We’re rolling dice
And playing nice
While the outcome’s
Out on the horizon.
But as it’s coming
Closer into view,
We’ll wonder if the game
Is worth the candle?
Would it be better to finish
Playing in the dark?
On a lark, handicap
Each other lightly?
Or to just handle one another spritely,
Go to bed,
And save the candle
For some other game instead?
-jenn
In a world where the worldview is obvious,
Subversion occurs above ground,
Where lyrics slowly erode the canyons
Of open ended denigration.
Music flows through the streets of the marketplace,
Where conservative fish cutters hum
The tunes of songs they think they know,
But the PiedPiper carries them away,
Where the people live and eat and play
And do something as radical as accepting one another,
Living their everyday lives two inches above the ground.
There is always music of the spheres
For those who hear it,
And unlike the tree that falls in the forest
And no one’s there
The spirit of the cosmos whirling
Makes its harmonic sounds
Whether anyone chooses to listen or not,
And love abounds,
Whether or not the words are said.
-jenn
She cries from the sea
Her cry affects everyone who hears
Her deep dissatisfaction appeals
To anyone who’s ever felt
The unrequitedness of love
No one wants to appear ungrateful
But everyone has felt the pain
Of receiving bad gifts at Christmastime
And you can’t say anything
But deep down you know
There must not be a Santa Claus
For all of this is terribly wrong
And the grownups make light conversation
But we see them cut their eyes
To pry into our childlike station
Remembering the demise
Of their own childhoods
I go outside
My backyard the rocky Hebrides
I hear her cry
My hands reach out
For forgotten Atlantis
Longing to sing along with her
The woeful siren of the sea
-jenn
Frustrated people frustrate people
He’s trying to cheat on his wife at church
Lucky for everyone it’s a big church
With lots of people everywhere like a mall
And lots of of programs to get lost in
He’s convinced me to sit on the couch with him
My heart is pounding in my chest
He’s gotten me all excited
Only to leave me hanging
He’s in search of something else
Someone new
I watch him through the window
He wanders off into the rose garden
As my heart swells and bursts
And bits of it trail off after him in abandonment
-jenn
Your love is dyed,
Just like your hair,
But here and there a root appears.
Traces of reality start to show.
Beneath your laugh,
One genuine tear,
And trickling from your sadness,
A beautiful hint of rascality.
Your love belies the hate you hold so dear,
And in your hate, a secret, gleeful love.
But shave your head like a monk
And walk away from your so-called life.
Don the wide-striped orange prison gear
And walk through town.
Return to your true nature,
And acknowledge these things,
As deeply embedded in yourself.
Then wilt thou be perfect,
Even as a god,
And then wilt thou bring forth
Thine own heart’s smile
Of sweet rascality.
-jenn
Wolfalo don’t know what to eat.
A witch beguiled him.
He can’t tolerate meat,
But grass gives him the runs.
He’s half wolf,
Half buffalo,
But he can’t live on cinnamon buns forever.
If he could go back in time,
And re-arrange the spell,
And change the words
He heard the wicked woman say,
Get his money back
For what she tried to sell him,
And what he bought instead.
Then his dna would be pure,
Not iron mingled with clay
As all the rest of the modern world.
Then he could have something to say
By being better than
The rest of us.
Alas! He opens his StickyBun,
Peels the plastic wrap away,
And throws it in the recycle bin
Like a good little Wolfalo,
And turns his tv on.
He tries not to listen
To them tell him what to think,
But he has to listen a little bit
To get ideas of what to eat and drink now,
So he watches Rachel Ray,
Has a glass of bourbon,
Howls at the moon.
He’s half nocturnal, now.
He stamps his hooves
And waits for morning to come,
So he can not sleep then either.
-jenn
How carefully she taught us
To draw a spider web,
Our first grade teacher
Who had come from being a missionary
At a Navajo reservation.
