It was beautiful.

It was lame.

I sat in a broken down temple

With eleven other tourists,

And in the spirit of Asclepius,

We spoke only our given names,

And then each, in our own corners of the ruin,

Began to emote, and to act out

In dramatic fashion 

The opera that were in our hearts,

The plays our lives had been.

And ivy grew on the hallowed walls of colleges,

And tall pines sheered up the sky,

But the backdrop to our stories 

Were the omens of birds in flight

And a chorus of clouds.

We flocked together.

The sound of our mistakes

Rose resonantly up and out,

Like the quacks and honks

Of ducks and geese on a lake,

Just as the serenity of sunrise gives way

To morning’s official and practical start.

Just so, we began to feel as naturally at home

In our broken hearts,

Suddenly seeing the beauty of all our attempts

At failure and success.

-jenn

My right hand’s been broken,

And not the way you think,

But like a horse trained to give in

To the bit, the bridle, the reign.

I can’t always write with it

And say exactly what I feel.

A voice inside tends to chide me

For not crossing T’s and dotting i’s.

So when I feel stumped,

I put the crayon in my non-dominant hand.

My left hand will say anything, 

But only if it’s true.

My left hand has never had 

A ruler brought down across its knuckles.

It’s untrained, unlearned,

And yet I value

The things it knows,

The things it shows me about myself.

My left hand is whole, unharmed,

Unconfirmed, un-conformed to this world.

It comes without knowledge of sin

Boldly to Nirvana,

As any loving curious child,

And is allowed to come in

And go about freely.

I am happy to hear my left hand talk.

It cures my right hand

And my right brain,

And scribbles over any writer’s block 

Or half-assed truths Ive tried to type up.

It covers the page with vibrant living colors

Of creativity and wonder.

You can do it, too,

And see for yourself how fun it is.

-jenn

A dream in the hand

Is worth two in the mind,

And yet I always have a few lined up.

And like the coach 

Of a championship dynasty,

I recruit a constant stream of winners.

I call one in, who’s been waiting

In the wings, and he takes his place,

Fighting his way to victory.

The gladiatorial challenge is 

Finally complete for a season.

The triumphant garland that he wears,

I share, quietly,

And see the ring we competed for

Last season,

Shining with diamonds,

Replete with glory that we give up

To think the thoughts of Life.

Survival of the fittest reigns.

But what is this “fittest”

That we speak of?

We will live to love and laugh again,

And be ready to vie for the golden cup,

Over and over and over again 

In this game of life, this ruse,

Where we choose to exercise our wills

To be true to ourselves above all else each day.

And I’d rather fail at loving you,

And know I’d given it all I had,

Than to stumble into some modern brand of success

That I wasn’t born to call my own.

I will contend on this playing field

That very few have even seen,

And I will win, though it may take 

My entire team to do so.

-jenn

If I’m so lucky to be 

Here in this place

Where the highest is seen,

Where it feels like instant death

And new beginning,

So let it be.

Always before 

On tiptoe,

Not ready to see,

Not ready to accept

That the highest good

Seems so empty,

Yet... it outlasts everything,

Its worth forever shedding life

Like fragrance on a summer’s day,

Quietly like a mother

Nursing her young.

I am so lucky,

And I am here,

Ready to see,

Ready to be

Shedding my love

To the day.

-jenn

Someone asked me what was going on

With the government.

But I said, “I haven’t lived here very long,

And I don’t know.”

Institutions don’t mean much to me.

I’m not involved enough

In their history

To understand their significance.

Where I come from,

People are truly free,

And act accordingly,

But with the knowledge that

Love is the only law,

And not as a statute man has ratified,

But as a scientific principle,

Like gravity.

So if it’s broken,

There can be dire consequences,

Unless, some other higher laws

Be found, to be as just, 

Like lift and thrust,

Then one can fly,

Though one may find, in being up,

In such a new, invigorating sky,

That the whole round cosmic 

Akashic heaven, and everything else

Is all made up of Love, itself.

-jenn

I am the river that flows to the sea.

Tokens of love fall into me,

And sometimes they are thrown

As offerings.

Every leaf, every pebble,

Every stone

Carries a message

Of life known up to that moment.

Every twig, every flower,

Each bit of trash,

A lock of hair,

The ashes of someone you knew

Dissolve in me, or come to rest

Ina new place.

I bear the message

Of Life and Death,

Of True Living,

Of insight and breath,

Inspiration and liberation,

Of being and not being,

And how much alike 

They really may be.

I am a river of poetry,

Always on a course

Of Love, Sweet Peace,

And Freedom from

Anyone and Anything

That would keep us from

Our Destination there.

-jenn

Good food can make you cheerful,

Especially if it’s good for you,

A little lemon juice,

A bit of spice,

Saffron or jasmine in the rice,

Delicious vegetables ripened in the sun.

And eating good food 

With a good person 

Can make you cheerful, too.

A smile between bites,

An apple of your eye delights 

And can ripen your disposition.

I hope you have a lovely day.

Come play with me

When you can.

Let me make you something to eat

Out here ‘neath the sun

On this strand of beach 

That we share with each other 

And with the sands of love and time.

-jenn

I stepped on my shadow.

My shadow said, “That didn’t hurt.”

But when my shadow stepped on me,

Tears of pain began to squirt 

Out from my eyes.

