The Real Thing

The Real Thing

“You ain’t called in a while,” he said.

“I didn’t want to get your little ass in trouble.”

She flipped her hair with a toss of her head,

Exposing a blade of an eye.

“You ain’t gonna git my ass in trouble.”

“Oh yeah,” she nodded assuredly,

“I got enough trouble for your little ass

And my big one, and maybe the whole damn county.”

He started in on his sweet talk routine,

His smile, like the age on fine whiskey.

She rolled her eyes, though he never noticed—

Blasé, been around that one twice since.

All the while his mouth was moving,

Her body, unmoved, uninterested,

Her brain took off, and went to a place

Where she could be anything but apathetic:

Hot in the throes of her fiery dark lover,

Rolled by the muscle of strong arm extortion,

Pounded like the waves crush their burden on the sand,

Never relenting passion, not for a breath or a cessation.

Her mind replayed the image for her body and her soul:

An abiding, continuous, ingrained connection

Branded in her memory, nothing else seemed sane or whole—

Only that forbidden soiree of complete release and resignation

To the unavoidable destiny that pulled her like a moth.

Certain death and excommunication would await,

And duly did the ability to bear the white flag table cloth

Die a writhing casualty, and her facades dissimilate.

For true surrender had exposed the beauty there within,

And no one could lie to her anymore, or ever would again.

For truth had come and shone the utmost place in her Reality.

All else fell shattered at her feet, and inside it, vain disparity.

And so this boy, not knowing well what danger he approached,

Kept talking smack and feeling smug, continuing his encroach,

Was startled, when she walked away without a word of reason,

His shallow smatterings all fell flat, no apology given.

Sometimes a fire of love burns deep, making all else pale.

Purification burns the dross, to the very deepest layer.

Sometimes Truth comes and bursts in upon you,

Making the worse case seem the better.

But once it’s come, no going back

To fallacy’s hiding places.

No more pretending to be sensitive

To normal’s dreary faces.

-jenn long

Paper Airplane

Paper airplane,
Lift and thrust,
The Law of
Gravity
Broken,thus.
A higher
Law now reigns.

Fold my love
With wings and
Rudder.
Crease me within
Your sigh and shudder.
Soar me once again!

Weak forces
Of physics
Cannot ground.
When freeing
Equations
Can be found
Differential,
We’ll fly like that plane.

-jenn long

I do! I do!

I do! I do!
Husbandman, make me a garden so fair.
Till it with a chisel plow.
Cultivate the soil.
Turn all the dead weeds.
Break up the bigger, harder clods.

Irrigate the plot
With artesian freshness.
Plant new potatoes, chives, and chard.
Build a sturdy fence
To keep out the rabbits
And deer from our garden.

Then permit me to go there
And spend my hours
Investing myself in the shade of the leaves,
Pruning and trimming, nourishing there,
Understanding the blooms,
And developing produce
Neath the spreading bounty
Of the flourishing fruit trees.

Give me the key to the garden gate.
Let me live in that glorious home of the soul.
Let there be peace always here between us,
As our minds continue to grow.

-jenn long

Highways and Hedges

In green country, Alfalfa sprouts

In the ditch, along the highway.

Bales and bales of the fluffy vetch

Wishing vainly to be mown.

Brown eyed, the Susan’s

Greet summer’s bright sunshine,

While trumpet vines bulge,

Begging to be blown.

They long to sound the signal out

To every able warrior:

“Are you willing to wage fierce battle now

Against the summer’s heat?”

They long to bugle out the announcement

Of the fiery new queen’s coronation,

Elbowing ambitiously to be noticed

For their prowess and their feats.

Fertile the fields where

The weather settles sultry,

Even the low places are

Graced by certain allure.

Nature crowns lovers

With sweat’s beaded glory,

Triumph to those willing to stoop and to mate,

To strive and swim against the stream,

To heal the passionate natural urges,

And war, kicking and squirming,

Against arranged culture.

Yes, these will dominate

The highways and hedges.

Creep! Under the fence and across the parallel,

Orderly rows.

Creep without artifice!

Out-do the weaker genetics:

The eunuched hybrids,

Prone to diseases,

The store-bought ilk which

The farmer sows!

