The Lives of Fairy Godmothers, Angels and Witches Catherine Dubois’ Odyssey to Enchantment





Catherine Dubois’ Odyssey To Enchantment

By Bonnie Jennings


Within 150,000 words weaves a story involving an edgy woman who is either psychotic or is as the townsfolk believe eldritch. They, in Glory Town, a charming picture-perfect town, nestled in The Appalachians, call her a witch. For Cat Dubois, decades passed and she becomes more isolated from her accusers. Jealousy and scorn for a child who was fey with sapience, the  community of pretentious righteous, mocked her. The quaint town was not so “charming” after all and quickly ran sinners away. While alone for years, Cat began to see and hear voices. Visitors seldom came; however, her lonesome manor was haunted. However, little Cat prayed a prayer when only a child. That prayer was answered when she turned forty-five. An angel or fairy godmother named Eleanor came riding on the wind. Traveling with Eleanor was Tadhg, who was of the same order and virtue, and a little black dog named, Lovey.

“A scream was heard that summer day. A four-year-old little Catherine moaned into the mystical wind. She told the wind to find Thomas. Bellowing, into the breeze, her little heart begged, with vigorous might. The current carried her voice. It never ceased, until one day, “I heard it,” and that was when, Eleanor came riding in on the wind.” 


My Little late JoJo as “Lovey”





The model in the photo is my daughter, the photographer was my son, and the digital artist is my dear friend Ky Mason. The picture has a copyright so I ask you, please don’t use it as it might be the cover of my novel … Thank you…  All Rights Reserved


Ky Ellen Mason artist/editor/graphics designer/publishing/printing






You may reach me (BoJenn) the novelist/poetess via email at :

or on FB @



May you have a wonderful day and thank you for stopping in and reading 🌺

The Winner’s of The Poetry Contest Are 📢📢📢 A Drum Roll Please 🏆🏆🏆


First of all~ I want to thank the three judges who graciously accepted this role. It has been tedious and also rewarding for each of us. Also I must mention, at this time, they still remain anonymous. 

As I said before, my role was the organizer, the sorter and the mailman. Blame me for the formatting… It just doesn’t want to do right…  🙂 