Normally every lesson seemed
Of the same importance,
But on this bright October morn,
She stopped and stood before the room,
And was so still and silent
That a class full of thirty six year-olds
Quieted, and wondered now
If something were wrong.
But she told us to take out our rulers
And our blackest pencils,
And while she took a yardstick out
And a white piece of chalk,
And drew on the blackboard,
She spoke to us.
She taught us how to make a cross,
And how this represent the cardinal directions
Of north, south, east, and west,
And then she drew an X imposed,
And told us all the ordinals:
Northeast, southeast, southwest, northwest.
More lines geometrically between,
She called the “secondary intercardinals.”
And while we were mesmerized
By our Spirographing, she told us
A Hopi creation story, of how Great Uncle
Had created The Spiderwoman,
And how she created the world.
And as we drew our lines,
We pondered how the strings of a spiderweb all move,
If even only one of them is touched.
She told us that all the people out there
In every cardinal direction, and every ordinal direction,
And at every secondary intercardinal point
Were related to us, and connected.
And so we drew our spiderwebs,
So deep in thought,
Knowing, as only six year olds can,
That it made a lot of sense,
Maybe even more than other stories we had heard.
-jenn
Here comes winter
Just in time for COVID
Just in time for love or money
Just in time for taking back
The stupid things you’ve said
Or “meant to say”
Blow winds, blow
Go away
And then blow home again, you’ll see
You can never go home again
Whether you’re you
Or whether you’re me
Whether you lose
Or win or draw
Or even if you are the wind
And winter is your cup of tea
You’ll see, you never can go home again
-jenn
If you sign on to play with Simon,
You have to say, “Mother May I?”
And listen very closely to the rules.
There’s no fine print to see,
So, only auditorially will you be able
To sense the way to victory.
And if you ever went to school,
You’ll know the little ways to cheat the system,
But if you were a dropout, like me,
You can see, even quicker,
The bigger ways to outpace
The entire charade, win the game,
And find your fame, riding in a limousine
At the ticker tape parade.
-jenn
I planned to be slim and svelte
On my wedding day,
To be the most beautiful blushing bride,
But she showed up in the church-house,
My alter-ego, dressed in white,
With her wispy limbs and coal black hair,
I was only bold enough to wear ivory,
And I hadn’t invited her.
It was then and there I decided
That in my next life,
I, myself, would be my own nemesis,
And ruin my own plans,
Ruin my own days and my own nights,
Play both halves against all the middles,
Until my plight was surely fixed
And I could have it both ways!
Win and lose!
And then choose which side
My mind wanted to camp in
And who I wanted to bed down with for the night.
And then I said to myself, “Why wait!”
And then, a voice from a deeper place within said,
“You’ve really been sabotaging yourself all along.”
And so I’m living my next life now!
I ran from the altar,
Sped off in the honeymoon car alone.
The tin cans, after all these years,
Are still tied to the back bumper,
Just as life strings me along.
But the “M” has smudged
To look like an “H,”
Informing the world that I leave behind
That I’m not this, and I’m not that,
I’m “Just Happily Harried!”
-jenn
“You’re teeth are too dry,” the old women said.
“Sometimes teeth need to be oiled,” she added
As she rattled over to her cupboard and produced
A small stone crock with a wooden lid.
She popped the seal and dug two
Of her bent fingers down deep into the jar.
“Bring your mouth over here,” she commanded.
I hesitated, very unsure.
“What IS that?” I asked.
“You wanna keep your teeth?” she answered.
“Yes,” I managed to say. I did want that.
“Then bring your mouth over here.”
She only stood four feet away,
But made no move to come to me.
I was only two feet from her front door,
And in my mind, I tried to weigh my options.
If I turned and escaped this medicine,
I would be a full day walking back to town
.........with a toothache.
But I didn’t seem to want to take
The cure from out of this old hag’s jar.
It was starting to drip from her two fingers.
“What are you waiting for?” she asked.
