn

 In a timeless tradition of not thinking,

I walk.

The bleating of locusts at sundown 

Blurs out the light noise of traffic

And the entire day.

An oncoming motorcar slows,

And the driver smiles at me and waves.

It is my neighbor.

We are simple friends and happy people,

And quietly go on about our ways.

She will say her prayers tonight at bedtime,

And I will listen to the crickets sing.

My vespers will fly up off their legs and wings,

And all of us await the glory

That rises in the sunrise, and then,

We will humbly let another day begin.

We are simple friends and happy people.

-jenn

 I heard an iron bell in my mind.

Someone clanged it, and the sound chimed out

For what seemed to be a very long time.

But the silver bell beside it

Barely resonated.

I closed my eyes, and likewise pondered time ,

And pondered the silver bell.

I’m shivering in rapt attention

At its mystic spontaneity.

The cosmos wants to speak to me,

And I’m dying to listen.

My part is to ring the silver bell

With my own heart.

I hear it sing.

The cosmos says, “This is now.

It’s longer than you think it is,

But short enough

That Life won’t get monotonous.

Fill your lungs with air and 

Be alive.

I felt a quiver of quiet beauty 

Just as a sweet tone knelled through.

The past timed out,

And suddenly I knew the meaning of the Present.

-jenn

 I would say he was never here,

But I still have this little piece of twine

That I threaded through my needle 

The night I sewed his shadow back on him.

But can something spun, like a tale,

Prove anything?

I thought I might have dreamed it,

But do shadows even really exist in dreams?

And I know I pricked my finger

While stitching up one of the seams,

And I know that was real.

I had a little sore spot for several days.

I could feel it every time I touched my fingertip to anything.

Maybe I should’ve gone ahead and flown away with him.

Maybe then someone would wonder if I was real

Or not, or what they really had to remember me by.

I would hope it wasn’t pain,

But then again, at least that’s something.

-jenn

 Megalithic stones 

A stone’s throw is not too far,

Especially if the stones are large,

Like they are at Baalbek or Tikal.

But at Malta the megalithic blocks 

Are placed so close, it seems

The rocks grew in together like teeth.

They say they may have originally formed 

Something like a temple complex,

And the ruins they have found

Lead them to believe

That people came from miles around

To worship the Mother Principle:

How beautiful it is to be born

And nurtured, cared for, and sent

Into the world to do the same.

But maybe the people came

To be chewed, by the cyclopean teeth,

And swallowed down and thereby doing,

Understand in a cognitive way

What it means to be an integral part of the divine,

And what it means to be a stone’s throw away.

-jenn

 I can be carried away by the sound of crickets.

I can smile, just seeing your eyes.

Well, you asked me what my problem was,

And I’ve been trying to tell you.

I’d like to sleep in the woods

In a tent, with your arm snug around me.

I like to hear the monotonous sounds of the night,

Pulling my mind to a playground of dreams,

While my eyes wait

For morning to light your face.

I am a hopeless romantic.

My heart beats red, then blue,

And then all the colors of the rainbow.

Well, you asked me what my problem is,

And I’ve been trying to tell you,

I love you.

-jenn

 Repressions of Love

I am full of unbounded love,

Unfounded love,

Unconditional love.

It has no way out,

No expression.

I try to make art,

But only confessions emerge.

I try to splurge

By loving myself,

But find I don’t know how.

My desire is to pour out all of this love

On someone else,

But who will let me

Love them as I wish?

And so I exist in this state

Of repressed love.

-jenn

 Who would think to tell this tree it wasn’t a viable part of the cosmos?

And who would think to tell a leaf on this tree

It isn’t as good,

Or it wasn’t a living part of the tree,

Or a viable part of the cosmos?

And if one single leaf yellows

And falls?

Is it still

A beautiful viable part and parcel

Of the cosmos?

I am here admiring this tree,

With leaves of green and brown and red,

And the idea comes that I, too,

Am whole, and wholeheartedly complete,

Just as I am today,

Not lacking anything.

And out of the blue... hiccups.

Maybe even they are a viable part of the cosmos?

-jenn

 My cat listens to the radio.

It seems to me she prefers Chopin,

But then the program changed,

And banjos clanged,

And I’ve never seen my cat so happy.

She picked up a fiddle

And danced to the middle of the room,

And on two legs, she begs the world 

Not to hum along with her inclusive tune.

The call, the answer,

The melody and dancer are One,

And so inseparable that I can’t see

Where the cat, the fiddle, the notes,

The harmonies, the improvised steps

Of the mystical dance begin or end.

Such fluid motion!

My hips shake. My brain smiles.

I realize my face must look just like

My cat’s face, when she listens to Chopin.

-jenn

 Something innately beautiful there is

In something that can never inherently become,

Something that can never inherently become objective.

I used to think less of such a thing.

I’ve seen others condescend,

Take a quick look with a blind eye

And turn away.

But today I gaze lovingly

At nothing.

-jenn

 Do you want to come and think with me?

Let’s participate together in a though-experiment.

Let’s take the lids off our imagination,

Collectively.

Whatever we think, will exist,

And whatever we don’t think,

Will also exist.

Let’s roll around together and play,

Knowing afore time that we are one.

Unified in existence and non-existence alike,

We can imagine shamelessly, 

And create a world where everything 

Consists of delicate 

And durable Love to no end or goal

And no methodical discipline to attain 

Such non-attainment.