So without further delay…






🏆 🥇 First Place Gold Winner Is …


All I Have to Give

By DL Mullan

I listen to the whispers of the wind

in hopes to catch the sound of you

my sorrow is all I have to give

because there is nothing I can do

I am not complete; I am not whole

what I would ask is for solace

to lighten the load of my soul

but I find no peace in this silence

I am breaking now into pieces

a fallen jig saw puzzle reordered into chaos

I fit. I place. I try and try to seize

a memory that will comfort me

All I have to give seems insufficient

to the weight of my terrible grief

maybe if your voice guided my hand

I could put myself back together again








 🜛🥈 Silver Place Winner


~~~ ABOUT MY MUM ~~~

By, Charlotte Rains

I want to begin my story with just a simple line
To begin again to tell a tale of a different place and time
A time when I was just a lass with curls and a pretty dress
Bringing smiles and laughter too and a lot of happiness
I often sought to please my mum and have her sing a song
A happy tune with words I knew so I could sing along
I sought her often to tell me tales of back when she was small
But often got a fairy tale…but I enjoyed them all
She’d tuck me in with kisses and hugs after the tale was read
I’d call her back for one more hug before she went to bed
Once I asked about my da but it seemed to make her sad
I saw a tear fall from her eye and thought that I’d been bad
But then she hugged me extra tight and whispered in my ear
That everything she could ever want was in her arms right here
We smiled and laughed and I fell asleep knowing I was loved
And even now my children know she watches from above




There is a tie for The Bronze place.

The next two poems were recognized by two different judges and were their first place winners. 




 And The 𐂚 🥉Bronze Place medal goes to…

TWO POETS and they are…

Drum roll please…. !


𐂚 🥉

Written by Jelly Beer 
Books scattered on the sand, pages leafed through and tattered, possibly for research, an antique Smith-Corona left on the table maybe in haste by the author seeking inspiration from his surroundings to pen a longed-for best seller for himself and the masses.Writer’s block had reared its ugly head! Thoughts and ideas were dead inside him. He needed to breathe again and clear out the cobwebs clouding his brain.It’s happened before. He knew there’s one more book inside him. He was instinctive. He’ll find his way back to the table ~ and type!

And the second Bronze Winner is ….. 



𐂚 🥉


by Gina Hirsch


I have come too close to the flames to ever want to miss out on the burn.

I’ve lingered so long next to the night, I hate when it is the days turn.

The day comes beckoning underneath  an angry sky. 

Clouds dance marvelously as the moon steps in to eclipse them all.

I miss the blue heat. The wind that slowly tries to snuff it out. 

I loved and longed beyond all hope to tempt it all back to my claim. 

A rushing rapture of love.

A course of venom from a lovers lips; who’s tongue is the only antidote. 

Who’s touch is my religion. Who’s arms and shoulders my only sanctuary.

But the day took over the night.

And passion and kisses and antidotes to hearts gilded wishes have all passed away.

All that is left here is old ghosts and former images that fail to fade.

Phantom shadows of the lover who never comes to stoke the flames. 






The Honorable Mentions are those poems that were the judges high ranking choices and they are as follows…




Morning Jennie,
By Dwayne Leon Rankin

The Final Leaf of Autumn
I looked and saw the leaves had left
The trees, now fallen to the ground.
But for one, still hanging on.But then the winds all blew and blew,
Blowing all those leaves around.
That leaf then too was gone.

I looked outside and saw the trees
All empty of their autumn’s coat;
Bare now for winter’s day.

To sleep, to sleep those trees now go
That leaf, the last of autumn’s note.
No more its song to play.





 The Loch of Lomond

By Vernon Woods


Oh to be by the loch of Lomond on the heather clad banks on a cold misty morning a grounded eagle does mew from her diminished view she will have to wait it out and then the thunder and lightening and then the cloud as is resonates its echoes like a tennis ball against the rocky top mountains now naked from there snowy gowns I hear the distant lowings’ of a herd of Angus down in a fen let out of their barn yet again churning up the mud disturbing a clucking hen who now seeks safety from a tractors exhaust pipe ohhh just to lie here on these beautiful heather clad banks feeling the pitter patter of the angels tears I tell you they are not on there own I weep too my sopping sleeve a victim to my many uncontrollable tears not out off sadness badness but out of sheer utter joy I gaze up at the mountains as the grey cloudy sea wash the tops of the mountain scape the late Robin halls a bleacher lassie of Kelvinhaugh is sung from an echo of the past the bard rabbi burns earns his keep in a time way back where widows clad in black did weep his voice booming through the mist telling a story of the stealing of the stane of clone from the mountain tops steep to the lochs deep your velvety voice is not alone I hear it all to well ahhh the mists do disappear ill take my leave to meet up with a party with a ghilly in charge to go in search for salmon ohh my to behold these fine colored tartans these are the folk who have clan connections but what of my attire with no clan connections to you and I it will be a wearing of the Caledonia ohhh to be by the banks of the loch Lomond