Yet, as I allowed myself to cry,

I realized that it felt good,

And I had a lot of misunderstood 

Grief inside, and slowly my shadow

Returned to me, and said, “Thank you.”

She said it had hurt her, too,

But she was starting to feel better.

-jenn

Some people are out on this earth to be lazy,

To show how good

The good hardworking people really are,

And to show the good hardworking people 

That everyone on earth lives in his own way.

The life that exists between the dashes 

Of born and died,

The few short years they show.

But the eternal beautiful soul within,

Do you know yours?

The honest self and the attributes 

You possess from the divine,

The shine you harbor from the rest of the world,

And often times, from even yourself.

Do you know how beautiful you are?

Maybe you can find yourself with hard work.

Maybe I can find me

In my mind between the sheets,

So lazily, I let you love me,

Then fall asleep

And dream of you and me.

And how many lives we’ve lived before!

And how many more we may gloriously share?

-jenn

I wanted to ask you

If you wanted to

Get naked with me.

I figured I had a fifty-fifty shot.

For either you do,

Or you do not,

And either way,

It might not be a rejection of me,

Just the kind of day

Or life that you are having.

And I don’t guess I need

A particular place

Or a reason to go nude,

It would just be a lot more fun

To see you see me.

But please, pardon moi,

If I get a little concupiscence,

But isn’t that only a little au naturel, too?

-jenn

I’m calling you from a dream,

My dream to yours,

Where birds sing.

I’m speaking to you

While you’re asleep,

Your mind at ease,

In deep meditation.

The words of love I say to you

Are seeds of wild and fragrant blooms

That will grow in your heart

And intoxicate you with pure

Hair-raising zeal,

Exuberance,

To shoo the dullness and the pain

And free your soul to live again.

I’m calling you from a dream.

-jenn

When I went looking for a lamb that went astray,

I wandered as a sheep might do 

To see if I could find the way

That it had gone.

And in the cool morning,

I came upon a holy place,

Where maybe dawn had settled 

In the night to rest her head

Before she rose, to light the East

And greet the early birds

From their fresh beds.

The grass was lush and sallow,

Large trees grew round to shade,

And in a spot where deer had wallowed,

I made a pillow and laid down

In the fragrant air.

And where are you, My Lover?

Will you come tonight and meet me,

Here, with only the night

To cover us?

Will you fill me with Divine Light

As only you can do?

So that by loving one another

We can know our true selves better.

We can begin to see 

Love-light dawning in our souls,

From me loving you 

You loving me.

-jenn

This is my machinery,

The machinery of poems.

It clatters and jerks

And has to be oiled.

It works in spurts.

Nuts and bolts,

Pins sheer off.

A giant roller crashes to the ground.

The horrible sound is ear-splitting,

And my first thought is what my dad will say.

Is this something I can fix?

Or must repairs be paid for

To the men in town,

Or the man upstairs?

But even with the power-take-off disengaged,

Poems are flowing,

Teasing my hydraulic lifts.

It doesn’t matter now

What anyone might say.

I am become the eater of poetic worlds

And have sprung to Life

And the good pleasure of my Maker.

-jenn

The Smile

In a desperate attempt to recover the rest of my life,

I put my sunglasses on

And staggered down, out of my room at midnight.

I looked straight up, into the stars,

The mystery of space, and our small galaxy.

I stood like a night crane,

Leering in the moonlight,

Peering at myself in the great cosmic mirror,

And with every ounce

Of the remaining strength that I possessed,

I smiled.

——///

2

A smile is a scientific fact these days,

And yet, something so dubious.

Can a smile be trusted when

The smiles have all been captured

By notorious camera-men

And kept as slaves?

Smiles have been forced

To do the bidding, and the dirty work

Of the big business conglomerates 

To sell their wares.

Where can anyone turn

To know if the vacant stares

Of the perfect faces, with their hollow eyes

And shining smiles are telling true?

And which toothpaste will you buy

When you stand so dazed

And so confused in the aisle at Walmart 

And try to remember whose smile

Won you over best?

Whose smile is it that you trust

To try to get you, at least, to test something new?

—-///

3

I’m face to face with a smile again,

A never-ending campaign to live,

To survive, and thrive.

In a desert of dry faces,

Empty places void of any expression at all,

I find you.

What is this glance?

This glimpse of a giggle?

This tip of an iceberg I see?

The hidden obstacle in my sea of Love 

Beckons me, to come and run aground 

On the only thing between us

In this vast ocean of otherwise freedom.

What will it be, today?

Sunnyside and over easy,

Or simply breakfast tea, Earl Grey?

May I take your order, Sir?

Or would you rather hit me in the face

And get on with it?

What belies a smile?

Will the ball fly foul or fair?

Will I still feel so malnourished,

Or satisfied and full?

Is it safe to consume you,

Here in this oasis where

I’ve found a smile to bask in?

—-///

4

A false, fake smile betrays the lie.

Someone’s pretending to be nice.

But things will end badly,

Because, as they leave their true selves behind

In vain surrender to make you happy,

The rubber band and paper clip 

That connects their hearts to the gonadal artery

Can only stretch so far

Before it all snappppppps

And pops back together in a violent shudder

In sheer confusion,

And if literal contusions don’t occur,

The spiritual mauling leaves deep bruises

On the psyche of everyone involved,

Leaving a gasping “What the hell?!”

