Ask not for whom the Bell tolls,

And don't ask too many other questions either.

You might not want to know the answer.

But if you search your heart within,

You might find a resolution you can live with,

The one that says nothing ever really changes.

Nothing has ever changed and nothing ever will.

And if in finding this you find great peace,

You can release the questions

To the custody of the very answers

That you previously sought,

And go and make bail on any of the resolutions

You've ever had to "Know Thyself,"

And let yourself be you.

-jenn

I was about to be passed over,

And it wasn't by the angel of death.

It was for a promotion I thought I deserved.

But there was this guy there,

And he wasn't doin so good,

And the mansger thought he'd give the promotion to him

To see if it would motivate him to

Do better.

I was already "doin better," the manager told me when I asked him about why I'd been left out.

I was already motivated 

And already doin a heckuva job.

And yet, company stats revealed that out of 35 locations,

All the 82 sales managers were men

Except for one,

And all of the 35 general managers

Were also male.

And since many, if not all, their so-called meetings

Were held at country clubs or stripper bars,

They planned to keep it just that way.

So I guess the angel of death did come

It killed my motivation to do better

And any desire I might have had

To make any more money 

For myself,

Or for them,

Anymore.

-jenn

Good mothers take a vow of silence

And let their children speak.

When children can utter their dreams without interference,

Something magic happens,

And sometimes even the wildest dreams can come true.

Good mothers postpone judgment

For now and for forever,

So that their children feel unconditional support,

And so that their children know that they are loved 

By and through the highest source of love 

The universe can offer:

The cosmic alma mater of 

The lady of the closed mouth and the open mind.

-jenn

If we all walked neckid like chimpanzees,

We wouldn't worry bout hairy knees.

We would all stand and look and stare

At what everybody's got down there

And out behind.

And we would know by the blush-like glow,

Who was in heat, and who we should leave alone

For the time being,

Until, unbeknownst to them,

They come in heat too, and start looking for a hubcap

To steal or someone to screw,

But would we worry about their mind?

Or whether our verbs and subjects agree,

Or if we've used language inclusively,

Or if we've used language at all?

Or would we know all we need to know

To perpetuate our DNA,

To live now and maybe see another day

To nibble one another and rinds?

-jenn

"Time" is just "T," without "I" and "me,"

And "minute" can be misconstrued,

As minute particles of some other package of light,

Traveling day and night like a sovereign citizen.

But "hours" could be "ours,"

If we could try

And drop the "H,"

But if we knew "Y,"

Then "hours" could be "yours,"

And Time could fly forever.

-jenn

Mighty nice Dipper you have there, Polaris.
His feet sit atop the fine clouds,
His head, way up
In the heart of some lucky galaxy
Where the moons are even called stars.
And look at him!
Pouring out
Milky Way Magic
And stardust
On lovestruck moths
Who flutter like punch drunk sailors
In oversized painting smocks.
And will they go all Fred Astaire
And dance in the pouring down rain?
And glitter like diamond cufflinks
At the sight of him again?
(god I hope so....)

But I am not jealous of you, Polaris,
And tho my feet are on the ground,
My head is way up
In the clouds,
And when I tiptoe,
I can reach
The tips of the Dipper's winsome feet,
And I can kiss them
With my mouth,
And worship til the north turns south
And both our cups have poured plum out,
And the Pleiades finally sigh.

Sometimes I want to live like this,
Without all the wrappers,
Without tin foil,
Walking through the forest with no pack on my back,
Grazing on the edible things,
Putting back a little,  dried on the stems,
To conserve through winter's darkened spell
And the months where food would be scarce.
Or maybe I could just hibernate,
And you could love me while I sleep,
And I could sleep, even through the pregnancy.
I'd wake bewildered at my swollen tel,
And enlivened, bring forth--
A new kind of heirloom seed.