People come and people go,

As they must,

And sometimes only a mother’s love 

Can bare this,

To exist in the flow of life

And resist the urge to try and control it.

I am a flag pole by the lighthouse,

Unnoticed,

Especially by those who only seek the light.

Travelers weary, traveling at night,

Need a bright sign.

But in the morning,

Some may see

Me standing on the rocks against the pale sunrise.

I beckon in the most loving way I can,

And tender.

My upheld hands await to welcome. 

My gown of white

Blows in the gusty coastal winds,

The white flag of surrender.

Come to me,

All you, who are weary, and heavy laden,

And I will give thee rest.

-jenn

 I’ve thought before 

On a Christmas morn,

When I wake and think of the hay in the barn,

And smell the moisture in the air

Of clouds nestling down,

Putting a foggy dew

On the ground, that is resting from 

A summer’s long work

Of pushing up leaves

And pulling down roots,

And producing the fruit on the trees,

Like pecans and peaches,

And the legumes we just dug 

After the frost, like the peanuts I smell 

Roasting in the oven in their shells,

Already, this morning, for breakfast,

How lucky I am

To be a part

Of the heart of god,

Like you are,

Here on the farm,

Where we can see

So much of the world 

Unfolding so naturally,

So beautifully designed.

I wouldn’t trade this time with you

For anything.

I wouldn’t even trade this dream

Of Christmas morning

For all the toys in Santa’s bag,

Or all the money in First National Bank,

Or all the plastic fame in California, 

OR all the tea in China.

I love this treasure I hold in my mind,

The blessings I find when I go there,

The Everyday Overflow of Joy I find,

Knowing this great kingdom of god

Is growing inside me,

Like the beautiful brown peanut fields of Christmastime

That lie waiting fallow for the winter wheat,

That was sown in cold autumn, and waits to sprout 

Green leaves of hope in winter, 

And yield its first fruits late spring.

I wouldn’t trade my love for you

For anything,

The bright light of your heart and eyes,

The smile on your face,

The love I see moving you

From place to place 

Planting seeds of grace throughout each day.

You are very lovely.

Merry Christmas 

-jenn

 I’ve gotten tousled and tangled with you,

As seaweed on driftwood,

A messy, inappropriate, unbecoming scene to most,

But common here along the coast,

Where the rocky shore touches the forlorn and boisterous waves.

And to a languid, yearning eye

That seeks some comforting pleasure,

I find this piece of time with you

To be a work of art,

A treasure whose mysterious crafter

Has abandoned it here,

And time and tides and sea and waves 

Have erased his footprints, 

Making it clear

That innocence is found

Only where unstructured thought

And love abound,

And perhaps on lonesome, windswept beaches

Where only fleeting moonbeams can reach us,

Hidden together within this,

The oldest , most sacred artform known to mankind.

-jenn

 I swoon like purple martens in the evening

Over you.

Sometimes mistaken for bats or large bees,

In reality, I’m awkward when I’m in love.

But in my own mind, a legend, like the martens are,

So useful in my area,

Eating 40,000 mosquitoes a night.

And so the one that understands 

Will build a home for me on a pole,

Just the perfect height in the sky,

So that I might build my nest

And make my home in that abode,

So that I may swoop through the twilight

Of the dusk.

Now, such as these martens,

I don my musk

To come and swoon over you,

To flutter about your neck

And fly, 

To love you in ways that only I can,

In the only ways I know,

And hope they satisfy your heart, your soul,

And make you smile 

While we have this glorious here-time together.

-jenn

 These birds that sing

Were born because of star shine

That shone on their nests

And gave the word of life to the eggs.

These beautiful tweets

Have come from the stars.

The silver beams of each and every chirp

Originate from a nebula far away in the heart of the cosmos.

The birds are nourished by the tall trees

That grow so high,

The blue sky, and the rain,

The oxygen that the trees exhale,

The male, the femaleness, the in between.

And that’s why birdsong is so sweet and holy. 

And you…

You have originated in the nebulae, too,

As a part of the cosmos whole and complete.

Don’t compete with it.

Just flow,

And you will surely glow

As mysteriously and as wondrously as

The numenous stars do.

-jenn

 Is your love a foolish thing

That hides away in China Spring for the winter?

Or does it hibernate in gray, fading 

Away from the pubic eye,

Camouflaged by the rainy sky,

Its tears unknown?

I’ve flown with you in a mist of blue

Through the prism of the sky

To see where rainbows are born

And the heavens they go to

When they die,

And I’ve fallen with you

Like lightning back to earth,

To share the serpent’s birth and curse.

I’ve crawled upon the dust on my belly, now,

For, lo, these many years.

And the tears I’ve cried for you 

Have been the hardest.

The labor of my love,

Each one a pang,

A deep contraction, then release,

But no reaction I receive.

Anonymous my moans are found,

Amongst only those who search for truth

Amid the sounds of chaos,

Still in the throes of dire creation.

Come to me, or stay away 

And leave me be,

But cease to dangle me over your fire

Whose flames pop and burn 

And sizzle and sing,

“Oh you Foolish, Foolish Thing.”

-jenn