(And yes, women have gonadal arteries,

Just as well as men do.)

—-//

5

This entire poem occurred 

Between the time the first sign of a smile

Was forced out from my face

And the place I came to when

My smile became genuine

And One again with me,

The Singularity, when sine and cosine 

Find the inverse, and Reality One

Slams into Reality Two,

And it hits you,

That you can be happy anyway.

—-///

6

I could die like I did before,

But it didn’t seem to do me any good last time.

(Or did it? It’s hard to remember.)

I’ve stood so many times before the gates,

Waited my turn,

And patiently, I was born again.

I’ve come, and come as a little child,

Been meek and lowly,

High-minded and wild,

Suffered to come,

Seen millstones hung

Round the necks of those who harmed me,

But time and time again I search

For the holy grail.

Like stepping stones, I go

From smile to smile.

Hinder me not! 

I want to live this time.

I want to find what it is I’m looking for,

And then find it, for real.

—-///

7

Someday when someone asks me

To tell them a story,

I’m going to tell them one.

I always like to see a smile

On someone’s face,

But maybe this time

I won’t care.

I’ll just tell it like it is

Without the rosy glow.

The glare may be toenail curling,

Though, maybe curly toenails will be in style.

So at least if they look down

And see their feet,

They will go ahead and smile anyway.

—-///

8

Once upon a time there was a girl.

She sailed through life’s blue sea

On a dinghy made of sand.

And when it sank,

And the sea dried up,

A catamaran grew in its place,

And a boy saw it,

And a smile flew across his face like a fire.

He burned with desire to sail the catamaran,

But there was no sea.

I felt the catamaran belonged to me!

And so we fought,

And of course, he won,

For he had a gallon and a half of blood

Coursing through his veins,

And I had only four fifths.

And I smugly thought it poetic justice

That he had no sea to sail it on.

But then he made me cry.

Damn my eyes!

I cried an ocean of tears for him,

And he crawled up on my catamaran 

And sailed away,

And left me standing there

On the only little patch of sand

Left in a world of bitter, salty sea

For miles and miles,

And no one here, to smile at me.

—-///

9

I stood helpless without a boat,

But desperation is the real mother of invention.

I waded out to swim away

And found that I could float so well,

I didn’t need a catamaran,

A dinghy or any two hulled canoe

To help me do what I needed to.

But, by the way?

What was it I needed to do today?

I couldn’t remember .

Had I never known?

I tried to recall where I’d come from

In the first place,

Why I’d left there, and where I’d gotten the dinghy.

I tried to imagine the faces of people I’d known,

Where I’d grown up,

Or, at least, been born,

Because I got to thinking,

I might not be much more than four years old.

But that can’t be!

My legs are long and shapely.

My hips are big and I have breasts,

A tiny waist, and my hair has grown.

I can see that it is brown, now,

And my hair was yellow

When I was a baby.

I’ve changed. I’ve aged,

But without time to come 

Each passing hour to tell me,

Not only do I not know

Where I’ve come from or where I’m going,

I don’t know how long I have been gone.

I only know it’s been so long,

Such a terrible eternal boring while

Without a smile.

—-///

10

Someone is trying to love me right.

Someone is trying to reel me in,

Over the edge of the stern I see him,

Hoisting me up in a sturdy net.

I feel I’m dreaming,

Observing myself from the corner of my eye,

Asleep in a net filled with other fish.

Im coming about in the sky,

And the other fish are going to sleep now,

Taking shallow breaths,

But I am aroused by the dryness.

Im waking up, up in the air,

In the happiness of it,

And I have the thought

That I’m not like the other fishes.

And someone is trying to save me.

Someone is trying to love me right.

I’m quite a sight, like driftwood,

With seaweed strewn over like clothes

And hair, but there’s air here,

And i think I remember reading

Silly old Maslow and his hierarchy of needs.

It seems to me that air was one of the first ones he listed,

Wasn’t it? Physiological—

Air, water, food, shelter, sleep, clothing

And reproduction?

I guess I always thought he was mostly writing for men.

It seemed possible that a separate but equal hierarchy 

Might be required for women.

But, had Maslow ever been lost at sea?

For here I was just getting air,

And already moving on to need Philosophy.

—-///

11

Set you up,

Up on your way,

Up on the countertop. Watch the bubbles 

Swishing down around the drain!

Set you up! Set you up!

“Where is Daddy going?

I want to go.”

Set you up.

“Uh... Daddy said no.

Not today.”

Set you up.

“Your feet can hang down.”

You can kick all you want,

Where there’s nothing but air.

“Don’t make a sound.”

And I’ll set you,

Set you right up.

You’d think people would be happier that you didn’t drown.

You’d think they’d smile 

And not frown anymore.

“I think people smile more in town, Mama,

Than they do way out here in the country.”

But here’s the hill, the deadly curve

Where you know who

Forgot to swerve in time,

And missed and kissed his ass goodbye.

“Don’t say ‘ass.’”

And another “would-you-believe!”

A bend in the road

Where I was conceived!

The back seat, a little off in the ditch.

What a bitch it is 

When your first born is a girl!

“Don’t say ‘bitch!’”

A little girl who likes to go to town!

