Resigned to My Calling

They called me preacher

But tried to shove a book

Down my throat 

“So many habits

Of so many highly effective people”

I had no habits

No system, no way

And yet I could lay my hands on the sick

And they would recover 

But the conference wanted someone 

Seminary trained

And willing to wear the surplice 

I made a decision not to strive

And left the holy gates behind

But I still lay my hands

On anyone who asks me

I often say I was excommunicated 

But that’s not true

So I am a liar, but 

If you want me to walk a mile with you

I’ll walk two

In deep and reverent conversation 

Of your choosing

And keep you company 

For now they call me

Guardien de la Flamme

-jenn

After many moons in the forest glades,

A faint smell of smoke and gentle laughter,

He turned away.

He turned away.

That’s not what he was after.

Walking in the dark

When the sun went down,

Living with the fauna nocturnal,

Just another night,

Just another day

To check off on his journal.

The shaman had said

He would find what he sought,

But he fought it.

He fought it.

His deepest impulse

Was to seek himself,

But he went strangely about it.

One dark lake,

One dark night,

Tired from ceaseless churning,

He sat still on the banks

Neath the moon,

With the stars overhead

Turning,

Turning.

All that he owned was his heartbeats.

He offered that as a pittance

To the great gods of the great night sky,

And instantly they sent their remittance.

He heard a name sweep over the lake,

And he stood in rapt attention,

In the knowledge of the knowledge 

Of the knowledge of the name

He’d been given in every dimension.

And now, he knew who he was again,

In the purest, most ultimate 

Way of knowing 

There has ever been.

And now he built a fire for himself 

And watched the beautiful flames.

And now, he laughed, a gentle laugh,

All to himself, and chuckled at his own laughter,

And smelled the smoke and said to himself,

That WAS what I was after.

-jenn 

Everyone was happy when the mower broke,

Except the man operating the machine.

A sudden clatter, then quiet,

A sharp curse was heard by the fence line.

Then the children giggled.

I sighed a sigh of deep relief,

And realized I could hear the birds.

Peace exhaled and a touch of Nirvana

Nestled in around me,

So much so, that I thought I heard

The grasses chuckle as they continued ahead

With their photosynthesis.

-jenn

Just some writing on the bathroom wall

That I read, everyday of high school,

Something untrue about someone that I loved.

I tried to scratch it off one day,

But etched so deep,

Nothing I had with me could disform

The scrawled out words.

I tried to redact it with a black marker,

But you could still tell

Exactly what it said.

So I left it be,

And the effect it had on me

Is that I don’t believe too much

I see written on the bathroom walls,

Especially about the people that I love,

But even things about my enemies.

There are two sides to every story,

But more than that,

We are a part of all of it.

It’s hard to see,

But if we could stop for a moment 

And try,

We’d have a lot more peace.

I remember being glad at graduation 

That I’d never have to read these small-town

Bathroom walls again,

But the big city stalls have even more angst

To read and comprehend.

There are always two sides to the story,

At the very least!

But if we could see past them just a bit,

We could let go,

And have a little peace.

-jenn

I hear the bells of Sainte Marie

Calling you to victory.

What’s that you say?

They’re merely calling you away.

“The bells! The bells!”

Your soul laments,

“Funerary elements.”

But are we hearing quite the same?

I hear them call me to the game,

To laugh and sing and sigh and hope.

The scope of life has been run down,

Ruled with dry white powder lines

Made from old sad complicated bones.

But life alone is fit to live

It sends animals and children 

To remind us to laugh and cry

And play and enjoy the day, easily,

On the playground where no school bells ring,

And where, secretly, all games are won,

And none are ever lost.

So free of cost,

Life yearns to be lived,

As an eternal spring break in the sun.

-jenn

The “Muse” sits opposite 

Of “Confused” on the color wheel.

She strikes a contrasting line of tone

And whispers, “You are not alone.”

She paints an image in my mind

That’s so inspiring I can’t find the words

To describe the Poetic Reality.

But something about the vibrant sight 

Comes alive inside of me.

The most complicated Truth breaks down

To its most basic utter simplicity.

It becomes a better part of me

And I improve.

“I understand,” I say,

And feel the particles of light

Bounce off me in new and beautiful ways.

-jenn

West Lindsay Street

He’s zigging down the sidewalk,

His left leg amputated just above the knee,

His right leg stretching out in front of his wheelchair

To pull him forward awkwardly,

His right hand whirling the right wheel of his chair,

But don’t make the mistake of staring at him.

His left hand holds a churro-on-a-stick

That he just bought at the taco truck,

And he’s busy eating that,

But not too busy to say,

What the f*** you looking at?!”

And cuss you as he passes by.

He’s alive, dammit!

And his girlfriend has sex with him

Every night.

“What you got to say?”

He challenges.

And he will answer for you,

“Dammit all anyway!”

Just in case you don’t know what to say.

-jenn