I'm a sailor.

I sail.

I've seen the dolphins.

I've seen the whales.

I've pumped the bilge

And swallowed the stew,

But there's one thing I never do.

I never, ever, ever

Run out of limes

Because they cure everything.

-jenn

Prophetic Fire

"I have a feeling it's gonna burn,"

He said of his old house while we stood in his driveway.

"Lots of things burn out here, ya know?"

He relapsed into a faraway smile

And never heard another word I said.

The promise of phoenix rising means everything to him,

But he has a bootstrap theology.

He pulls himself up.

He doesn't bother praying for a disaster

That he has the power to create on his own.

-jenn

In strange mysterious baseball games,

Some dreaming batter stands 

In a house-of-mirrors batters' box

And faces pitchers he can't see.

Fast balls come from anywhere,

And curves appear, and the batter doesn't know

Where the strike zone may be,

Or not be, or what pitch he's gotten on,

And suddenly he hears, "Strike threeee!"

And all he knows is that he's out,

And nothing else about the nature of the game.

But in my mysterious baseball dreams,

It seems I'm always "in the hole" or "on deck."

But no matter where I'm at,

I know I'll never get to bat,

And this recurring theme

Tells me that's exactly what this life is all about for me,

And that I should learn to enjoy the bench,

And dugout life,

And be thankful.

For, at least, I will never be out,

And I'll never hear the umpire shout,

"Strike THREEEEE!"

In regard to me.

-jenn 

My son came to me.

Some girl he was trying to date

Was being mean to him,

Treating him like trash,

Like a disregarded second class citizen,

A worn out shoe.

And I said,"Baby, here's what you do,"

And proceeded to talk him up.

"Tell her she's out. Tell her she didn't make the cut

Of people on your team who get to 

Speak into your heart,

And go on.

But keep listening for the magnanimous souls who will,

And most of all,

Attune your ear to the still,

Small voice from your own self

That tells you what is really what,

And always be true to that!"

-jenn

Someone who doesn't know me

Asked me what my problem was,

And in an inspired moment of self recognition,
And in spite of my usual stammer,
Caught on a wire between extreme self-doubt
And attempts at humility,

I spontaneously combusted

And blurted out the living truth.

My problem is

I'm at the top of my weight class

And there is not another,

So all you got to put up with me

Goin' all King Kong on your asses

Allllllllllllllllllll the time,

And beating you down into submission,

Because I am world heavyweight champion,

And I am here to stay!

-jenn

The spring flaw comes

And reveals the humanity of nature,
And the nature of humanity.

Something hiding under the snow has caused

Platelets in the earth's hard crust to crumble,

And now we see, we're part of the animal kingdom, after all.

We've mistaken our complexion 

For celestial.

We've misappropriated funds from the divine

To overrate our essentiality and our temperament.

But we're dispensable,

Like the wooly mammoth

Or the mountain lion.

And if our DNA may be so tainted,

And if I may be so forward as to suggest,

That discretion is the better part of valor,

And that our animal nature is the better part of our makeup

Than piety, if not the very best.

-jenn

One Way Then The Other

I've only mistaken true for false

Once, I guess, or maybe twice,

But that second time I kind of knew,

But maybe didn't want to question.

Now, if you ask me how many times

I mistook false for true,

That's an entirely different tale.

And time and time again I've fallen,

And never knew what I was getting into

Going that direction.

-jenn

That one bird that's stuck in the rafters of Walmart,

I know just how it feels.

It's the very day after Christmas,

And already at 7 o'clock am,

The store is beginning to bustle.

But right now, the dull roar is still dull enough 

That you can hear the piped in music.

The Guess Who is wailing that there's no time left for me,

And even above that,

That one bird chirps.

It's a cheerful chirp,

With just a touch of forlorn in the refrain.

It says, "Here I am singing my song again, today,

And there's a whole blue world

Just somewhere there outside.

But here I am, stuck in Walmart."

I know just how it feels.

I sing my forlorn refrain,

Pushing my cart along housewares

On the way to the chip aisle.
I wail a concurring wail
With The Guess Who!
"No time for a sunny day! No time left for meeeeeheeeeee!
No time left for meeeeheeeee!"