If only one could set her up,

Or set her down.

“Don’t say, dont say, ‘Go to town.’”

—-///

12

But here,

Even from in the net I see

Big smiles leering up at me.

I’m spinning high on the end of a chain,

Like a prize,

The neck of the crane

Lowering me down.

What booty the sailors have found!

The raucous sound of them,

A little too happy, perhaps,

Maybe, may-haps, a bit too sappy of an ending

If I fall in love with my savior,

Or let them all have their way with me.

But what is a good little girl to do?

What can I do when I can’t move?

I remember trying to scream

While I ran

From half a football team

That chased me under the stands.

But I got away 

Through a hole in the fence,

And they were too big.

How they shook their fists

And called me a tease and a bitch and a whore!

And I told my parents when I got home,

And they were just all the more ashamed of me,

And told me not to go

To town anymore.

—-///

13

Air, I’m getting.

Water, I’ve had.

Food, I’m hungry.

Shelter... clothing... I’m completely naked,

But ok, who’s ready for reproduction?

Sleep, sleep, where does sleep go

Again in the equation?

I’m so tired, and yet, I feel I’m waking.

I’m shaking from a dream,

Shaking loose from a close grip

The dark waters seemed to have on me,

And someone is on me,

Pumping, pumping.

Is he loving me?

Is he breeding me?

Chest compressions.

Pumping me, pumping me,

Loving me, sexing me,

Pushing the sea bilge

Up and out of me,

Bringing me back to life.

I’m living.

I’m breathing.

I open my eyes.

I see him smiling.

He turns to look at the other guys.

He’s smiling and nodding and shaking his head.

I may be pregnant.

Congratulations.

And then he looks back at me,

And he’s smiling.

—-///

14

Magic Thread, I hold you in my hand.

I choose to braid you, fold you in,

To the stories I have lived.

Magic Seam, I choose to stitch you

To my dreams, to bind reality in, too.

Three fold cord, not easily broken,

Take my words, so easily spoken

By me, today, and form a new reality 

For me. Help me say what it is I want

From this life, and help me weave it

All together with the stuff of sight

And sound and power, and as the hours

And the days revolve around the sun,

Let me be aware of the Magic One

That dwells within me, to understand,

I never walk alone, without a hope, 

Or choice, or a voice.

Magic Thread, bind me to

The beautiful, the loving

And the true meanings of Life.

—-///

15

I fell asleep in the car

With my face against the window.

The sun burned down on me

And burned my face,

But the only part of me that blistered

Was my lips.

I had dreamed that the Sun had kissed me

As hard as he possibly could.

I would say it almost felt good,

But it hurt.

And after it was over with,

I definitely had blisters,

And I couldn’t smile for weeks,

And I noticed,

I didn’t feel very good at all,

As if the smile itself was medicine

To my soul.

I felt sick without the ability to smile,

And as soon as it was possible,

I turned my frown upside down,

And began to feel endorphins once again

Washing my brain with dopamine

Or seratonin or whatever it is

That smiles release.

Inner peace reigns one minute at a time

When I can claim a genuine smile as my own.

—-///

16

Remember when you had that terrible boyfriend.

You didn’t smile for months,

And we took a picture,

And after it developed,

You saw yourself and asked,

“Who’s that?”

Because you were so thin and drawn,

And your pretty smile was gone.

Now it’s time to love yourself. 

None of this is worth reaction.

Re-parent yourself,

Knowing now what somehow truly 

You knew then.

Find yourself a place amongst the stars.

See yourself where others are,

Independently making beautiful art,

Where you can play a healthy part

And shine, and you won’t have to

Remind yourself to smile,

But you can spontaneously combust

In blazing happiness,

And smile to (and from) your hearts content.

—-///

17

Children have no ego cage,

No bars to keep them out of heaven.

They come and go,

As little children do.

My heart is like a butterfly.

It flits between the flowers and the rocks, 

Making stops with no worry over

The dualities which really don’t exist.

I am dancing on the dam

Of a pond that once filled

Sagacious land,

Where a stream thought to overflow

And fill the lives of fishes-in-the-know with life.

And here is light and shadow, breeze,

Whispers of leaves of willow trees,

And warmness of the sun,

But nothing pushes, neither pleasure 

Nor pain, and victory is mine to gain

Or lose, yet all is well,

For my purpose is only to tell the story, 

And any results, are never up to me,

For there will never be a time

When my true self, or yours,

Cease to exist on the motionless

Shores of this eternity.

I know my duty well:

To smile, and tell the story,

Just as it was told to me.

—-///

18

Apparently there had been lots of talk

And vulgar expression of what

The sailors all had in mind to do to me.

But when I was able to open my eyes

And saw them all peering down into my heart,

I could see they could not categorize 

What it was they truly felt for me.

As each one stared deeply through 

The windows of my soul,

I’m my presence,

Not one of them dared touch me.

A few of them were panicked so

By seeing me smile,

They took up the cry to throw me overboard again.

But the captain finally came

And said he’d seen this kind of thing before.

He took me to a humble servant’s quarters

Just next to his,

And had someone to bring me food

And some dry, clean clothes 

Of a ship boy who was about my size.

The captain didn’t look me in the eyes

While we were out there in the sun,

But waited til we were down below the deck.

“Do you know your name?” he asked.