Also highly mentioned… 

Thank you Linda 💐



By Linda Long

“You’re killing me….”

Words I hung in the air,

a prophecy that resonates through sleepless nights

My heart said goodbye to itself

that chilling evening in early August

How sacred the secret treasure of a wife and mother,

how broken the memories,

how haunting the path not taken



The next poem is by my dear friend Karen Boorman

Walking down a long dark road
I have to decide which way to go
North south east or west
which way will suit me best
I have not much time i fear
for in my life the end draws near
I want to live the fullest I can
but which way to go..must I choose?


Thank you Karen this reads like Robert Frost 🌺




By Soul Gifts on WordPress ❤️

She moved.

She swayed in time to the cadence

and beat of the rhythms

drumming in her heart.

Innocence was hers.

As was beauty.

Timeless, eternal, infinite.

None dared question.

Absorbed as she was, she noticed nothing

but the internal symphony,

the music  that swayed

and moved her eternally.

The swell, the growth, the burgeoning,

bursting and erupting explosions convulsed

shook and shattered the firmaments asunder.

In her splendour she bathed

in the newness of birth.

A new day.

A new dawn.

A new beginning.

She smiled.

It was wondrous.


Thank you Soul Gifts 🌹 



Thank you Soulece

By Soulece 💜

Stroke me my love
Let your nimble
Talented fingers
Play my body
Like a piano
Each caress
Igniting me
The instrument of your passion
Sending arpeggios of desire
Down my spine
Let us complete
This musical masterpiece
And write another tomorrow


Thank you Jason…


Keep At It

By: Jason A. Watson 

Throughout life people experience both pain and suffering

Though getting through these things are pretty complicated

First you must learn to love and believe in yourself

Then, and only then, will you be able to numb the pain

This world is full of death and sorrowIt is filled with hate like no tomorrow

There still is hope for things to get better

Things are closer than they seem to appear

There’s really no need for fearGod wouldn’t put us into situations we can’t handle

This is why things always get betterAs long as you can try to remember

There is no reason to surrender


I loved this one Jason….❤️




Thank you, Jony 


With love,


By Jony Francissen 



Today you are silent

with harsh unspoken words.

Your skin looks raw

and your eyes show no feelings.
Cold walls echoing promises,

Dust piled up on hope.

You promised me the sky

and turned it into a ceiling.



Thank you, Susan… Oh how I relate! 



By Susan Burns 

I’m still in love with who I thought you were

The memory of that belief
is what’s causing the grief

I’m still in love with the you
I thought I knew
I despise the real you

I thought I’d found something rare
But you were just a player with flair

I will be okay
there will be a day
that false memory fades away




 Now my dear poetry friends these poems were HIGH ranking; however, they went over 22 lines and in the rules it stated no more than 22….  But they must be read by everyone because they too are phenomenal … 




By Cris Fox (also a dear old friend🌹)


When the Wind begins to call you,

You will hear his voice and follow.

Listen and know, it’s  the song of you soul.

Friendship is the bread of angels,

Gifts of life meant to remind you

Which way to go, His love makes you whole.

The Father is calling, 

He’ll kept you from falling

Creation rejoices today.

The song He is singing

New life His bringing

Whispering Jesus the way

Home to His heart of love.

When the Wind begins to call you,

You will hear His voice and follow.

Listen and know, it’s the song of your soul.

Friendship is the bread of angels

Gifts of life meant to remind you

Which way to go, His love makes you whole.

This message descending

Of love never ending,

A river of Life from the Throne.

Grace that is waking,

You’ll Bend without breaking

With Jesus you’re never alone.

Enter His heart of love.

Beautiful Cris 🌹


By Anne Stockstill


Thinking of Me?

When you touched my hand

And your lips caressed mine,

Were you thinking of me?

When you danced holding me close,