I stood dumb, like an animal.
“Aughhh!” she grunted in disgust
Her two fingers headed for her own mouth.
“No, wait!” I exclaimed,
But, too late.
I stepped toward her just as she
Larupped her fingers around in her mouth.
“Mmmmmmmm,” she said. “That sure is good!”
I stood just before her now.
“I do need my teeth oiled, please,” I told her.
She took those same two fingertips
And dipped them back into the cream.
I opened my mouth,
And she proceeded to rub the fat
All over my teeth, until they squeaked
In cleanliness and humectant sheen.
“That IS good,” I thought to myself,
Tasting the fresh, nutty flavored fat,
But I didn’t say anything.
-jenn
I didn’t make it to your funeral.
I had a flat tire on the way.
I couldn’t get the lug nuts off the wheel,
So I sat in the ditch and cried.
I saw the time and knew the ceremony’d started.
Too late, I sat alone,
And concentrated thoughts of you
Came through my veins.
Sweet piano notes flowed through my mind,
Expressing the a sigh of broken goodbyes
And kindness and love and funny valentines.
The sun shined on me.
The wind rushed by with passing cars,
Going on to so many destinations
Yet unknown.
I sat alone and grieved you solely,
Wholly mystified at your passing,
Asking myself, “Why?”
But deep down I know.
And I know not to grieve too long.
You will wait to be reborn,
But you are just as much alive today
As yesterday,
Riding the music and the waves
Through twelve dimensions
Of Time and Space.
Freely my heart receives this grace.
I see your face,
Smiling,
Larger than life,
In the sky.
-jenn
My body is designed to bring forth
The delegated expressions of heaven.
Only two stars have I in my crown,
My extant sons.
They guru me.
One is a pillar of fire,
One a cloud.
They light up my days and nights,
Guide me back, into my childhood,
Where I find all the answers
And keys to the kingdom.
I know how to enter the gates of silliness.
I’ve been initiated,
And with myrrh, I see,
My body is designed to bring forth happiness
And milk, and warmth, and love,
And it does.
I do.
I marry the beauty of all life
In the privacy of my own mystery religion.
-jenn
When Time splits like atoms,
And the unsplittable moment appears,
Holy and awe inspiring,
As music dawns like daybreak,
And a seagull flies forth from the morning,
Don’t worry about supper.
Don’t worry about anything.
Listen to the sounds
And see the vision.
Let your life resound in you,
Flowing through you like a mountain stream.
Be happy
And let yourself be filled with love.
-jenn
Some wait for the stars to shine.
Others pine and hope against hope
For the day the stars will all align.
I build a fire
And watch the smoke go up.
I put my hands up in the sky
And feel the stars on my fingertips
And the starlight in my hair.
I’m unsubscribed
From the way things ought to be.
I have love here
Deep in the heart of me tonight.
-jenn
The real world is no better than the ideal.
You can labor all night in a dream
And wake tired,
And suddenly remember with guilt
How you called someone
By the wrong name
The entire time,
Only to realize it upon waking.
A mistaken identity
In a parallel realm?
Or a wishful Freudian slip?
Now I remember the face of the man in my dream,
Who, all night long,
Never corrected me,
Yet whose eyes belied the disappointment,
And I feel I should have known.
But try as I will,
Can I ever recur to him
To make amends?
-jenn
I live in the shell
Of an egg that someone cracked
And fried,
The accidental tortoise,
A hide on top of a hide on top of a hide.
And somewhere under all the layers of skin,
An incidental onion exists,
Waiting for a prince to kiss it,
Or a convenient petunia patch
To go and sprout up in.
I live in the shell
Of an egg that someone cracked
And fried,
But someday I’ll get beside myself
And get outside it all.
And then I’ll see I’m ten foot tall,
Like a cat,
Who belongs in the sky,
With the bees,
And the tops of very old pecan trees.
-jenn
