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

 

 

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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.” 

 

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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

https://www.facebook.com/search/top/?q=ky%20ellen%20mason

 

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

Jennings.bonnie1952@gmail.com

Bonniegjennings@gmail.com

or on FB @

https://www.facebook.com/bonnie.jenningd

 

 

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 🏆🏆🏆

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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…

 

 

IN FIRST PLACE …. Ta Da-Da-DAA !!! 



 

 

🏆 🥇 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 🥉

Catalyst  

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 💐

 

Epitaph

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 🌺

 

 

BIRTH

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”

 
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! 

🌺

Memory

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 … 

 

 🎖

VOICE IN THE WIND

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…. 

 

I AM SOMETHING MUCH MORE 

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…

Hello!
Hello!

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

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~

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. 
 
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Contact, opening scene
Now1

Ekaterina Finds Literary Magic. 



Ekaterina sat secretly in the attic consuming 


Words and stories from ages before her upbringing 

Her grandfather said, ‘don’t go into the attic.’

Then he winked, as he knew up there, she’d find magic 



Just as her wise grandfather had pointed the way

Ekaterina saw the words dance and light shimmers display 

Turning pages, dusty browned edges, sneezing while proofing 

Oh so mesmerized, lingering for the summer, delightfully giggling 



So it was that summer, spent with gramps, became her best memory 

Changing her forever, open to stories and whimsical fairies

Grandfather gave Ekaterina an inheritance from his treasury 

Lasting a lifetime, Kat bequeathed to her grandchildren 



For’ the lineage of words and tales found in an attic

Trickled down generations of descendants making literary addicts

All because a grandfather and his enchanted enigmatic 

Took initiative, gifting his offspring with analytical acrobatics 




Happy reading 🎩BJ

Thanking my mother for giving me the gift of literature 

Image from courtesy of The Poets Haven on FB

The Evening Eleanor Arrived By Bonnie Jennings

 

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How Eleanor came to visit me one stormy night is a story that succeeded another story of mystery and intrigue. The story thus became Cat Dubois’ Odyssey to Enchantment.

It was early fall and the first chill came that evening as the sheets of rain fell. Cat starred out the back windows simply mesmerized by the shears of wind and rain. She was cold, lonely and worried. The dreaded fears of the future somehow aligned itself with the deluge of water and her life appeared like the rain that ran off into the creek. Her tears could fill that stream that sat next to the eery woods behind her home. She prayed all the prayers that anyone could. Her Hope dimmed like the candles that burned next to her. And then, the electricity turned off. A transformer must have been hit. She threw a log into the fireplace and poured another glass of Cabernet.

Ka-Boom! The bolts were over her home. Flashes of lights were all around. The electric sky put on a show. A limb snapped in the woods. Wrapping a blanket around herself, she watched outside. She took another sip of the red warming wine. As she started to turn away, something caught her attention. Something unusual was going on back there.

“What’s that?” Cat whispered. There were swirling leaves and lights in the middle of her focus. “What the hell?” She intently stared now. The stirring of wind, leaves and sparks twenty feet from where she stood, caused her to stand back. She came forward and looked again.

“There is a woman,” Cat gasped.

Eleanor’s feet touched the ground in the middle of the puddles. Kaboom’s popped. Her hand grasped an umbrella. The woman didn’t seem a bit concerned about the conditions. She simply walked above the water towards the back porch.

There she shook the umbrella out, then sat it by the back door as it opened mysteriously, and said, “Put some tea on dear. We have work to do.”

Cat’s mouth dropped open, she said, Okay. She couldn’t decide if this event was good or evil; although, the woman was eccentric and that character trait, Cat felt compelled to entertain. She was a bit wary of an English woman. Strangely, She didn’t ring the front doorbell, nor knock like regular people do. She just appeared. Oh Lord, I’ve lost my mind.

The plump woman said to Cat in an old English brogue while standing at the backdoor, “Dear, if you’re going to fight devils, you will need help. Supernatural help. Never fight them alone.” She straightened out her clothes, walked inside and looked for the couch. On it, she plopped. “Get your pen and pad of paper. You’re going to write a story and I’m going to help you.”

Cat having few words ~ said, “All right. I will get them and the tea. What type of tea do you prefer?”

“My own,” and from her tote The woman brought out her stash of herbal delights. “Here smell this one. Get a cup for yourself, as well dear.”

Okay. After all, how do you say no to a delusion that manifested? And so, Cat sat two teacups down on the coffee table. She looked at the woman and paused before speaking, then said, “By the way, my name is Cat. Cat Dubois. What’s yours?”

With a radiant warm smile the woman said, “Finally we get to meet. I am Eleanor, Ms. Catherine Dubois. Oh for a hundred years, I’ve waited for this moment.”