Your breathe on my cheek

Whispering sweet nothings,

Were you thinking of me?

When the lights were low,

Soft, romantic music playing

As you lay close to me,

Where you thinking of me?

When we talked about travel

And made future plans,

Where you thinking of me?

When foreign shores beckoned you,

French wine, fine cuisine served on a terrace,

Overlooking the Eifel Tower and sparkling lights of Paris,

Were you thinking of her?

When you traveled to Rome, Istanbul and St Petersburg,

Changing the look of your face,

Drinking Russian vodka, long white nights,

Were you thinking of her?

Laying on white Dominican beaches,

Playing in the foaming surf,

Where your phone service never worked,

Were you thinking of her?

Did you look into her eyes and repeat unholy vows,

To love and cherish until death,

When the church bells tolled,

Did you really believe the lies you told,

As you married her while you were married to me?

The judges really loved yours as well….
I do to as I definitely have been in this place too… Married to more than one women at a time….  💜




  💛 And MOST Mentioned 💛

However ~ it is over 22 lines…. 



By @alostwriter

I am something much more

Than what you have in your mind

I am much more than a body

I am much more than a kiss

I am something much more than the breast and

all the rest

I have a heart ,

A mind,

A soul,

I am not just this body

These lips,

These curves,

I am much more than these

You keep rolling your eyes

Up and down

Seeking to get into

Inch by inch

Into my skin

Making me feel naked even

I have dozen of clothe on my body

still naked i m

I am something much more

Than this

I don’t need you

Your appreciation

You are also one of them

I am much more than

What you think,

Much more than

You can ever imagine

your thinking is limited to this

and I am something beyond this

I am something much more.


By- alostwriter(sy)you can find me @alostwriter

Thank you   ✍🏻





I want to thank all of you for your entries. It takes bravery to lay your heart out for the world to read. Well-done and congrats to all of you and our mystery judges too! 


Please, just say HI! And, What is Your favorite Poetry for Mondays…Tues.. Wed…


If you should stop by to visit my site here on WordPress, I would love, love, love you, to please, say Hi, and will you please, please, please linger and boondoggle awhile?That means, shoot the breeze, as we say, in Southern United States. Thanks and hope to say howdy back at you real soon!

Come and sit a spell..
Come and sit a spell..

I love children’s poems. This is one of my favorites: Please, share one of your favorites. Over The River and Through The woods 

Over the river, and through the wood,
To Grandmother’s house we go;
the horse knows the way to carry the sleigh
through the white and drifted snow.
Over the river, and through the wood,
to Grandmother’s house away!
We would not stop for doll or top,
for ’tis Thanksgiving Day.
Over the river, and through the wood—
oh, how the wind does blow!
It stings the toes and bites the nose
as over the ground we go.
Over the river, and through the wood—
and straight through the barnyard gate,
We seem to go extremely slow,
it is so hard to wait!
Over the river, and through the wood—
When Grandmother sees us come,
She will say, “O, dear, the children are here,
bring a pie for everyone.”
Over the river, and through the wood—
now Grandmother’s cap I spy!
Hurrah for the fun! Is the pudding done?
Hurrah for the pumpkin pie!

Leaving Adam By Bonnie Jennings


Leaving Adam

Eons advance and passed away.
Thought, theory, speculation and opinions, die.
Glancing through lenses, and squinting, at the sky,
Adam, pointing, at the twinkling specs, named the brilliant ballet.
So, following mankind, up the mountain,
And ascending a rocky path; we embarked.
My feet followed his, upward, to where the sky was arched.
His staff pointed, and the heavens, then filled me, as a refreshing fountain.
An advocate of The Father of Man, I desired what he sought,
Thus’ left the home of my family and upheld his zealous quest
Confidently, I abided and affirmed his every request.
Even, wore his belief’s; did just as he taught.
One day, dared I asked, Adam, the man of science,
How is Eve today?
And, if looks could kill, then Eve is dead, thus’ left us only, to pray.
Deceased, she is. He answered, with a chill of neglectful defiance.
Man of Science, I spoke so boldly.
At the mountain top; we stand
The stars, you named, and held, in your hand,
However, love you murdered, so coldly.
This day, I choose the mother
Her love, which first found me
Within the warm and welcoming spirit, in there, dwells she.
 And, today, I accept non-other.
So, progressing and moving towards her;
 Over, the cliff of doubt, rapidly grabbing her hem, I aim.
Because, after carefully, considering your treacherous, pains,