“And do you know just how it is

You came to be adrift

In the middle of this vast ocean?”

It was strange that he should ask.

“No,” I said, “I can’t seem to recall

Just what my name is.

And I guess it’s just as true,

That I have no idea

What I was doing in the ocean.”

He pursed his lips like a doctor would,

Nodded his head and said,

“I’ve seen this kind of thing before.

It will be ok.

It can even turn out good,

But, we will have to find something to call you,

A nickname, if you will for now,

Until we can find out a little more about you.”

—-///

19

For several days I wore 

The checkered linen frock

And the ankle length wool pants

Of a cabin boy.

And while I felt secure physically in that sturdy material,

Mentally I was not so sure.

I felt disguised

Or in costume.

I found a mat of canvas on a shelf

And fashioned a tea length skirt

For myself, and tied it with a belt

About my girdle, and felt more at home

As I moved about inside my room.

I even wore it out, up on the deck,

To see the moon some nights.

But I was still avoiding the sun,

And stayed inside from late morning 

Til late afternoon.

One night the captain saw me on the deck.

He beckoned me to come to him.

We stood looking at the stars on the horizon.

He smoked a pipe,

And the aromatic fume relaxed me.

He looked into my eyes that night, in the moonlight.

“I’ve seen this kind of thing before,” he said,

And then he smiled.

“I will call you Eleanor.”

—-///

20

I have drowned a thousand times before,

And feel most at home

When I am in over my head.

The chaos of the vastness pulls

From everywhere at once,

Seen first in the wild free-floating hair

Of the victim,

And ultimately in the going down.

Being on a ship felt strange,

A little of the chaos.

I found it hard to get my sea legs under me

On such the sturdy planks,

And yet the ceaseless rocking back and forth,

Moved me,

And sickly, I felt somewhat then at home.

I seemed drawn to the edge,

To look down at the churning ocean.

Something seemed to be calling me back in.

I watched the dark and foamy lightness

Swirl together in the waters,

Until I think I hypnotized myself.

Someone always seemed to break the spell

Just in time, to keep me from leaping

From the semi-solid deck,

Into the salty devastating brine

That had such a familiar way with me.

I felt the captain watching me one night.

He came and stood beside me

And took my hand.

“Have you ever dwelt upon dry land?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” I answered him.

He nodded, and puffed his pipe once more,

And didn’t say a word, but I could swear,

I heard his voice tell me that

He’d see this kind of thing before.

—-///

21

A smile is just a frown

Turned upside down.

I hung by my knees from the monkey bars

To see 

My dress kept coming up

Over my panties to my chest.

Then I saw lots of smiles looking at me.

A little crowd of boys and girls

Giggling sheepishly,

Shrugging and pointing.

A smile, when you are upside down,

Is still a smile.

You can tell it by the eyes,

Even when your legs are in the sky

And your head is dangling down.

But the teacher didn’t smile.

She told me not to do that anymore.

Well one teacher did,

But another teacher said

Maybe I could do it again,

A little later.

—-///

22

If you’ve ever swum 

In the starry river that some call the Milky Way,

You know how the souls are chosen,

Who will be born again that day.

As the spirits bob and weave,

In the brilliant stream of lights,

Ever swirling into the center of the orbits,

Something pulls them toward the middle of the galaxy,

Where they’re found to shine in glory 

And have their fourteen minutes story of fame,

Until gravity pulls them down,

And they pass through the grinding tumbler

Of an Einstein-Rosen bridge.

Suddenly absorbed violently by both poles,

Quite at once, of a giant black hole,

They pass through time and eternity,

And finally, through

A plain ordinary birth canal,

Of a plain ordinary woman

That they will come to call “mother.”

Being born is so much like drowning

That you forget all this after while,

But, the first thing a baby should ever see

Is the smile on the face of someone who loves it.

—-///

23

It’s a wonder anything can cast a clear shadow

Here on this planet that whirls in a blur

As it orbits a Star that is moving, too.

And I am out here, adrift on a ship

That is bobbing and weaving up and down,

To and fro.

Yet as I stand on the bow with the captain, 

The night has a serene feel. 

All is so still.

I tend to worry now, 

That it’s the calm before the storm.

“Never stand and look at the sea from the stern,”

Says the Captain.

“You have memory for that,

But face what comes at you head on.

Everything will be fine!

This is just the time of day

When the winds cease.

You can fill yourself with peace.

Every single thing will be ok.

Being is born of not being,

And from being, not being is born.

There is no duality on the impermanent shores we call reality,

But what there is instead

Is a real reality. 

There is no other shoe to drop!

Let yourself be led as a little child.

This is the path of liberation.

This is the path of the genuine smile.”

And now he smokes his pipe, 

While I stand a little closer to him than yesterday.

Maybe only one yes away from him.

I’m not sure I understand what it is he means,

But I can’t believe how clear the shadows are,

How straight and perpendicular 

The lines fall on the deck in its great design,

The shadows of the railing round the bow,

Cast by the light of the bright moon,

That seems to be floating through a sea

Of deep night sky,

Following me,

Just as we are floating true,

Over the ocean in midnight blue.

—-///

24

Babydoll doesn’t like picking up pecans.

A cold wind blows dirt around

Between the big gruff, grumpy trees.

