She's happy.

She's sad.

She's happy.

She's sad.

She's happy she's sad.

She's happy she's sad.

-jenn

There he was without changing

There he waswithout

There he was with

There he was

There he

There

-jenn

Rattle my cage.

Go ahead, Human.

Wake me up

From a peaceful dream.

I have big hair

And big, open eyes.

I try to understand my world

And everything in it, but I can't,

And someone wants to marry me,

But I can't do that either.

I'm only five years old.

But someone wants to rattle my cage

And tell the world my age 

And other things about me

That even I don't know.

Like a tiger in a terrible traveling show

With a cruel trainer.

Im scarred up, already,

With a notch on both my ears.

But I have no fear of you, strange human.

You, who have no regard or respect

For the Spirit of Bard,

That burns so deeply from my heart,

Branding every thing I touch

As MINE!

And if you come too near

Without reverential love

Shining from your mind and eyes,

I'll pounce on you,

And eat you for breakfast,

And spit out your bones

While you're still alive,

And marry what's left of you for supper,

Because I'm only five,

But that's what I've learned to do so far

From watching this awful traveling circus

Called The World go by,

With all of its cruel trainers.

-jenn

I have a garden planted by the wind

Where tall sunflowers grow

And dandelions,

Yarrow weeds and feverfew 

And holy basil that went to seed

And someone threw it out.

And all I do is sit and watch it grow.

The sun knows when to shine.

The rain knows when to fall,

And through it all, the garden grows

Without me hoeing it,

Or interfering in any way.

And so I'm free to enjoy it

And wonder at the wisdom 

Of nature's golden ratio.

1+2+3+4 = 10

I allow the wind to blow though me

And plant its seeds.

I trust them to grow

And bloom at will, 

Again and again, 

Without me interfering.

-jenn

Someday I'll hate plates

And brisket

And biscuits,

But not today.

Can a borry your spoon?

We're getting advanced as human beings,

Repressing out appetites,

Repressing our feelings,

And yet, claiming that we aren't.

We're going to learn to travel in spaceships

To destinations out there at very great distances,

And we're going to behave as we travel all that time.

We're not going to eat meat or beans.

We're not going to crave sex.

We're not going to do anything untoward.

But not today.

Can I borry your spork?

-jenn

My cat and I are curled like Yin and Yang.

He purrs while I think

And listen to the wind chime.

It always sings a different song.

Originality it natural.

Quietly I drift into a dream.

My cat is there to greet me

With more purring.

It is a winter house

Whose ceiling is bank-vault blue,

Like a sky with brown bare limbs

And branches stretched across it

To make clear pane glass designs,

And young girls bring baskets 

Full of gingerbread around

For happy, comfortable guests like me to nibble on.

My cat seems to be the master of the domain,

And proudly entertains with such majestic hospitality.

It is his house, I suppose,

And he has chosen splendidly 

Which guests to host and with what means.

And when I wake from this delightful dream,

I'm going to build a fire in my own hearth

And make some gingerbread

And invite some friends over

To help me eat it.

Originality is natural.

I learned it from my cat.

-jenn

Free Will vs Predestination 

(Ancient Greek Style)

When the pink in the morning 

Goes all the way around,

Homer, in the epic "Iliad" and "Odyssey,"

Calls it, "Rosy fingered Dawn."

It's the cosmos getting a grip

On the planet, and on you.

It's letting you know that 

Wherever you go on this projectile egg,

The universe may have a destiny

In mind for you, that you don't know about.

Maybe you've heard the prophecy,

As did the parents of Oedipus,

When they were told their child 

Was born to kill his father and 

Marry his own mother.

They couldn't believe it,

But kind of did, and took the child out and left it to die.

Spoiler Alert! Maybe they 

Should have believed a little better.

For someone came and found the child 

And raised it as his own.

And then, one day, when Oedipus was grown,

He "accidentally" stumbled upon

The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.

He killed the very king to have her.

The king turned out to be his father,

And he'd just fallen in love with own his mother,

Just as the cosmos had chanted 

It would happen all along.

The cosmos has a grip on you and me,

And we wonder at the things that we might be

When we grow up,

But the cosmos knows.

The fates are ever twisting their cosmic lines,

Weaving the tales that our stories will tell over time,

And snipping away at our lives to make them be.

And from where may these creative juices spring forth?

Perhaps the very erstwhile organs

That rosy fingered dawn grips us by

Every single morning.

With a great jerk

And a smirk,

Do they cackle at our human birth,

And our impending girth, as we lay

Impregnated by the very fates

That cast our die?

-jenn