There, in her grace ~ I seek her, safe harbor
I choose faith, that which, I cannot see. 
Contact, opening scene

There In My Woods



There in my woods stood a wondrous sight
Were my eyes deceiving me, I asked quietly
In awe, I approached slowly, and reverently
She stood as a statue amidst the winter wood
The haze of midday and the humidity blinded
Any clear sights watching this solemn angel
Vaguely interpreted all hidden truthful sights
And why was she there, I can’t answer that
I wanted to believe that she was only for me
But, I don’t know, she never glanced, you see
I stayed as long as I could silently stoop
Trying not to breath loudly as to disturb 
After hours of gazing, i fell fast asleep 
Upon awakening, the angel had departed

Castanets and Patchouli

Image From Pinterest
Image From Pinterest

Hidden between glances

Silencing a cacophony of doubts

Entering a place reverently

Peaceful and in tune with the beat

Vibrational magnets conjoin

Even across a room

Finding the mellow one

Untroubled and appreciative of much

Harmonious strings are magical

Baroque gypsies fancy bravato

A passacaglia minuet to begin

A teething rose and Bolero

Tapping toes and castanets

Candles and torches blazing

A fugue in D Minor and such

Moonlight sonatas and patchouli 

An image of Zeta watches 

And there’s Tadhg whom I adore

The Samba and Bossa Nova

The night takes an exotic twist

Fantastic is the swirling passion

The drum beats stirring lust

Sweltering rhythms and riffs

Take me away  to a distant place

And there is Zeta watching me

The night dissolves then

And I return home

Zeta I can’t resist


And the late Jose Feliciano on Youtube

My favorite guitarist

Such a gypsy

I still love you the best…..🌹

We Were Children Once Upon A Time







Imaginations of a girl

Dragons, bubbles and blonde curls

Creating a magical place

All her own

Her angel watches waiting

Motivating the child’s talents sown



In bubbles and butterflies and green moss

The smell of dirt’s mushrooming gorse

The dragon suddenly comes alive

The wave of her finger

Her angel smiles

Gifting the child’s natural endowments



A seer, a writer, a fairy princess

Must always keep her reason for existence

Sadly time and reality erase her magic

Once and artist

Her angel idly waits

Queuing patiently the child’s imaginations




©2017 BJ



the feast-of-bacchus-Gerard-de-Lairesse-painting



Laws that govern the protection of hospitals

Penal codes that govern the laws of (USA) men

And what about the laws that govern the truth

There’s a tide that is honest and leads when

Laws protecting this and that fail written by a pen

Having to step out of the Torahs way, every now and then

Deciding a destiny, costing more than gold, one aspires

A judgement of convictions, rising above sentencing

The choices sitting before you are costly fires

Codes of ethics, standards of practice, oh the law tires

Hurting and hindering more than protecting innocent life

Having to make verdicts and to be the judge

Stepping off-limits defining integrity relevant per

The voice within though pushed won’t fudge

And the jury that can’t hear, ultimately will misjudge

But HIPAA won, the penal code vanished

And the man slit the throat of his dogs

The neighbors children are next

It doesn’t matter for the HIPAA Law gods

Silence fell because the determinate kills dialogues



©2016 BJ

I Dreamed Last Night

I dreamed a prophet dream early this morning (CST USA). I have been having some health issues that have been escalating over the past couple of years.But, my health is not what this story is about, you just need to know a little and where and why this dream came to me last night or early morning.

First of all, I’m nearly deaf and the second condition, I could loose my eye sight in my dominant eye. So, I’ve been worried as it will effect my working ability, my art, and most importantly my writing.

I believe that my superior being was speaking to me and giving me all the reasons why this could happen and should it occur, then know the purpose. There is a powerful reason for this to happen.

My dream: (Part One) Taunting me; were two bullies. They were males. I knew them and recognized them Apparently they disliked me for similar reasons. They accused me of not being perfect, and this and that… The accusations are personal, and not important to write about. Somethings are best left unsaid. However, one had bangs like a woman, like he did in real life, and the other was tall, skinny and had glasses that were thick like coke bottles. They accused me of all the things that in life, I’ve accused myself. Laughing at me, putting me down, they seemed to follow me and gang up on me.  And that is when I decided to confront them in a loving manner, and that is when they changed their tunes.