But you are a king, and your kingdom fertile.

You! Patience will bear you long,

Til the lavender tops of the

Wild alfalfas

Reach the trumpets,

To teach them your song.

-jenn long

The Juggler's Assistant

The Juggler sits silent

In his dimly lighted camp,

Stone-faced solemn, peacefully

Folding a faded dollar bill.

Carefully creasing the origami:

Flying swan,

Neck extended,

Wings begin flapping,

He takes off in flight

Into tomorrow.

His mind soars easily,

Gliding over all the depth

Of his great people knowledge.

Experience takes him, alert,

Over the deep,

Where faces shine up to him

Out of the multitudes.

He translates their eyes

And their body language,

And begins to organize them

Into the files of his philosophies:

“This one is that type.”

That one another.”

But something stirs tonight

In the swirling flames

Embedded in his prophetic DNA.

It feeds off the gypsy deep within.

The leaves in the bottom of his cup align

In a mirrored pattern

To those he’s swallowed down into his soul.

The universe is brewing

Something wonderful for him;

He feels it pulling the shavings, even,

Divinely arranging his iron rich blood

And his destiny.

Three swans folded;

Three shows at tomorrow’s fair;

He will scan the shallows again,

Yearning for the deep,

Searching among the waders

For those eyes that also long for depth,

The true bohemian psyche that

He will be completely unable

To categorize.

Three tokens of kind appreciation—

For three lucky ones

Chosen out from the audience—

Each swan is folded in the hopes,

That offered to the One,

Will be the best saved for last.

-jenn long

Unreasonable Reasons

Unreasonable Woman

Not expensive, these desires of mine—

Cheap, but not easy,

Costly perhaps, though, in various ways:

Just some wild flowers for my mason jar:

Golden Asters, long stemmed Daisies,

Pussy willow and Vinca spray,

Gallardias ragged,

And jagged Yarrow,

A few pale Thistles for me on my birthday.

But since November

Is cold and done,

Skies often gray, and chilled with hazy,

Could you possibly change my day,

Legally, on my birth certificate?

Move it to the time where the flower say,

“Love is in the air.

We decorate, so lazily,

Bright brilliance on display.”

Yes. Only this simple request fulfill

For me and happy will permeate.

Please. Sing my noel in May.

Then bring me sweet, lush Daffodils,

Wysteria, till I go crazy,

Cutting them mid-bloom at my feet,

To wish me “Happy Birthday.”

-jenn long

Can You Believe

Can you believe

That people still

Bind their feet

Into pointed shoes?

Squeeze their flattened guts into

Tight girdles,

And put bridle bits

Into their mouths to go

And sit so smugly

Self constrained,

Turning off their hearts and brains

So not to wake their souls?

Don’t you ever

Be conformed

To those whose eyes

The bloody worms

Have already gnawed.

The spirit born free

Can never be tamed.

It’s perfect,

Though it’s flawed.

Embrace whole self

Possessed within.

Enhance the liberty,

And please begin

To live your life.

Let nothing vex or annoy.

Condemn yourself not,

Nor ever repent YourSelf,

Or think your essence spent,

But revel in the breadth of it all

And enjoy.

-jenn long

No Wonder

The three fates sat so quietly!

An occasional mutter

In a language unknown.

Basic and guttural triplet tongue,

Unintelligible except amongst themselves was heard,

With an occasional sigh, or a bored sounding groan.

Hear the clacking of the pieces!

Like random dominoes plunked flat out!

A whisper here,

A twisted cackle,

They turn the puzzled chards about.

Two of the sisters get up distracted

By something more interesting than my mere life:

A novel challenge

With some pieces missing,

But they’re gonna try

To find him a wife.

Watching the one still dealing my fortune,

My eyes cut occasionally at the other two,

Wickedly obsessed

At yoking the poor fellow

To a witch of a nag,

A whining shrew.

They’re making up their own rules now,

Mixing the pieces from various boxes,

Cutting little “unimportant” nibbets

To force them to a semi-fit.

I hope they don’t try to pull that trick

Back at my life’s table.

The one fate’s moving very slowly,

But I don’t mind a bit.

She seems saner than the others

And has a scruple left in her—

Faithfully piecing, righting my design.

