People appear on the planet.

They pop up

Like goats in reservoirs,

Like trees that one sees but never noticed them as seedlings.

Where have they been?

People disappear before my eyes.

Where did they go?

They were walking ahead of me,

Like a mirage, naturally occurring,

But possibly just light rays

Bending via refraction.

Optical phenomenon 

Can be confusing.

Maybe no one else exists.

But maybe if we resist the illusion,

We can quit resisting ourselves,

Resisting others, resisting life,

And quit letting Truth be eclipsed in our hearts

By anything else.

And maybe we can live again,

And love and smile at how everything 

Waxes and wanes, 

Including Truth,

Within ourselves and within others...

The ones we know...

The ones we don’t...

And even the goats 

(In the reservoirs).

-jenn

 If we give in to our nightmares,

We may never find our dreams.

We may get so tangled up

That we won’t bother seeking the thing

That seeks us.

But can we hold our way!

And turn our backs on that which doesn’t really serve us!

Behold the beautiful blazing sun!

How it shines upon the face!

How it beckons us to come

And be great with it!

Behold the stars!

The way they gleam with love for you!

How they sing above you!

Rejoicing at your name!

Then come to me,

And let me love you.

Let me love you.

Let me wear your beating heart upon my sleeve.

-jenn

 The Edge

Blue is the color of the corner,

And it’s hard to tell,

Which side of the block is the end

And which is the beginning.

There’s no mortar holding up these dreams,

But I’m laying bricks and can still feel the twinge

In my shoulder

From picking them up

And laying them down over and over.

And something there is about a poem,

Even one that doesn’t rhyme,

I remember a certain line about 

Feeling a ladder rung under one’s foot

In apple picking time.

And I can still feel the sea surge

Picking my feet off the ocean floor,

Riding the waves at Matagorda Beach,

The thrill of the sun and the sand and surf and

Feeling a little out of control,

Hoping the undertow wouldn’t come 

And carry me away too far,

But a strain, like a dark refrain

From a sailor shanty,

Wishing it would, so I could see

If the world really had an edge

And if I could fall off.

What else would there be

For me to do

Besides picking apples

Or laying bricks

Or losing my flip-flops to the breeze

That blew on the beach?

But somehow I knew when I was thirteen, 

The edge of the world would be impossibly blue

With dark green streaks,

And if one sailed over,

There’s be no telling

Which edge was the end

And which the beginning,

But one would see

With perfect clarity that

There would be no mortar 

Upholding anything,

But rather the sweet fluid thoughts

Of the Innocents.

-jenn

 Snowflake 

This Snowflake doesn’t melt.

It does a hyperbole of energy

Upon my window pane,

An energetic dance of Life

And all things wonderful.

I smell the orange slices and the clove,

The Mistletoe,

But that is just my cologne.

This Snowflake has captivated me

In ecstasy,

To watch it whirl and twirl,

Plié, 

And with a magic arabesque,

It flies away.

But I am here dancing in my heart.

I’m glad my car wouldn’t start .

I’m glad I couldn’t turn the heater on,

So I will never know if that alert piece

Of frozen snow

Would have ever defrosted

Or not.

Instead of doom,

 I’ve got a wild idea in my head.

Brightness has replaced my gloom, and I’ve been cheered,

Dare I say, by something most consider to be

Inanimate?

-jenn

 There’s a random number of people you meet at the doorway.

Someone’s coming out

As you’re going in.

Someone’s going in

Just behind you.

You hold the door for him or her.

She or he holds it open for you.

Some will blindly walk on through.

But there’s a random number of people 

You’ll meet at the doorway.

Some may offer a quiet smile,

Some a mischievous grin.

Someone’s always coming out,

But who may be coming in

Just behind you?

Now it’s time to go back out.

I’ll wait for you.

I’ll hold the door just so,

Until the noir of night

If I have to.

The moon shines bright,

The light of day,

There’s certainly nothing random about that?

And neither may there be

Anything random about

The people you meet

At the doorway.

-jenn 

 The big trees are turning hue,

And there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

The burnt orange and sienna,

The yellow mixed with gray and henna,

The streak of blue I see behind

Is just the sky laughing at

The foibles of mankind’s attempts at dishonesty.

We dye our hair and paint our faces.

We rue the day the graces made us.

But the big trees accept the winds that blow,

The undertows of the breezes,

This chilly currents that change the seasons,

The unknown and hidden reasons of the change.

They don’t complain but only quiver

While the river flows.

The range of colors merges with the night,

And their leaves mingle with autumn’s sweet palette,

And then they drop

So beautifully that I must stop what I’m doing today

And admire.

-jenn

 Bread and Jelly

On a day where the festival begins,

And he, or she, who bustles best

Is seen to win,

I ask my son what he would like to eat,

And he says, “Bread and jelly.”

And now it’s time for me to cook for you,

And when I ask what you would like,

Will you tell me true?

Or will you tell me what the world may hold so dear?

Or will you tell me what I want to hear?

Or can you stand and in gentle humility 

Speak the words of true desire:

“Bread.... and jelly.”

-jenn