A plain clothes policeman in an unmarked car

Makes a bust at the city park.

An intoxicated youth falls out of a sedan,

A lanky young black man whose earring shines,

Green, bright orange, then red to green again,

With a backdrop of blue light

And police siren.

A older gentleman is being cuffed.

The red light district says “Go! Go! Go!”

But the green light from that right earring

Says, “Hmmmmmmmmmmm.”

And Mama’s had enough

Of old men getting her son drunk and high

And taking advantage of him.

If he’s gay, that’s okay with her,

But she feels he deserves to be loved

And respected for who he is,

And she will respect him

Til he can feel it 

And make it real for himself.

-jenn

 “This is just the kind of a day I like,” she said,

“To take a sunny hike

Beside a mountain stream.

Sometimes it’s good to think of days gone by.

The good, the bad, the everyday way

We had back then.

It’s the same October sky 

I’ve always known.

So blue, as Indian Summer makes

One last hurrah 

Before Fall sets in good.

There were things that used to be true,

But they’re not anymore.

But maybe after an icy bath

Of dormè vous, 

When Spring returns 

They might be true again.”

-jenn

 The geese fly East.

The geese fly north,

Casting shadows on the sand

That remind everyone 

How death approaches

Like a ghost

To take someone away.

The geese fly west.

The geese fly south,

And in some other time,

Some other land,

A maiden holds the hand

Of her lover with glee.

With joy, they welcome the news.

A mother goose will come

In February to deliver them a baby.

-jenn

 

Who will teach you how to poem,

If you don’t know.

If you don’t know,

No one can teach you,

For only the Muse

Can ring the bell whose sound goes out

And when you hear, you see

The tail of the telling 

As it leaves the scene.

And if you can catch the hem of its shirt

And slow it down,

It may turn to look at you

And curse and writhe

And try to get away,

And eventually it will.

But you will have seen the poem’s face

And serve as scribe,

And write it down upon the page

So others may know,

A true poem when they see one.

-jenn 

 Very subtle, but so luxurious,

The scent of apples,

Oranges, as I slip into a tub

Of hot water.

My skin feels cool to the touch,

But just underneath,

A warm lusty blood flows through.

I’m happy when I see you,

And it is my nature to smile.

Come Sweet Flower called the Sun.

Shine on me and let me shine on you.

Let’s sing awhile together.

-jenn

 I’m in love with a dead man.

That’s what’s wrong with me.

But until someone comes along

Who can out do him,

I sink or swim every day.

Some people fall for a movie star.

They crush on celebrity.

I went fanatic over a man and his words,

And deludedly, I hoped I’d really meet him.

Then one day I heard someone say

The cruelest words that were ever said,

“He’s dead, you know?”

I was thirteen.

It seemed they were speaking to someone else,

Anyone but me.

But clearly, I’m the only one

Strange enough to idolize an ideal

From another age.

But do I feel alone?

Do I worry that I will never have children?

But somehow I have had two sons,

And now, they are the ones

I love.

They pull me into the future.

They slingshot my mind out of my time here,

An ancient past, a chromed-in casualty

And Life sits here, meanwhile,

Fed up with me ignoring it.

-jenn

 If you practice drawing a face

That comes and goes

In and out of your mind

Like a ghost,

And you have to recall,

You have to recollect your thoughts

To remember it at all,

Then you will learn to create!

To fill in the blanks

With features you imagine,

Your perceptions dissipate,

You dissociate from your feelings,

And you escape to a better place

In the passages of your mind.

It’s time well spent,

For who’s to say,

That the parallel universes

We create

Are not real?

If the savings that we store

In imaginary banks,

And the tanks we’ve made

And lined up to battle

For a rainy day

Don’t play a roll?

And who’s to know

If characters there 

May be the very ones

Who save the day for us

When that day comes?

-jenn