Lucky me! My destiny is coming together!

I can’t believe the gods sometimes!

No wonder we suffer hemorrhoids,

Tumors, and blisters!

No wonder our lives are so mismatched

And gruesome!

They hang in the balance of these immature sisters.

First Love

First fruits are for Ishtar.

Bring your early onions,

Slenderly bulbous and

Lay them there.

Entwine them amongst my

Sweet peas vining,

The dainty white blooms

Wreathing my crown.

Offer your first thoughts

This chatterly morning.

Adorn my altar

With the blossoms of gourds.

Cover the tel

Of my swollen belly,

And pray to my sacred mounds.

First kiss is for Ishtar.

Undefiled lips,

Waking distilled anew

By the dew of the dawn.

Sweet, as the rivulets

Flow from Mount Hermon,

Refresh me with worship?

Your glisten, my gown?

-jenn long

Tractor Life

In my next life,

You’ll find me

Outstanding in my field,

Thinking not

A single thought,

Responding only

To the farmer’s touch,

Daily increasing his yield.

Do I refuse to go?

Maybe my propane level’s low.

The gears not moving

Back and forth?

PTO  and ampli-torque

Not fully engaged.

Push the lever.

Watch the rage, Mister!

I am a mere machine.

Hear that complaining

Grinding whine?

There’s a leak

In my hydraulic line,

And the fluids all seeped

Unseen.

Am I not starting up like a teaser?

Spray my starter with a shot of ether,

But I will only do as I’m bid,

And sleep in the barn,

Or the hill,

Or hid

Behind the old oak tree,

Where the dews of night

Will gather and factor

With rust and dust,

For in my next life,

A tractor

I’ll be.

-jenn long

Unaccepted

My sacred position’s

Been underwritten,

Emulated,

Modified, though.

Imitated,

But underrated,

It was

Left outside

The gate, where

They entered

Accepted.

Sitting cross legged,

I’m symmetrically divided,

Not welcomed

By the progenitors

Of either half,

And yet

Initiated

By innovative,

Unabated,

Never sated,

Spirit.

-jenn long

Hush

Every word has too much connotation.

Each name already too much history—

Too much foreshadowing,

Too much alliteration,

Jaded concepts clouding with prejudice.

Too much all the time.

Just for tonight,

Let’s don’t talk.

Lets’ don’t speak forth anything intelligible.

Let’s communicate

Without a word between us.

Let’s be quiet,

And look deeply into each others eyes.

Finger-paint your soul across my shoulders.

Etch out to me who you really are

In action pictographs along my spine.

Roll me up in your feelings

As we turn together in a great unsophisticated manner.

Let’s wrap ourselves up with the hush of the night,

In deep conversation,

Mutely telling the meanings of our existence right now,

With the blackness blotting out every idle word.

-jenn long

Jellied

Suspended in gelatin like a peach

The real world dangles out of reach

Nothing ever they could teach

Or I could learn

But as I am consumed by love

Spooned out and taken up above

And swallowed by my turtle dove

Unlimited burn....

-jenn long

Run!

Your eyes are darting here and there,

Looking for a quick escape.

The door is open.

Go on,

If you want.

What is it that I seem to be missing?

Conversation was going fine,

Suddenly the need for

Exit strategy?

Hmm…

Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.

Don’t run because you’re drawn to me.

I am not pushing myself on you.

I am not wanting anything

But life…

Run away then. Run fast and hard.

Live to fear another day.

Die to save your fleeting mind

And repress your very self

Again.

-jenn long

Night Vision

Aroused in the night

I push up on both arms

It’s dark but I see

That you are still here

Your face is there

Just out of reach

I smile

Almost instantly

Warmed and ready

All over again

I lie back down

I know I’m alone

But my body emits

A guttural groan

At the truth of it

Eyes are closed

But I see your face

Blood rushes again

Pheromones coursing

Warm again

Wet again

Wanting again

Mmmmmmmm

Moaning again

mmmmm

Latent Love

Something in you cries out to me,

Calling to a deep and hidden part,

And something in me longs to respond,

And Love you from within, from without,

From the heart.

Another facet~ another dimension~

Another layer~ teeming with life!