There are stickers in the sand

That prick her hand while she’s reaching for pecans,

And dust and bits of dried up leaves get in her shoe.

Her nose runs and when she wipes it on her sleeve,

Her grandmother grimaces

And says “tsk tsk,”

And mother never says a word,

And this is why to this very day,

Babydoll doesn’t trust women.

BabyBrother loves to pick pecans.

His sack is full.

“Look at him go!” the authority figures brag.

“He never lags! Why can’t you

Be more like him?”

Babydoll dims her eyes so they don’t see

The anger and the fury on her brow.

She knows better than to cry right now.

Her true feelings always seem to be misunderstood,

And she knows it won’t do her any good

To hurt twice over everything,

Once because it does, and twice because 

She’s told that she felt wrong about the feeling.

Her heart reels in confusion,

But in her mind, deep patterns of poetry

Are setting, and even as she leaves her true self behind,

So she doesn’t have to feel it all right now.

She knows she will return someday in a rhyme,

And even this, yes even this,

Will be made right.

The captain says I shouldn’t stand back here,

But I like to watch the wake of the ship disappear 

Into the waves. 

Memories can make us slaves sometimes.

But sometimes a hero appears in a memory

And can change the outcome of the story,

Just by saying, “That was dumb,

The way they treated you,

But that is all they knew to do.

So come, let’s pick ourselves up from here

And love ourselves better, by choice.”

And something about the voice I hear

Acknowledging myself to me,

Helps,

And I can see my way to smile,

And have a lovely day in spite of it all.

—-///

25

In the great flock of waves

That swim together 

On the beach near the cliffs of Dover,

Sometimes one wave will rise up and crest

And mount the back of another and ride it,

And over and over and over again,

The lulling and creating and spraying,

Until the pull is just too great,

And the perfect music is playing,

And you feel yourself being drawn in,

Drawn in deep to the love drown.

And high on the cliff where the grass is green,

And the bighorn sheep are grazing,

The rams rise up and crest and fall

And fight for the right of mating.

And the baaas and the bleats

And the grunts and the sounds 

Of their hooves and horns all a clatter,

Can draw a child to watch their feats,

And to ask, “Whatever is the matter 

With the sheep, Ma’am?”

And Ma’am will say,

“They’re in love.”

And if one looks down the steep cliff

At the waves that play on the beach,

One understands where baby waves come from.

—-///

26

You can stand on the beach 

And preach to the ocean,

But the ocean has to change itself.

And while you exegete your audience,

Your audience can swell up on you!

Without a mouth,

It speaks.

This will not be the church service 

You are used to,

Because the ocean talks back.

Even a baby sea

Will rail against your monologue,

And its mother will not shush it.

So have your say,

But you will not even reap the benefit of

Hearing yourself talk.

The roar of the endless 

Crashing waves will drown you out.

But one thing you can do well,

Is hear the message of the ocean,

And you would do so well to listen.

—-///

27

Sometimes I felt the captain preached to me.

Like the ocean, I seemed to have no mouth.

I did have the urge to drown him out,

But I was unable to.

Sometimes a few of his words would get through,

But was it enough that I could make sense of?

I could sense loving care coming from him,

Misguided though it might be.

His smile seemed fairly genuine,

With perhaps just a trace of pity.

But I didn’t like that.

I turned away for a moment

To gaze off into the ocean.

Does the ocean ever smile?

Does it ever criticize?

Can it even empathize 

Or feel one drop of pity,

Especially for some one or some thing

That chooses to invest its time

In proselytizing, exhorting it to change?

I felt like saying,

“I love you, too,”

But what came out instead was,

“Whatever you do,

Don’t make me feel

The way my Mother looks

When she looks “that way.”

Her looks could kill,

But me being made 

To look that way

Would make me want to

Kill you.”

—-///

28

I dream that someone asks me

How it is I look so fine,

When I am getting older all the time?

I answer them,

“Crazy is a power,

And a full well authentic and proven way

To shake the other crazies from your day,

And when you need to out-crazy crazy,

Feed your crazy with the wild abandon seeds

You harvest daily from the overgrown weeds

In your mind,

All the crazy thoughts you’ve ever had,

All the bad things you wish you did,

Instead of trying to be good all those years,

And when you get hit on the chin,

Smile at your oppressor.

It will scare the hell out of them.”

—-///

29

Sometimes I need a deep professional.

Are you

A deep professional?

Can you come and listen to

Me,

Deeply,

And smile as if it’s all ok,

And go on and ask me anyway,

“And how do you feel about that?”

And be willing to stay,

Even if I find that I don’t know

How it is I feel about it all?

And then sometimes I just need

A professional dentist

To clean my teeth

Instead of the hygienist,

To put that gleam back into my teeth,

Back into my genuine smile,

Not to mention the sparkle

Of mischievous life

Into that look in my eye.

—-///

30

When I’d gone down for the third time,

I saw my life

Flash before my eyes.

Everything was drowned except the part

Where I was a very young child,

And even as I floated, dying there,

I smiled from ear to ear

To see the bundle of joy

That I had truly been.

In bright sunlight,

Like an old home movie,

The glaring clarity of innocence 

And love for all beings

Flooded out from me,

Smelling every buttercup 

And taking in my hand

A fistful of dandelion to someone just off-screen,

Hoping he or she might blow on them

And watch the seeds fly off in the wind,

And somehow know

The hopeful thought

That wishes may come true.

