My Birddog dreams at night.

The desires of her heart unfold,

And she is running,

Not through streets of gold,

But through the fields where alfalfa and clover grow.

She is tracking dove and quail

And pheasant,

The holy grail for birddogs.

And it is just as manifest to her.

Her heart rate rises,

And her muscles twitch with glee

As she sees whatever it it she longs to see in her dreams.

I’ve heard there may be One who never denies a loving entreaty.

And so why not?

I would be wise to start my dreaming

To uncover the true desires of my heart.

❤️ 

-jenn 

 We take our vows

I won’t do it to you

If you won’t do it to me

Undo send button on the texting machine

Editing

Of previous posts 

To make it seem 

Like someone agreed to something obscene 

It’s a good thing we have figured out how

To unsend actual conversations from midair

But maybe there is more to it than there seems

Maybe the old adage

Way old—-> before phones of any kind

Think before we speak 

Deserves another round of applause 

It’s time has not come and gone

Quite yet 😂

-jenn

 They say if we want to enrich our uranium 

And go nuclear with inner strength and power,

We need to slow down 

And contemplate the Way of Nature,

Sacrifice our negative feelings,

Accept the powerlessness of our personalities 

To affect the currents of life.

But can we return to the stillness?

Can we cling to the power of The Great Deep?

In the quiet, and with the clearing of our cluttered minds,

We may be frightened to hear our own heart speak?

-jenn

 Dancing ‘neath the stars so bright

To music that we call “The Western Swing.”

An upright bass sends out the pulse

Jazz guitars the rhythmic pace

And drums

From someone hip and thin

Like a young jimmy benjamin 

All these put the background down

Like a watercolor wash on an opaque sky 

Then an angled edge of a quill dipped in dark ink

The fiddle begins to draw

Indigo notes

Deep scratches in my record

The needle skips

And it doesn’t even matter

Because a cosmic sound I hear

And I’m back there

Dancing under a crescent moon

Under the clusters of heavy uranium 

While nebulae bloom

And yolks intact

Begin to form individual sacs

Of hemangioblasts

A sonogram 

And here I am with you

-jenn

 Name one drunk on which the Paris lights refuse to shine,

Or the stars, whose faint lights reach,

Every grain of sand upon the beaches of the River Kwai,

And every other place this side of the Milky Way and beyond,

Or the Sun whose mighty rays grace everyone and everything alive or dead,

And me, and you.

The rain falls on the just and unjust all alike,

And we should be glad,

For truly, we aren’t wise enough know 

Which category it is

That we might be lumped in below,

If such categories were found to exist in real life, 

In anyplace but our own minds.

But only for now,

We can rather fall in love,

And under the optimistic hope

That logically believes: 

With all this manure,

There’s bound to be

A pony in here somewhere.

-jenn

 They say you can’t love the unwilling,

But you can,
Just as you can wish upon a star.

It’s just that some people have to be loved from afar,
But there is not a man
Woman or child
On this planet
Who does not need Love.

-jenn

 (If it’s not perfect 

It soon will be)

Can we be thankful for everything 

Things we have 

Things we don’t

The way things are

The ways they are not

The way things change constantly 

(If it’s not perfect 

It soon will be)

Maybe even I can make a small step toward peace

And at least be thankful for what I have

And what I am now

Instead of seeing aspects of my life as problematic bits and pieces 

Let me see it in all its integrity

Let me be happy with it

For doesn’t every opposition carry a seed

Of agreement 

And in the great evolving dynamics….

A mystic beauty 

*IF* it’s not perfect

(And….

It truly may be

*If* I can learn to see it that way)

What if at the very least

I could learn to believe 

That:

IF it’s not perfect

It soon will be

-jenn