Pulsing with energy, wonder, and wholeness,

Burning with Love, and its beautiful light,

And I did not know it was there at all!

I didn’t imagine; I could not guess

That such an all consuming flame

Could blaze within me

From a simple, “Yes.”

So thank you for dreaming me into existence,

For fearfully, wonderfully making me yours,

For awaking my heart,

And drawing me to you,

For loving me, for caring,

As my heart still stirs…

-jenn long

Home and Hearth

There’s a fire in my heart

That's been smoldering
For a long time,
Lying there unrequited,
Waiting for the slightest trace
Of kindling to fall upon it,
Or the faintest breeze to blow
To feed it's starving embers,
And stir her potential pathos,
Fanning the hopeful little sparks
To a warm impassioned glow.

So hold me now while day is fading.
Breathe sweet life and energy,
Light and love, not near abating.
Make your heart so clear to me.
Let me taste your kiss, convincing
Me to hope again, to yearn.
Let us drift our woods together.
Layer by layer then, let us burn.

-jenn long

Knowledge of Opposites

My journey

Returns me

To a primal garden:

Innocence,

Time of bliss,

Long before

There were more

Rules than behaviors.

No knowledge

Of opposites

Existed.

Too much in-

Formation is

Not always a good thing:

Classify,

Magnify,

Are you here or there?

Find your mind on a

Straight time line?

But this epoch circles

Up or down, and

Comes around

Cyclically,

Typically.

And so good and evil

Both enter

At center,

And swirling,

Whiling to

Carry me ahead to the past,

I stand under,

Over blunders.

The Great Wheel’s

Revelry

Continues to grind me.

But that’s okay.

For today

Is the hour

Of power

Renewed, by the sense

Of living

And giving

My All to Love:

Ignorant,

Expectant

Of only existence.

-jenn long

You Bear My Pall

You bear my pall,

Oh senseless age,

Without any grief.

Without any rage,

You place my shell

On a floating leaf,

And duly tell me,

“Rest in peace.”

And then you think

Your work is done—

Disposed of carrion

Before the stink

Could rise up to offend

Your delicate thought

And nostrils again,

And that I could be bought

By death’s apocryphal promise.

But I have news for you,

Old man:

I am not dead in any way.

My life has crossed another span

To live another way.

And as my spirit

Hovers and broods

Over the waters,

I‘ll tell the news

Of how you’ve spewed fallacious.

Oh! How the reality

Will set men free,

And women will bask

In liberty,

And speak with open minds,

And feel the living life

That swells

And bursts with tidal joy,

And bells

Will ring

Of alllllll different kinds.

-jenn long

She's Fixed; He Isn't

She’s fixed; he isn’t.
He swags around and sniffs her tail.
She trots straight on, her sail
Full blown and unaffected by his winds.

She’s fixed; he isn’t.
She has no urge, no drive, no need
To welcome his passion, or love, or breed.
She has business sense.

She’s fixed; he isn’t.
She is grown chunky, mellow, and lazy,
And he and his testacles drive her plum crazy,

Cuz,
She’s fixed, and he isn’t.

To say that they torture each other is true,
And maybe he would chill out a bit, if he knew,
That she’s fixed, and he isn’t.

Maybe it’s NOT good to be unequally yoked,
So I hope you’ll forgive my friendly poke
At what life is like when the dawg house joke is:
She’s fixed, and he isn’t.

-jenn long

It's Just Love

“Mmmmm.” He softly takes her locks

Breathing his very air right through them,

“I love your hair.”

“It’s only hair,” she says as if he is unaware,

“It falls out, it grows; it eventually grays.”

“Mmmmm.” He tells her anyway.

His hands roll up her island curves,

“Your skin, creamy whipped, like butter verve,”

He softly moans.

“It’s only skin,” she chides again,

“It sags, it blemishes, wrinkles up.”

He puts one finger to her lip,

“Shhhhhhh…”

He shakes his head

And rolls his eyes,

Knowing her soul,

Knowing her size

And the depth

Of her universal start,

“I love your heart,”

He states adamantly,

From the core

Of the primal power

Of his being.

She looks away

To barely say,

“Just a paper cup

Filled with sweat

And some dreams.”

Dreams and Vapours

Dreams and vapours never call.