And suddenly I wake to being shaken 

And revived,

And a spout of sea-like bilge

Spews out of me.

But in my mind, I’m only three years old,

Or maybe five, at the very most,

And everything else is washed away,

And somehow I know

Without being told,

Or sermonized,

I have a beautiful chance of starting over.

—-///

31

“You are on a path of liberation,” the captain said.

“Seek the highest goal.

Remove attachment from desire,

And set your Spirit free from mind and matter.

Life is a path to liberation,

Working without the right to the results,

Doing all things, even the so-called bad ones,

As unto the glory of the Lord.

For who knows by which things

Incredible events are orchestrated.”

But I didn’t know.

I felt in my case, I may have been liberated

In total.

I would like to seek the highest goal,

But because everything seemed to me brand new,

Worrrying about what that was

Seemed to be a review of something 

Rather than a revelation,

And living seemed to be a trap,

That every day held the possibility 

That one might lead oneself 

Into a deeper incarceration.

The captain’s words were beautiful,

And I knew they might be true,

But all I wanted was a few days

To bask in the joy of being introduced to my true self,

And maybe an entire lifetime left

Of being her again.

—-///

32

“Where am I,” I said,

But I didn’t ask.

But I heard myself say it.

“I don’t know,” the little girl said,

As if it didn’t matter.

She found a little hole on the pristine deck

That was filled with black oil,

And dipped her finger in it.

When she pulled her finger out, she giggled,

And begin drawing little pictures on the ship’s white floor,

And writing a few simple words she knew

As captions under the images.

We sat like that awhile until I knew

That I wanted to write and draw

With an oily finger, too,

And so I began.

—-///

33

One day the captain disappeared, 

And the crew feared, for there was no sight of him.

They asked me if I had seen him,

And I had, I said.

I’d been with him up on the deck

The previous evening.

Nevertheless, he could not be found

In any of his usual places about the ship.

There seemed to be no trace of him.

I felt a murmur of suspicion spread throughout the crew,

Dark rumors of completely untrue things,

Strange relations between me

And the captain,

For didn’t I basically share his quarters?

Boarding in the cabin boy’s room?

“Did you not see him this morning,” they queried,

With the correct answer already formed

In their minds.

And when I said no,

It wasn’t the answer they thought right,

And so it seemed to them that I was lying.

But I never had seen the captain any morning

Since I’d come aboard.

He seemed to rise long before the dawn

And was always gone by the time a little sun

Could shine on my sleeping eye

And stir first my dream,

Then me, to waking.

I never did know where the captain would go so early,

But I knew he had very important jobs to do,

So I always thought that’s probably 

What he was doing.

But it was all hands on deck

And down below

To find the captain!

And all the while, the ship kept floating on

Without him at the helm.

—-///

34

I’m in the dentist chair again.

This one tells me that I grew up

In a place where the water is perfect for teeth,

And that I’ll never have a problem.

He tells me within 29 miles,

The exact location where I was raised.

Now he quits talking and resumes

Cleaning my teeth, and humming a tune

Under his protective mask.

I have the urge to ask him, or the universe,

If there’s a place on high

Where the holy water of the sky

Is perfect for quenching a spiritual thirst,

Or if one can tell by a spiritual smile

What part of the cosmos

That one has arrived from,

But first I have to let the dentist

Finish his work, and the lovely song

That he is humming to me.

—-///

35

There is something much more than the universe.

The universe hangs like a necklace

Around that something’s neck,

And there is something much more than the captain.

What is by and large regarded

As important,

Is in truth but a tiny part of something so much more,

So much harder to see,

The “forest for the trees” kind of thing,

If you understand my meaning.

But people hang their hats,

Not only upon their own heads

As we should,

But on some symbolic highest kind of good.

We can’t seem to get past this duality.

We can’t see the beauty in every living thing,

But we should rather eat our hats

As wear them for another.

I didn’t have a hat to eat,

But I had swallowed the entire ocean once,

And the sun,

And the colors that ran from day

And faded into nights cold spray of darkness,

And I wasn’t afraid of anything anymore.

And then, one sailor came on deck,

Carrying the captain’s captain hat.

He stared at me, then told the rest

That he had found the hat in the cabin boy’s quarters

That I’d been staying in, just off from the captain’s room.

Everyone turned to look at me.

Doom was in their eyes,

And the question rose as to why that would be,

And why the captain was nowhere to be seen?

—-///

36

If I don’t eat too much,

Maybe I can afford this.

And if I don’t cry at night,

Maybe I can sleep.

And then, between the two extremes,

A little slack will fall,

And the thin straight line my lips are making now

Will ease into a smile.

Or maybe I better take the bull by the horns,

And just go ahead and smile as best I can,

And eat until I’m full at night,

And sleep,

And dream.

—-///

37

The trial they had for me 

Was short and sweet,

And anything but frank.

They found me guilty,

And made me walk the plank

With the captain’s hat in my hands.

I stood before the penultimate leap,

Watching the waters of the ship’s wake turn,

Thinking how the captain had told me once

That one should never gaze into the sea

From the stern of the ship.

I couldn’t help but think 

That somewhere on the boat,

The captain was hidden off doing something 

And would come back,

And wondered if he might miss me,

Or if he might miss his hat?