I discovered they taunted me, because they wanted my attention so much, that negative attention was better than no attention. I never knew how much they longed for me just to be kind.That part ended with me holding them both in a motherly hug.

The morale of that part of the dream was sometimes the things, the negative actions of others and traumatic circumstances that come to us in life, are actually, blessings disguised in our fears. These negatives are meant to teach us a lesson and they won’t leave until we get it, and learn.

(Part Two) LOL… I’m having difficulty remembering part two… Oh, lets see… Okay, now I remember.

The two bullies began to cover my eyesight with a covering that made me blind. I had to trust my once enemies. So, I allowed them to place the cloth over my eyes. That is when I began to feel my world. I had to touch faces in order to recognize and understand. Still unable to hear a bird sing or whispers, and then to add the blindness, my world changed and I began to perceive life and they living in a new way. I could not judge by my eyesight any longer, but only had my hands to feel. I couldn’t judge the world by hearing, because I had to know and perceive the world intuitively. When I learned and discovered my world without hearing and sight, then I truly understood, the spiritual concepts that govern the entire universe.

Morale learned. We judge our space using hearing and sight, but take those gifts away, and we will truly see and know many new concepts.

Wow… I have peace and understanding now… 🌹


©2017 BJ






Wandering my streets of dreams 

Seeking the truth of love ❤️ 

Looking forward to your smile 

The day we say “hello”

I know you have always been there 
Please tell me your name 

And what thoroughfare you’re lost 

I’ll search for the place sent 

Just send me your coordinates 

I will find you know matter what 

Sacrificial love is ONLY When…



What is love?

Love of self is the first ingredient to true love.


Sacrificial love is ONLY when a person understands love and love of self.

That person is able to then, and only then say, I choose you over me….

And my friends, that is love…

That you first chose me (because you loved yourself first).

Happy Valentines!



Image from A Poets Haven


Conversations With Psychosis

Having had the often dramatic invitation to sit and talk with numerous if not hundreds of psychotic people have developed some poetry written just from their voice. Trying to hear, listen and engage with individuals who must deal daily with similar verbal intrusions, pray I’ve come close to their constant barrage of voices that often want to control them. And using my poetic expression ‘Conversations With Psychosis,’ these voices of unreason that are dangerous sometimes, I hope that I have written about a  fraction of the anarchies that are against those stolen human souls and minds.

The Mind, The Last Adventure… We can go to Saturn, Pluto and Jupiter, but we don’t know a humane treatment for psychosis..We have barely touched the tips of their states of minds.

To the schizophrenics, I dedicate this poetry series.



Conversations With Psychosis

Over The Valley and Through The Woods of Brain Matter
Often, I sit held captive to meandering thoughts about life
Questioning and answering these frivolous voices asking
This and that and hearing myself talk and the vocal vibrations
That seem wise and and silly, and they are my closest friends
They correct me, and hear me, answer me, and implore me
Annoy me with their constant asking beginning with, “why.”
We talk about God and children and the animal kingdom
The butterflies and bats and deciduous delicate opinions
Of others who seem to have all that I don’t possess, but yes
Must confess~ Thoughts are no more than human profess
And they wander in and out the dark places of my mind
Weaving to and fro and there they go to be replaced
By another question asking, “how does the world turn
Or isn’t it odd~ that is ~ the pale oval shape of The Moon
Beams that are brilliant and kept me awake~ last night
Fully lit my room, peeping through the window shades
And in the shadows always waiting to ask more questions
Like I know, keeping me alert on my brains tippy-toes
Voices of amusement, voices of wonder, voices voices
Psychosis often confused with man’s ditactic eternal gnosis
God I need hypnosis to rid me of allegorical brainey mitosis
Whimsical metaphors comparable to a quaint cathedral
Holding me captive hyperkinetic clairvoyant attractions
And you think that I don’t understand? I’m silent; but see.

©2017 BJ


Conversations With Psychosis (number 2)

Who are you? I asked the one hiding in the shadows.

What do you want? I hear you and see you but you ~

Are not clear and you whisper to someone else. Those.

Disclose now! I tell you. What would you have of me?

Gleefully you beast you laugh, loose nothing, carefree

Taking advantage of a sick mind, you are lordly, unkind