They appear as gorillas

In the mist.

Focus sharpens

To bring them in,

In the midst of

Their busy days.

See them do

What they do best—

Defy all logic,

Paradoxic feats,

On never-ending display.

But dreams and vapours never call.

They vanish before the waking eye,

Vague memory of something

Still in the midst of living—

Somewhere.

Or, is this thing I vaguely see,

Staring back and haunting me,

The visage of life’s illusion?

Pieces of torn reality,

Fragmented and scattered

Eternally,

Trying forever and desperately

To call me?

-jenn long

Eras Eros

I think we were lovers

Way back when,

But I like it now,

Every now and again,

And que sera, sera.

Loving you

Takes me to distant places,

Wakes the memory

Of pleasant faces,

And prodigy yet to come.

So no wishes for me

Of tomorrow’s play,

When I have eternal

Yesterday,

And the pulse

Of the future’s drum.

For lo, you are with me

On every page,

For the beginning of many

An ending age,

Everyday, sera, sera.

-jenn long

Tell me; Tell me

Come, Muse.

Tickle my toes while I sleep;

Brush your fingers gently

Up the back of my leg.

Lay your body over me

Three times,

And whisper your name

On the back of my neck.

Tell me; tell me.

Touch the deepest part of me,

Inside where spirit fires off life.

Open the door for me in there;

Let the understanding dawn,

And the rest of it all pour out.

Pull me over on top of you,

And touch me with fire and burning heat.

Resuscitate me,

Mouth to mouth,

And cause my soul

To live again.

Then pull me close

And hold me tight,

Your hand in my hair,

My ear to your lip,

And whisper my name.

Tell me; tell me.

For I no longer remember anything else

But your words.

-jenn long

On Deck

Staring into a dimension beyond,

Seeing the baseball player vaguely,

Next to hit, he swings a weighted bat

Hypnotically, back and forth.

Slow motion heavy, my eyes watch his.

Time proves relative, and I am lost

In a million faces, and places, feeling fat.

Twelve hundred hours gone in a second,

Back and forth, 600 past, 600 future,

One tick is now and I am here, at last

In that place where the vision told me,

I wasn’t even batting yet—

On deck for a bit, but the time would come fast,

And the weight would come off,

And watching the pitcher would prove well,

And all that I had learned,

Would come together in a zone of I AM existence,

Fully aware and in wonder,

And home run hitting thrills as I get my turn.

-jenn long

Sand and Shakespeare

Those who live at the lake

Keep dirty floors.

Sand wins.

Warm bath in the morning,

Clean washed feet hit

The gritty rug.

Bikini top instead of bra,

Cup of tea,

Book of love,

Sun styles my wet hair.

Breeze tickles

As I read.

Shakespeare offered prophecy

About the prophetic.

I’m here to see

The ripples still abounding.

Pebbles he dropped,

Proving him right.

-jenn long

Against the Odds

Against the odds,

With every killdeer playing wounded

And pointing, “Look, out this way,”

Introspection found the primal power

Of the child within.

The world had hung a finely woven backdrop.

The illusion of the drama so textile,

But my world is not a stage.

The passage to my all in all lay hidden

Backstage, and out the emergency exit,

Where, pushing it open,

The blinding floodlight poured

Into my soul.

The very air alive and free,

I find myself announcing,

“In your face, Lemming Mindset from Hell!

I am out from under you,

And happy!”

It only took me 38 years,

But going against the grain produced

A seizing of the day.

-jenn long

Alabaster Box

Let me come with my alabaster box.

I’ve saved and scrimped and taken all

For the purpose of buying fine spikenard.

I didn’t go to the prom or the ball,

But sat dirty out in the yard.

Long have I waited for the gazing eyes,

Gleaming out from that special face,

That fronts a brain, brilliantly scoped to crack

The code, embedded in my heart’s deep place.

Open my soul and bring me back!

Been many a time that I have settled,

And thinking the case good enough,

I would head off for the china closet,

Solely intent to bring out the good stuff,

But something would give me a pause.

It might be a noise I’d hear coming forth

Would cause some slight interruption,

But a doubt in the flow would break the spell—

And so never a full consummation.

Never surrender. Never tell.

But, here I am now with this antique box.