And while I sing,

And wonder if, when it's loud in here,

And no one can hear it,

If that one bird stuck in the rafters of Walmart 

Bothers to sing its song anyway?

-jenn

Panhandler, don't teach me how to beg!

Teach me how to sing!

Stand outside of the system 

And cheat death and taxes for me!

Lie to the folks in congress!

Lie to the folks back home!

But be true to yourself,

And tell yourself 

That you're only a garden gnome 

Standing in someone else's garden,

Riding the planet for free,

And if you don't get where you're going,

Then you'll be wherever you'll be

And go from there.

A song blares from your closed mouth,

And a look on your face shouts

With an outside voice,

"I'm here!

I'm here! I'm here!"

Your loud refrain can be heard,

All the way through the punchline. 

So,

Teach me to sing! 

Teach me your song of freedom,

You traveling railroad bum!

-jenn

My kitten's feet twitch

As she dreams.

Maybe she's running

Through lavender fields

On the moon?

Then I look down

And notice my own!

My feet are twitching, too!

But I'm awake in the day as I dream,

And lucid as ever I were.

Maybe I'm running away with you?

Or only through lavender fields

On the moon with her

Am I.

-jenn

My son and I walk

As we always do,

Talking all through our neighborhood.

We get to a house where we see a guy we don't know

Has been hired to fix something.

It's a black guy, and he looks at us

Like we're already judging him.

We say hello, and ask him how he's doing.

He cocks his head, as if

We're deigning to talk to him

Just because he's black,

And says with a chip, "I'm BLESSED!"

But what he doesn't know is,

My son and I say hello to everyone,

And we ask everyone we see

How he or she is doing.

So I fight the urge to chip back,

"Oh, yeah? Well, we're BLESSED, tooooooo,

Mutha Fuckah!"

I wonder if he would've laughed,

Or been offended,

Or if he'd've wondered if I could read his mind?

Gut instincts are usually right, they say,

So, it's too bad we can't say the first thing that we think of,

Except in a poem every once in a while.

-jenn

A knock on the door,

But I'm not home.

I'm on the beach at Majorca.

A ring at the bell,

But he stands on the stoop

Alone,

While I peel an orange

To eat on the beach at Majorca.

I'm here with the ghost of Robert Graves,

And while he relates a story to me

Of hearing Catullus in person at Thebes

And understanding the perfect Latin,

I'm here.

I'm here.

I'm here.

Until finally I hear the postman say,

"Lady, I need you to sign for this package!"

And I slip out of my warm citrine trance

And back to my dark cold room,

Then down the hall to answer.

I sign for the package,

And as I walk back,

I realize I left orange peels on the beach

For someone else to pick up,

Along with all of my clothes,

And I've just signed my name for the package naked.

And I'm not sure which plane

I've left Mr. Graves in,

But I'm sure hoping I can find him.

-jenn

There's a song I hear on the wind 

Moving through the trees

Through the tall oaks

And newly sprouted seedlings 

A loving nature sings 

Take your time

And do the best you can

You will become what you were meant to be

Don't hurry 

Don't worry

Let the sun shine on you

Let the rains fall down

Take your time becoming 

And do the best you can

Great wheels in the cosmos are turning

Sweeping changes on a grand scale 

But keep  your eye on the small wheel

Winter summer spring and fall

And do the best you can

Don't trust any of the ism's 

Or the man made systems with your soul

Only the solar system only the Mother galaxy knows

The galactic seeds you sprouted from

The nature of the starry stardust you were planted in

So take your time and do the best you can

You will become what you were meant to be

-jenn

I burned my bra!

Well it was an accident,

Because when I say I'm a child of the sixties,

I mean I was barely born.

And feminism took a strange twist in the 80's,

And I don't know where it's gone now.

But when I try to go braless,

Which is my preferred manner of doing things,

I scare people.

Even in my own home!

But this little accident in the bathroom with a candle 

Has come to bring down the high 

And level the low,

And I've seen the power.

I want to say it's the power of being synchronized with your self.