But let’s be naked together,

Only clothed with evasive mirages

Of existent and non-existent outerwear, 

Or else let’s be dressed,

And imagine that we’re not.

-jenn

 I can’t even see you when you stand that close.

My vision’s getting longer sighted,

And I don’t have my readers on.

But now, take a step back

And let me get the picture clearly.

You like me, you say,

And you want a better look at me?

So this is love at over fifty.

Mmmmmmm....., give me another hug.

Ohhhhh yes, I tell you what,

I feel you,

And when you love me just this way,

I see stars.

Touch me everywhere you can.

Hold me. Wrap yourself around me.

Let’s see what an old man can really do

With an old woman like me.

-jenn

 My little girl doesn’t feel well

She got a tummyache at school

A little boy who’d been showering her with attention and flattering praise

Suddenly withdrew

Ignored her, and was flirting with her friends

She said it felt like he wanted to hurt her

And he probably did

And it does hurt

New research suggests that being ignored 

And ostracized 

Reacts in the same center of the brain

That we register physical pain in

A few days later he approached her

And sickly-sweet, he told her

She could be as pretty as the other girl

If she were only skinnier

I’m worried about her

She’s going to BE skinnier 

If she doesn’t eat

She says she can’t 

Her tummy hurts too bad

I wish I could tell her something good

Something true that she could do

To heal and get over him

But the truth is I’ve had men treat me that way too

And I didn’t know what to do either

-jenn

 I’m dropping you hints.

You take them, like flies,

With little bits on the hairs of your legs.

And finally back home,

They’re spider eggs, you see!

And now you’re dusting them off your coat, 

And Sensibility tries to reign supreme, 

But Panic wins,

And you’re making a spectacle 

Out of yourself,

Trying to shake the cooties off,

Those cursed cooties

You knew you’d get from me!

But there is a better way.

Don’t take the hints.

Just take what I say.

Take me at my word.

Then when you lie low

In your crib, 

Your bébé mobile will be songbirds,

And you’ll find your halo

Has been polished,

Thanks in part to the very blessed cooties

You never thought you’d see,

And you got them all from me!

 Because I’m not really a hint dropper,

Just so you know,

And any hints you ‘take’ from me

May lead you down a possibly very interesting, 

Very weird, very, albeit, very, very, wrong road.

-jenn

 If I cannot contain my delight,

And spill out onto you with lyrical glee,

If my cup runneth over,

And poetry drips from the spoon I pull

From your mouth,

And honey lands across the sands

Of our picnic blanket,

Will you love me anyway?

Ants are on their way!

Let’s not hesitate here.

Be of good cheer, my loving friend.

Descend into me

To see the visions that your heart may see

When you close your eyes in reverie,

And then, you may worry with me

About the ants,

And all that honey on your pants,

But will you love me anyway?

-jenn

 I picked up a shell on the beach,

And now I hold it to my ear.

Is it the ocean that I hear?

I look inside it and I see.

Is that me?

It’s been a year.

Or has it been?

Is that the ocean I still hear?

Is that still me?

Or is this roar forevermore 

The sound of overlapping? 

Is this me,

Forever unwrapping myself to you,

And never getting down to skin,

Never getting to swim 

In the ocean in this shell

That I found lying on the beach

Beside the shore

Where waves prepare the sand for love?

I, too am lying (on the beach).

I tell myself that I’m prepared 

For what’s in store

Forevermore.

But I seem to be endlessly unwrapping.

-jenn

 Thought after thought after thought,

Who sought to string the beads together

So that a single drop of rain

Could be seen in slow motion

From where it had been

To now, to where the drop was going.

It drips silently down the pane,

Like notes of a musical prelude.

Who thought to string the notes together

In a sonorous whisper on a Celtic flute

And play out a life of moments together

That dance along a sea-like shore

And dabble in water and sand.

Who thought to name this drop as it fell

And tell it its name,

And tell it that it wasn’t the same

As it was

So high up in the atmosphere!

But this, here, too, is sky,

Just not so blue. 

And you,

Are you not the same,

Reading your paper on the train

As you were when you fished for change

In your pocket, to purchase the raggy news?

And your blues, 

Will they modulate and change key

By the time you get to old Paris,

A new song, a tune of now?

Who thought to string you together in this jazz mood?

Your shoe will play for you, 

When you tap your foot down on the platform 

To the rhythm of the rain.

Trouble can only live in the past

Or the future,

But good music plays here, now,

Good food is cooking,

Love is brewing

In this throbbing creative pulse of spontaneity 

Called us.

-jenn

 The winds make the woods

More mysterious.

The clouds disguise the clarity of the air.

What is the black in lacquer?

Deep enigma draws me

Like a dream oracle 

Into the dark matter of the sky,

An infinite equation

That never can be solved.

I come to a solution in the present,

Only to find, another derivative has been taken

And carries The One into the future.

A raincrow coos outside my window,

And now my room feels full

Of dark energy.

-jenn

 The secret is:

There are no secrets.

You can feel the ultimate reality 

In your bones.

There is no veiling of the way things are.

There is no fooling, 

Unless one wants to be duped.

But I like

The way things are,

The way things are,

The way things are.

I like

The way things are

With you.

I make that no secret.

-jenn