I’ve broken its great waxy seal,

Wanting so much to pour it all over

Your feet, and wash them with my tears and hair

And worship my one, true lover.

-jenn long

Perhaps to Dream

Shakespeare, My Love, why is it when I read

Your words of love I feel so satisfied?

A crumb from ‘neath your table, oh so sweet!

My life complete, I ready now to die,

With no questions to linger, with no doubts,

Only the peace of slow and steady row.

I marvel at your knowledge and forethought.

If it be, grand, your words or my ego,

Yet your poem seems written just for me?

But, how could you do it? How could you know,

Here in my chaise with your words I would be,

Only five hundred years too late?

Dizzied by your words, the book drops plumb.

My heavy head falls back in deepest sleep,

And in this sleep of life what dreams do come.

Eyes open to a brighter light to peep,

And see you kneeling there, taking my hand

Over your palm and bring your face to kiss.

You tell me there should be a wedding band

Where your lips touch, to show the world our bliss.

I giggle at you, shaking now my head.

You smile, and stretch out with me on the bed.

I remind you I’m not the jew’lry kind.

You take your gallant nose and nuzzle me,

Whisp’ring, “That is exactly why I find

You so irresistible, and gently

Powerful, my wonderful little muse.

You’re the only one big enough to me—

Above the fray, the fame, and the abuse—

To give me room to be what I must be.”

I coyly smile, and kiss your mouth so fine,

Tracing my eyes down that classic jaw line.

“You were so right, you know,” I acquiesce.

“Your words have prov’d eternal, and so true—

Immortalized our love, how we said, ‘Yes,’

Surrendered all to love, and that not through!”

My pulse quickens as he touches tender,

Sparking my mind and throbbing through my soul.

E’en by body melts as it remembers,

Coming from pieces to an entire whole,

“For here you are, alive and well it seems,

Loving sweetly, vividly in my dreams!

Suffer me not to leave me when I wake!

Be with me as your words are in my heart,

Or, to the next dimension, pray thee take

Me with you! Let me ever be near it—

Your self—your essence! All of you there is!

I have felt deep pain from being a part,

Like half myself was gone to miss your kiss—

Born in this world with only half a heart!”

I feel your tongue part ribs to pierce my chest,

And wake without you, clasping barren breast!

I miss you Love. It makes me want to cry

To grasp the definitions of your words

While others have to struggle and to try—

The simplest meanings I have ever heard.

I shake my head and hope my bitter tears

Don’t fall to smudge your writing on the page.

It only took me but five hundred years

To see the love, humility and rage—

The all in all of me you so compose:

Mid-summer’s night dream and naming the rose…

-jenn long

Ishtar's Slave

open your ear to me

bondpoet

and breathe

arise

at the dawn of my smile

take my hand

and lead me

to the place where the waters tremble

and the quiets of the universe subside

then dance with me under the hemlock tree

and let us squeeze together

the berries so poison and bitter

and loose us every fetter

let us die together

in the arms

of one another

and let the ecstasy of death

touch upon our tongue

then may the light of day

upon us

find us smiling

dead and done

free at last

uncrossed by the stars

cosmically undone

-jenn long

Beneath the Radar

The spray of miniature blossoms

Grows there beneath the radar.

I love how they spread themselves

Right out upon the ground.

The mower cannot touch them

Until they have fully bloomed and flowered,

Lacing the lawn with beauty

Like a sheet of gossamer down.

I also love the taller stems

That grace the billowing haypatch,

Stalky buds that dance in time

With the warm south woodwind’s scale.

They bloom and blow at their own pace,

And finally the swather mows them,

Baling up for the cow’s slow cud,

A smile on the farmer’s face.

So gather your flowers while you may.

Spring is here for only a day.

Summer’s heat dries and brings to seed.

Nuzzle the honeyed, velvet flora.

Breath deep the fragrance, tip your fedora,

To the life you want—and need.

-jenn long

Question Answer Response

Q:

my eyes are wide

my corset is tied

just a little too tight

darling

can you loose me

just a bit

my breath is short

and i feel a little swooooooon

coming on

if i pass out

here on the bed

make sure and do

like mama said

and keep one foot on the floor

will you?