The liberation of having your modus vivendi 

Align with your preferred modus operandi.

But, who knows what this feeling is

Truly caused by?

The feminine mystique?

Or a new Mother Nature 

Truly takin over?

Sixties baby---

They had some goooood music!

And, I'm braless!

-jenn

Mornin, My Smile,

Where have you been?

Tucked in the pocket 

Of the sharp dressed wren,

Keeping his agenda 

Under his vest,

Making me giggle

As he gives me the test,

And keeping me on schedule,

Tho I'll never know.

He's one step ahead of me.

One stitch saving nine,

But he's giving me my smile back

Just in time.

-jenn

Potted plants and potted meats

Aren't nearly the same things.

Potted plants live and breathe,

And potted meats may never have.

No one knows.

Potted plants can be identified 

By botanists

And other gardening enthusiasts,

But potted meats can only be questioned 

And labeled with the other usual suspects

That come out of central foods.

-jenn

I wanted to see what the bumper sticker said

On the car at the red light ahead of me,

So I kept oonching up,

Until finally, I hit them from the rear.

My fault, only to see,

It said, "Jesus is Lord."

Curiosity killed the cat.

It just keeps getting me

In trouble with the law.

I've gotten stronger and stronger prescription glasses,

But maybe I should invest in some good binoculars,

Because I keep wanting to know

What is so confoundedly important enough

To make people wear bumper stickers all over their cars.

And it keeps on being about someone 

Wanting me to come to their church,

But I'm not gonna come with them

When they're the sort that acts so bent out of shape

Over a little bent out of shape bumper.

-jenn

Maiden, Mother, and MawMaw

Three phases of a smile that

Every woman of every age

Will show in the phase of a laugh.

And only a Leonardo will be adept enough

To recognize the power

In that one stage,

Is it waxing, is it waning, Mona Lisa?

Mary?

Maiden Mother MawMaw.

-jenn

The brooding cuckoo clock 

Can't stop.

He ticks off worries

With every tock,

But always another has come around

To keep his chin down

Beneath his frown.

His eyes never stray from the cluttered ground

And all the man made trouble he's found.

But man made him too, afterall,

So why would he look to the open sky

Where birds fly so trouble free?

And why is he looking now at me

With that look in his eye?

The gods made me afterall!

And I've never eaten an apple

From the tree they told me

Not to eat apples from.

So cast your eye some other way, Cuckoo,

And chirp your solemn bell

For some other lily

That's dressed so well,

Or some other sparrow that's fallen,

And tick me off some other day,

When I know what sin it is I've committed.

Maybe tomorrow,

Or the the next day following?

-jenn

Some things come loose with a slow easy pull,

And some require a quick tense jerk.

I hope if you find yourself in a tangle,

You'll always recognize 

Just what kind of knot you're in,

And just how to get yourself free

In the most optimum way

For everyone.

-jenn

Every year they won awards

For their holiday decorations 

But this year that sleigh

And those four hay bales

Just looked like something else

Stored on the front porch.

-jenn

When I emerge from the tub

Fresh as greens,

And smell like beans and vinegar,

A smile on my face

Like butter on hot corn bread,

Then I go through my day

Like a winnowing fork,

Separating those who miss 

The salt pork, from those thankful souls

That know a good thing when they see one.

They get a blessing.

I don't prepare myself like this for everybody,

Just the exemplary righteous

Everyday folk.

-jenn

If, on a bright, already hot morning

Some summer in Texas in 1974,

You happen to be out barefoot in the long, sandy rows,

Hoeing the Careless Weeds away,

So the green, leafy, little peanut plants can grow,

Maybe like me, you will think to lie down

And look up into the sky,

To see how long it might take

For the buzzards to come circle you.

And if they don't,

Maybe you, like me,

Will come to see,

To really believe,

It must be because you are alive.

-jenn

In the beautiful lines of the curved eaves

Of the Japanese temples,

I see your smile.

Happy birds fly home,

And thin wispy puffs of giggles

Cross the sky

Like cartoon clouds

Riding high on the sunny wind.

I will fall in love with you again

And again and again,

If you let me.

-jenn