Gripping minds, gossiping alluring beguiling with signs

Couriers, alerts, commands, urgings and announcements

So innocently requesting mandates and harsh judgements

Tell me again? What did you ask? To cut? So pungent

That voice sounds like God! Shh! Hush! Its Him calling

No misjudgments, yes, no repugnance, how often will ~

You visit me. It’s love; it’s hate, but you’re my only friend

You’re not evil or troubling; you’re an angel condemned

A godsend, yes, your voices, those friends~ I will defend

Hush now! They’re coming! Quiet! They’ll find you out.

My lips are sealed now, but you take over my mouth~

And say the most horrible things and I squat and crouch

Around the corner dressed in white, they come with needles

A team of them, they whom you fear, “I hate you!” Peoples

Think they live under steeples who rid you from mine ears

Letting you go again, but you’ll be back, I have no fears

What? You’re shaking from fright being torn from my body

As the drugs enter into my bloodstream, they embody

My soul, as bad as these voices, why can’t I be free daddy?

©2017 BJ


Poem 3

I started crying before I could finish this one….



Conversations With Psychosis

Drooling and drugged, my eyes glazed

Just a sip of water, please, don’t you understand?

My skin is grey from lack of oxygen

They won’t let me smoke

It’s bad for my sin

You who’ve judged and called me names

Laughed at my face and yelled, YOU’RE INSANE!

I guess that I am, after all, you told me so

Walking around my face flat as a board

No life in these eyes and having facial sores

Half naked my butt shows, you make me dress

What for? Who cares, I’m a disgrace

Angry that, I scream at you

Who stands at my bed eating a shoe

Though never offering juice nor brew

You’re scum. You sit hoping~ I’ll overcome

And then go home and leave me here

Dang it! Wont you bring me a beer!

What do you care if I like whiskey better

Than drugs and drooling and eating paper

Oh go home, you’re like all others

Never vindicated, you’re like my mother


AND DRUG ME~ why don’t you?

You son of my brother

I’m left again

Lost, lonely within

Hold my hand

It’s dark in here

These voices have drowned me

©2017 BJ



February Love Poems 🌹





Love ~ 🌹
This ocean called emotions of love and hate
On a journey, given time to navigate this place
Traveling ~ hoping to find a bliss, perhaps a myth
A soulmate, wandering, looking for their mate
The one true love measured by allotted faith
That Earth is always kind and lends us this gift
A season filled ~ with a long lingering bequeathed
Under the stars, under The Moon, under The Sun
Seeking true love while roaming the marketplace
Yet ~ never finding him face-to-face
So ~ I keep wandering the forest ~ Just in case
My eternal soul buds in an herb of his grace
Until that time when we tangle in embrace
I’ll keep meandering the hillside of the human race
Picking flowers whilst singing songs and hymns
Smiling gently for one day ~ you’ll be coming home



Bj The K of ♣️’s Feb © 2017 

I’ll leave the oil burning so you’ll find my way

February Love Poems 🌹

Editors are Mathematicians


My time line… the first 7 completed and only 10 more to go!


Ky Ellen Mason is almost there! Almost finished with the hardest part of any edit of any novel …. Line by line study of tenses, and verbs… First person or third… Right or wrong… The eyes become hazy… The thoughts focus on clarity of tenses and time…. Thank you my dear sister’s sister in law…
Believe it or not editing requires the skill of mathematics. The story line must match up because the author might not keep the time frame exact, but the reader will pick up a wrong time and question the efforts of the author to keep all little details lined up and squared perfectly. The reader sees such details that are not accurate such as apparel and the decade it was worn.
Take for example, in The South, Villager Dresses and Quigan Shoes were of the mid sixties, so keeping detail straight is part of a line by line editor.
What a job the editor has and the hours they spend sorting timelines, grammar and punctuation plus examining sentences and their structure is overwhelming.


Behind Closed Doors


January 28th, 2017 We will be launching this book Behind Closed Doors and have speakers, as well. Yea! I was asked to be one of them and I am thrilled greatly to be a part of these wonderful women.

Alan Johnson will be reading one of Susan’s terrific poems regarding abuse using his fabulous voice. Oh, so sorry, but Alan will not be present.

Book launch hosted by Author and Poetess Deborah Brooks Langford

Co-Authors are Ann Landrum Stockstill and Susan Joyner-Stumpf

To join the launch visit the link or Deborah’s page on FB. The blue link above this comment.


Author Susan Joyner-Stumpf 11:30 am mountain time 12:30 central
will speak about abuse and give book away.. BEHIND CLOSED DOORS