A:

yes sure I can, don't drift too far, I'll be a gentleman

R:

oh darn!

but if i pass completely out

i'd hate to see you really pout

so i will keep one eye open

to see if you’re still smiling

Arrhythmia

It’s not you.

It’s me.

I have yonic

Arrhythmia.

Pace maker

Might help,

But someone

Would yelp

If they happen

To get the squeeze

When the shock

Of electricity’s

Jolt sends a start

To fix the

Cacophony

Of the heart.

So,

Are you brave?

Can you handle

A wild wompus kitty

Untamable?

Do you wanna feel something

Like life on the inside?

Come then,

And surf this choppy tide.

-jenn long

Bath

Oh good golly!

I need a bath!

I’m filthy, dirty, nasty—

Mud and sweat and grimy filth

Just covering my body!

And so I turn the water on,

And get it nice and hot,

And listen to the swishing pour,

And the caldron’s gurgling pot

As the water heater churns it out:

A nice warm bath for me,

And I pour some lavender oil right in—

An aroma herbal and soothing,

And then, I dip my foot into

The water’s cleansing edge,

And slow-motion steady, my

Body follows to a full submerge.

I lie beneath the water there

And soak myself, through and through,

Until the wet and the lavender

Have done what they needed to,

And then I swim up back into the air,

Feeling so crisp and clean,

And get out all primed to face myself,

And ready to get dirty again.

-jenn long

Love Mist

Let me waft in on the breeze through your window

A refreshing mist of cool

There are places like this on the trail that I walk

Suddenly sweet and damp as the dew

Let me blow in and settle there over you

And look at your sleeping face

Oceans of love have distilled within me

And gathered here, now in this place

I see you there dreaming, your eyelids moving

REM sleep fully engaged

Let me add essence and reality to your dream

Feel me settling in on your page

Write me into your history’s future

Now ink me into your early morn

Picture me hovering, brooding over your deepness

Adding energy for your victory horn

Capture my cloudiness if you can

Grasp my elusive sensual moment

Feel me all over you like a clammy shirt

Soaked by the salt seas foment

Then burst into freedom

And rise right thru me

Strong as the rising sun

Knowing that something is there in your midst

And she is never quite done

-jenn long

Hasty Ones

Will you stand up,

Stand up for Jesus?

Will you do as Peter did,

And standing up,

And drawing a hasty sword,

Slice off the ear from the soldier’s head?

The soldier—merely one,

As He was under authority,

Was following orders

From a greater one than he.

Or can you, as part of the living body,

Become a part of the very hand—

A manifestation of a true healing touch,

Creatively restoring the visions blurred?

Can you go to your cross

Like a sheep to the slaughter,

Silent, not sayin’ a mumbalin’ word?

Those who live by the bloody sword

Surely will be those who die

By the exacting, selfsame sword of unmercy,

Still condemning the very sky

When it won’t produce what they think it should,

When it’s we who don’t understand,

That the kingdom of god is not without,

But within, and very close at hand.

-jenn long

Old Door

It’s an old door,

And it doesn’t fit the jamb anymore.

It doesn’t always want to shut.

Its tendency is to stay open.

It gets arthritic and sticks

When it’s sultry outside,

Or just before it rains.

The paint is chipped a little

Here and there on it

From me trying to slam it

And make it work, and,

Smudges galore,

Where dirty hands have made their mark,

But the worst part is:

There is only a door knob on one side,

And when the door does shut,

That’s it.

No one can open.

None can enter.

None can come through,

Not to bring,

Not to take,

No, not even to be.

Sometimes I think about

Fixin’ that damn door,

But—I am just so used to it,

And maybe I’m lazy,

Or maybe,

It really is working for me

Right now,

Dr. Phil.

-jenn long

Skinny Girl Club

Ahhh… the Skinny Girls’ Club!

You can see them giving each other

The super secret handshake with their eyes,

Lookin’ one another up and down,

Sizing each other up,

“Are you a size 2, or a 4?”

Well Darlin’,

I am a 5, but 7’s feel so darn good

I buy 9’s,

So don’t be eyein’ me, Honey.

I am not a part of the club.

I don’t live my life anymore

On the treadmill going nowhere.

