Those who used to paint the sky,

Unwittingly invented the time lapse photo,

For just as soon as the eye can detect the color of a certain space,

And grace the canvas with the appropriate paint,

And look back up,

The color has changed.

The clouds have rearranged.

En plein air,

The conditions are rife

For failure,

Unless you allow yourself to constantly be evolving with the sky.

Accept the sweet trills and squawks of birds.

Be at one with the harmony

Of Hawks and Thirds and the Circle of Fifths,

And constant transition.

Listen to your heart.

Start your painting aligned

With the great creative spirit 

That dwells in your own mind

And, then, make art.

You may make a masterpiece 

That captures, not the moment,

But the entire day

And night,

And the eternity of the essence of the living meadow

You caught sight of.

-jenn

 If you fight with a dead man before he’s dead,

You can convince yourself 

That you got your way or he got his,

That he was right or he was wrong or either you were,

But if you fight with a dead man after he’s gone,

You’ll come to see,

You had a “me” problem.

And the only conflict you really had,

Is somehow the same one you have now,

Inside your head,

For he is gone,

But “it’s” still there.

And now it may be easier, or maybe not, 

But all you’ve got is you and your memories.

So now do you have a chance to work it out 

And let go of all the victories you thought you won 

And hard fought battles you feel you lost?

But is there better? Is there worse? 

Or are you a grasswidow?

A fair forsaken one, who married in a pasture,

And consummated there

On the simplicity of the green turf,

And never had another care in the world

Until motherhood?

-jenn

 I was listening to music on YouTube while I cleaned my pots and pans,

And occasionally their logarithms would miss my mood

To the point that I would have to dry my hands 

And go and switch the song that they had recommended for me to hear to something else.

One such song was “One Less Bell To Answer,” by the Fifth Dimension.

The next morning, I was in the grocery store, 

And they had music playing overhead.

Just as I got to the checkout line,

I heard soft music.

“Oh no,”I said. “It’s Marilyn McCoo, isn’t it?”

“One less egg to fry,”and now I have to stand here,

And take it.

I have no choice. 

There’s no button for me to push,

And I can’t get out of line in time to miss the song and get out of here.

And just as she reaches a part of great crescendo,

I’m weighing one potato and one yellow squash.

The universe wants me to hear this song,

And now I’m listening.

I hear Marilyn’s powerful voice,

Dipping into a deep contralto 

And rising above it all to her usual soprano,

Even as she croons,

“All I can do is cry.”

Well what can I do but be happy?

The universe has finally had its way,

Had its say.

I’ve thought it all over,

And now, I’ll just let YouTube play me whatever it wants to,

Adds and all.

-jenn

 He had no philosophy.

 

Or did he?

He was born in a cemetery. 

His mother went in to labor as they were just burying his dad

In Browne Cemetery, White County, Tennessee.

It was :18 July, 1841.

He joined an army just before the Civil War,

But the records don’t show which side he really fought for.

He had 16 children, and one of them

Was my great-grandfather’s dad.

And in 1917, my great-grandfather, then 21,

Signed up for the notorious World War One,

And his grandfather, the same one who fought in the 1860’s, 

Even then, at the age of 76,

Signed up to go to the army again,

This time to be alongside his grandson

(My great-grandfather.)

He died at the training fort only three short months after that enlistment.

These are the “official” records I know of,

But do they leave out the love 

That some ancestors can have for their descendants?

It carries on.

For then in 1941, at the start of World War Two,

My great-grandfather, the same one who fought in World War One at the age of 21 

Was now 45 years old,

But he signed up to join the navy with his son, (my grandfather,)

Who was only 17.

I knew my great-grandfather very well.

He lived to a long ripe age,

And if there was nothing else you could tell about him,

You could tell that he loved you,

And you felt, that if you had to go to war,

He would join, too, and go with you,

If he had any life or breath within his mortal power.

Love is a truly powerful thing.

It takes time to bring it to fruition,

And it sometimes takes sacrificing your very self,

But the worth of it is so much more:

That your family, your friends know

That you love them.

Let the records ever show,

Even beyond your DNA,

You were made for Love,

Of Love, and by… the Love,

Or you wouldn’t be here,

And you become so powerful 

When you give your love away.

-jenn

 Someone told me I must’ve been a hoot when I was young.

But I said, “No.

No, I truly was not.”

It used to cost to be a hoot.

It was a price I could not pay,

But now I find it is the other way around.

Everything now is upside down.

Nowadays it costs not to be a hoot,

Or at the very least,

Now it seems, I get to be a hoot for free.

So maybe I will just go out and start to be a hoot all over the place

And see what that gets me.

Ha!

-jenn

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