You're a night owl,
And I'm an early bird,
But we meet in the barn at two.
You love me,
And I love you.
Birds of a certain feather,
Fowl that come together
To smile and flock and flutter,
To nibble the seeds that fell from the bales of hay,
And say, "Life is good,
And Love is food, too,
As far as the world allows
Between barn owls
And barn swallows
Who, at least, have something warm in common,
Even if it's only the barn part.

-jenn

I don't like to hibernate alone.
I feel cheated that, at least,
While I sleep,
I should have little triplet cubs
That could fit in a teacup.
They could nurse and nuzzle me,
And while they grow,
Their tiny paws could tickle me
And scratch away,
And I could dream of salmon
In the cold stream and catching them
And eating them and sharing them with my young.

But as it is, I will wake alone
My children will be grown
And I will be left to wonder where they've gone.
Or maybe it is I who've gone astray
And my waking is from some other time
And from some other hibernation place,
And maybe, by then, I will have grown up, too.

-jenn

This day has been like a big wet slobbery kiss from a dog.
It's had its ups and downs.
It's had its moments of smelly breath.
But all in all it's been good for the face.
A more natural moisturizer you could never find,
And a big smile can make any face look younger and brighter.

And what big fat meanie could not smile
With a big galoot dog licking you right in the face?

This rainy foggy cold winter day
Is that happy to see you,too, friend.
So welcome it with a laugh and with love
Until you can see its wagging tail for yourself.

-jenn

Why do birds sing?
Are they happy?
Or so full of sorrow
That they seep sadness out
In chirps and peeps?
What is the meaning of their various songs?

The path of the Sage is twofold, they say-
Loved and adored,
Or walking away into the woods, never to be seen again.

I have walked silently by the brook,
Listened to it's rumbling overture,
Overheard the overtones of the birds.
I've walked in time and in tune
With the melodic muse,
Mimicked the foreign opera
Until I learned it note for note.

And though I do not understand the words,
The sounds and deep vibrations that I've heard and felt
Are just as much a part of me
As the wild blackberries and honey I ate out there.

And I could tell you why the birds sing,
But you wouldn't understand me,
Because it's something that has to be felt,
And one can only experience it.
And in an unexpressable way,
Be moved to keep the deep and beautiful secret to oneself.

-jenn

The winter comes like a long lost uncle,
A steam trunk full of musty clothes
That need to be washed
And a health inspector's appetite.
Layer upon layer of deeper isolation and withdrawal,
I can barely hear him tell me
How much better Lucinda's pancakes were.
I can barely hear the tiny pellets of freezing rain
Pelting the tin roof ever so gently,
Snowed in, and snowed asunder.

-jenn

Stark beauty of a dark silhouette,
Winter tree, a bare, naked lady
Against a pale, colorless, morning sky,
She sighs.
Many have tried to capture her longing in still-life,
But no medium of paint or photograph,
Watercolor, pencils, has been found
That can capture her boredom.
Tired of sleeping until spring,
She yearns with her branches out and up,
Her nipples erect and goosebumps on her bark,
And would that she could stay undressed all year long,
And yet be clothed with the sun and warmth and dignity
That is afforded to others
Who do not wish for things they cannot have.



-jenn

If you treat your lady like a queen for a day,
You will be king and have a long reign
In her heart and her mind's eye.
But if you treat her like a nag,
You will drag your way around a doghouse
All day and night,
And your tail will never wag.

-jenn