I don’t torture myself

With deprivation

And the “ I can’t get no

Satisfaction”

Mentality

Of trying starve myself,

Or scarfing and barfing

And killing myself

With ex-lax,

To try to achieve

That hollow gut look

Made so popular

By Hollywood

And heroin junkies.

Oh yes, I take long walks

On the beach,

But I don’t hustle when I go,

I stop a lot

To smell the flowers,

And look at fascinating things that I find curious.

It is amazing what one can see

When one is not tangled in chains

To the mirror.

And sometimes when I walk,

I take a pork chop with me.

I eat it while I mosey.

I enjoy the heck out of it,

And find it so filling

And satisfying,

Mmmmmmmmmmm!

Oh Sweetheart,

I see the tortured trademark in your eyes,

“Member in good standing of the Skinny Girls’ Club.”

The hollow in your tummy has spread

To an empty in your eyes.

Let the fat chick in you out a little sometime.

Let her have some fun,

And discover that she may just be the one to guide you

To the kingdom of peace within yourself.

I wish you all the best!

It is possible.

-jenn long

Finally Learned

Finally learned!

I am not capable

Of doing the things I love

For money!

Nothing brings out

My inner slut

Quicker!

Nothing ruins me

Like a little green!

Naw!

I will stick

To doing what I do

For fun!

Oh! It is so much

More free that way!

-jenn long

Christened

Beware when all men speak well of you!

You haven’t really lived “your best life now”

Until you’ve had a few drinks thrown in your face!

You think you’re really livin’,

Sittin’ there astraddle that fence,

Politically correct, religiously protecting

All those gold stars you have

For seventeen hundred and ninety-two consecutive days

Without an accident, or offending anyone.

Better watch out!

If you get any more lukewarm,

Even your own personal god

May spew you out of his mouth.

Oh! Yes! Friend!

Please!

Get white hot with life!

Or indigo frozen with freezer burn!

Today’s Gomorrah is living zombie dead,

Spayed AND neutered by Bob Barker’s Laodiceans,

Sans stains on the tighty-whiteys.

Come out from under the vault and live!

Get out of the line of those waiting for the surgery!

Live, love, laugh, and speak your mind, friend,

And pray that someday

At your coronation,

Someone will christen you, too,

With a drink thrown in your face!

-jenn long

Pharmacos of Ishtar

Fine line between blessing and the curse,

The cure and deadly toxin:

Coumadin is clot preventing life for some,

Death for others—rat poison.

But Ishtar, we need your cutting stare

Today, to cut thru culture’s misses.

We’ve gotten very far off track,

Distracted from Reality’s kisses,

Disrespecting our primal nature,

Our needs and deep desires,

Castrating our men,

Sterilizing our women,

We’ve neutralized sacred fires

That were designed to warm our caves, our hearths,

And to provide satisfying nourishment.

Our alma maters now are feminized,

So it’s called, but it looks like sex deterrent.

Emasculated society,

Where are your fertile fields,

Where men walk unafraid to be men?

Where do women feel safe to wield

Their feminine sexuality like a banner,

And lay it off in victory

Shared, where love is honored, cherished,

Made king and queen,

And life thrives abundantly succeeding?

-jenn long

Mellow Roast

Your voice echoes through my night

Like warm sips of coffee,

Waking me,

Quaking me to the core,

Making me want some more.

Rich smooth sounds

Come bounding down.

They get under me,

And plunder my visions,

Yet leave me fuller than before.

Cozy, golden day blends into strong night.

Your words stir into my darkness.

A creamy layer rises to top off robust cups,

Both just about to run over.

Giggles percolate as we see each other

With milky, espresso mustaches.

Tomorrow’s blonde roast is already here—somewhere.

You call me, dark mocha-ed, from that place,

Happily willing to wait and brew,

Reaching back for me into your yesterday,

Moving me with your deep rich tones,

Easily over the longer, gentler wavelengths,

Into a hearty, aromatic, resonant frequency:

A harmonic convergence of time and space and taste.

They spoon together now, my night, your day,

Rousing into a hearty time, uniquely their own.

Your smooth tongue awakens me to the delicious treasures

Of a dusky, dawning, eternal morning of love.

(…and I don’t even like coffee)

-jenn long