It always seemed to bother him.

Why, just the night before,

He’d taken it off as he’d come in my quarters

And hung it on the doorknob.

I smiled when I saw him.

He smiled back at me.

He wasn’t in a mood to philosophize

Or preach.

Neither of us felt like discussing some old ancient lore.

We turned instead, in a deep, 

Meaningful, wordless communication,

And just before we fell asleep in one another’s arms, he said,

“I’ve seen this kind of thing before.

I think I’d like to keep you here with me.”

It must be something so beautiful to God,

Because it is the way that babies are made.

And babies of all living kind,

Are the most beautiful things that you 

Will ever find on earth.

—-///

38

“Well go on ahead and jump!” the sailors shouted.

They stared with a blank, unnamed hate for me,

Or maybe it was some misplaced admiration,

Rising up in a twisted form of 

Jealousy regarding their captain.

But I had no cause or hope or time

For just appeals.

In one last gesture, I blew them all a kiss,

And just before I stepped off

Into eternity,

I told them, “You may find that you are

Very sorry for all of this. Someday.”

—-///

39

And now I’m going down again,

And I’ve lost count.

They say it is always the third time,

But “they” have never drowned,

Now have they?

But this time, many lifetimes flash

Before my eyes.

It makes me wonder if this might be the last,

The last time I will have to drown

In order to be born again?

I’ve been baptized deeply into faith

And doubt,

But if liberation’s what it’s all about,

I never want to abandon my true self again,

Or the almighty disposition of love

I felt from the captain.

—-///

40

Maybe my last thoughts of love 

As I lay drowning

Brought some feathered wings

To fly my soul,

And maybe the pureness of my wish

To never be alone again

Buoyed my heart, 

But I popped up and gasped for air.

I seemed to rest so easily,

Riding every crest and fall of the salt waves.

The sun was in the sky,

So near the place it was 

when I had diven in.

How much time had passed?

But the ship was not in sight.

I searched in all four cardinals directions.

But now, the waves were pushing me

Somewhere toward a shore.

I hoped against hope,

For I had never seen this kind of thing before.

I’m not sure I know

Too much of anything, anymore.

If I drowned and was somehow not at sea,

Or if I lived,

But this me I feel that’s washing up ashore

Is all me,

And it seems, that what I see is you.

As I draw closer and closer

To something so forever new to me,

The curiosity of elusive things

That brings me like a mountain cat

Through an ocean and onto an island 

Where somehow you have reappeared.

I see your smile, your beard,

And recognize you

A thousand times over.

“I have your captain’s hat,” I say

And hold it out, faded and gray

From the sunlight and the journey.

“We’re going to try and live together 

On dry land this time,”

The captain said to me.

He gave me his hand 

And threw his hat away.

Now I know this may be

Too sappy an ending for the post postmodernists.

But have no fear!

What ills may befall us 

On this perfect island here,

Where coconuts abound and tropical peace

And fresh spring water

For us to drink.

And who knows but someday

The captain and I may disagree 

Or have a fight?

But tonight we have our second honeymoon,

And next our third,

And we’ll keep counting

Til words and numbers cease,

And we run out of ways to say,

“What bliss!

What happiness we’ve found!”

(But whatever you do,

Don’t make me feel

The way my Mother looks,

When she looks “that way.”

Her looks could kill,

But being made to look that way

Would make me want to

Kill you, again,

Even if you are Divine.

—-///

41

I could die like I did before,

But it didn’t seem to do me any good last time.

(Or did it? It’s hard to remember.)

I’ve stood so many times before the gates,

Waited my turn,

And patiently I was born again.

I’ve come, and come as a little child,

Been meek and lowly,

High-minded and wild,

Suffered to come,

Seen millstones hung

Round the necks of those who harmed me,

But time and time again I search

For the holy grail.

Like stepping stones, I go

From smile to smile.

Hinder me not! 

I want to live this time.

I want to find what it is I’m looking for,

And then find it, for real.

—-///

42

Aha!

The Purple Cow I saw

Is the Purple Cow I was,

And now I know, 

That as for me,

I would rather BE a purple cow

Than see one,

But that’s just me.

I love to be free to participate 

In Life’s adventurous wild goose chases.

I don’t mind being the butt of the joke

When people poke fun

Of someone they’ve just taken snipe hunting,

As long as I get to go.

I’d rather try some ridiculous nonsense 

Than continue digging post holes

For a never ending imaginary fence

That would never be able to hold a purple cow in,

And I would rather smile at you,

And wink,

And stink, than think that nothing new

Can ever exist under golden suns,

Like purple cows.

—-///

43

Someday when someone asks me

To tell them a story,

I’m going to tell them one.

I always like to see a smile

On someone’s face.

I always like to have a place

That I can go.

I always like to have a book

Of good poems

And a whiter rose

To tell the world my name,

For otherwise they tend

To make one up for me.

And I don’t mind, if someone 

Has stood by me

And looked into my eyes,

And in my presence realized

That truly I can’t be called

Anything but “Alive,”

And so the name they generate will be

Temporary, 

No matter how appropriate at the time.

So smile for me!

And I will smile for you!

But I must go.

There are other rhymes to make

And other oceans for me

To drown in.

-jenn