Ann Landrum Stockstill speaker on abuse and book give away
12:30 pm mountain time 1:30 pm central

Author Deborah Brooks Langford Speaker on child abuse 2Pm central

Frances Irene Tolfa 2:15 pm speaker on abuse..


Image may contain: 1 person, closeup
Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, plant and outdoor
Bonnie or Bojenn
Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, horse
Image may contain: 1 person, sitting
Image may contain: 1 person, smiling, closeup

Poet Phillip Mathew Roberts

Phillip Mathew Roberts is one of my favorite poets. His poetry is deep, and he uses symbolism to express his ideas and haunting thoughts that are discerned using exquisite interpretation that is not taken lightly. 


Many thanks Phillip for agreeing to be one of my guests. It is my pleasure to salute your talents.

Ladies and gents here is Phillip, please enjoy his poetry as much as I do.






At the crossroads where

Sisyphus planted an asphodel
Return silently this beloved space
born of clean Euclidean blankness
succulently tongue-marred by pens
dipped deep into non-responsive pupils
brimming black ink glossy as mirrors
reflecting unmeasurable distances.
Questions that lift delicate veils
boyishly as curiosity about the shape
that presses self into consciousness
–the vibrant scream now vintage,
poured sanguine into a single cup
filled once with maternity.
Approached through ways
uncertain and unremembered.
Roads that lead to absence…
The still-locked doors
buried beneath fallen dust amassed
from feet dotting those nations
who favor the prosperous
and whose futures come in shares
as though time were linear
or could be exponentially grown.
Craggy shoulders yoked to the firmament
–azures, wisps and pastel emptiness
struggled-forth toward those urns
filled with tomorrow; lacuna
where an idea roamed
off the page.
[conclude poem 1]
Multiple non sequiturs recollected
in a new, still irrelevant order
Ever a somnambulist I wander
through clockwork alleles without a cog
knocking around in my cloud-wondrous cranium:
trompe l’oeils through which the sun
make-believes it’s luminous…
Ratios unfurled into parsec-spirals
though no smaller than a Planck-dot
separating dreams and nightmares
from Hamlet’s oft-palmed skull.
Miscreant meters carry my downy iambs
flocked gentle as lambs but the voice clarion
is hollowed into post-Ginsberg howls
echoing moon-barritones
of the great, gnarl-jawed
Canis lupus
Crossing diaphragm horizons
stretched lyre-fragile–a taut high wire
for my precarious steps into the night
after a final sigh leaves
with the quiescence
of angelic speech.
Your lascivious kisses blown through aeolian
harps carved out of my cadaver’s chest.
Such luscious strange songs come
from the dead–
much like hot milk
spilled from men hanged
who sway in spring breezes
like ineffectual wind chimes.
Receptive as coerced
my untouched pages open easily
the way children do their innocence
bent over beds–playing
games with unmentionable things
that begat their rapturous grandeur.
Leda and the Swan repeatedly…
Lost among my coveted whole-number blocks
red-blue-yellow-green and orange
(the color of vowels cradled by sight)
resting on shelves drenched in sunlight;
reveries that wing corpses
through blasé kindergarten windows
toward mellow seasons until I
never really returned,
still roaming through awe
farther into the all-possible…
The misunderstandings we’ve endured
now broken from loaves, some rustic bread
shared among the multitudes.
And as to those aspersions about arrogance:
Prince of knowledge crowned by epistemology
let me gently reassure,
I ached gravely–
abysses that resemble absences
patiently filled with Logos
either felt or ignored.
[end poem 2]
Writ between the gibbous and the wane
Unlock no more homes
whose solemn memories remain
among stoicism and quiescence;
pale winter windows without glass
where the only one spoke
a language not meant
for tongues
but horizons.
Travel somewhere without
longitude and latitude–
the minutes devoted to Aves
compelled from plaintive drum spaces
where my chest empties into the hallowed;
seconds simply counted
as between-breaths becalmed
–hoar-fog and kinetic reflections
cast like spells across tranquil water
motionless as death.
I’ve since emptied everything
including this hand-me-down luggage
passed on from my forefathers.
Tomorrow, I depart.
[end concluding poems]
Brief autobiography:
During an abusive childhood, Mr. Roberts learned how words and phrases open doorways into a vast escape from the mediocre and cacophonous inconsistencies common among politics and everyday existence.  Grateful for what little skills he posses with language, he’s lived contentedly inside texts offered from the Greeks and Romans to the moderns and will most likely continue to write until he’s lost either his faculties or his life.
Find Phillip here:

Phillip Quotient <>