 

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Fables For Jacob; About Control

 

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Once upon a time there was a golden pen

It was sleek and elegant and was its own

One grey foggy day a brown shoe visited

Telling the pen it should sweep as a broom

The golden pen didn’t realize its penmanship

And became a fine natural haired bristled mop

Thus swept the cobwebs from walls and the floors

Cleaned windows and dusted chairs without love

It began to wear its woven tough coated flocks

Singing no songs whilst it was manhandled to death

Sat in a corner collecting no glory just cluttered doom

It began thinking, “What was it doing dusting the room?”

There was a world awaiting tales from twisted off keyed tunes

A smile appeared where the golden paint had disappeared

The pen arose from the wooden stick of woven haired loom

It stepped away from the shadows or the corners where stored

One step, two steps, three and four moving toward the door

Grabbing the handle trying to gain its escape

Jumped higher each time jumping to its fate

Escaping to freedom by inching its slender way

Never again would it listen to a brown shoe’s dismay

Realizing it held power all of its own

Taking advice from something not its clone

Learned a lesson to stay far away 

From things not like us or shiny 

And voices waning to follow ways

Insisting they’re the right

Never seeing truth

Demanding ways

Inconsiderate

Not seeing 

You

From them move
Your’e invisible!
AND geez!

What ever you do
Don’t look behind!

 

 

BJ

Emmett Eckles Jennings. Happy Father’s Day. I am telling your story now after all those years….

 

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In Memory of My Father
By Bonnie jennings

Introduction

Emmette Eckles Jennings known as “Jim Jennings,” Sr engineer at Thiokol Chemical Corporation and also known as Morton Thiokol, was my father. He designed part of The Nike Hercules. He also designed bombs used in The Vietnamese War. The sins of the father shall be passed down for seven generations.

We didn’t have a store bought TV in our home because he made or TVs. We were not allowed to listen to regular music unless he wasn’t there, in the house he built, because he only listened to classical music. When we lived in San Francisco, when I was two, he played a French Horn for The Menlo Park Symphony. It later became The San Francisco Symphony.

Mother, Babe, in the last picture below always said, “you know they (daddy’s family) said he had a little autism.” Perhaps he had a little Asperger’s, and that is my assumption based on being a psychiatric nurse of 16 years.

This story is about him, about me and about people who work for our beloved government. My son, Joel, carried on that role and went on to work for AmeriCorps, Homeland Security and The State Department. Daddy worked for The USA Corps of Engineers.

Daddy served in WWII in The Air-Force as a navigator. He was stationed in Italy, and Russia. He was shot down and survived that mission. And, on that flight he was the captain of the aircraft. He gave up piloting. It frightened him. Daddy was not a fretful person. Never scared, accept one other time in his life, and I will tell you about that later.

The two beautiful women in the center are his loving daughters Bonnie and Carol, the third one, Linda, disappeared (1967 or before) to join some other government group. She spoke 5 languages and danced for The Ballet Folk Lorica in Mexico City. And that was the last we heard of her until my mother died 2011. Linda called the attorney, got her inheritance by wire, and disappeared again. I wouldn’t recognize her on the streets if I stood next to her. I was fourteen the last time that I saw her and I’m all but sixty-five now.

This story is about dysfunction, service, dedication, strife and love.

This Is The Beginning.

The year I was born was 1952, so the calculations of time and year are based on my earliest recollections using basic adding and subtractions. So here goes to the best of memory of a six year old through later years.

It was 1959, and for Christmas daddy always gave me the most boyish gifts, but I ended up loving all of them. Once he gave me a metal building of The Empire Building with a working elevator. I put all my plastic beloved farm animals in that elevator and had them go to all the floors. I played for hours with that structure.

One year, 1960, perhaps it was he gave me a telescope. We lived in what was the country on a tar road in Longview, TX. He then, worked for Thiokol. If you recall, earlier i said, daddy was a navigator in WWII and at that time the navigation systems were calculated by men. These men were required to know the constellations and the placement the galaxies around the world whether it was summer or winter solstices or equinoxes. Daddy knew the stars and he taught me well while we star gazed many nights. He pointed out The Seven Sisters, also known as “The Pleiades Star Cluster.” He told the Greek Mythology behind the groups of heavenly bodies. He quoted The Bible. “Can you bind the Pleiades?” I listened for hours to his peaceful lectures about the stars and his charts he used to determine where a bomber was during WWII. He often fell silent after he spoke. He had shrapnel in his legs after being shot down.

“Look Daddy, there’s The Big Dipper!” and he said
“Yes, now follow the tail. It will lead you to The Little dipper.”

So, I watched and learned. Daddy always had high hopes for me. I never achieved them.

Daddy also knew some astrology along with mythology and The Holy Bible. His father was a methodist minister in Pleasant Grove MS or “Duck Hill” as daddy referred to the place. As a child, during the depression, he was taken from his home as his father fell ill, and his mother was a piano teacher and had no money. Daddy moved to California at a young age to live with two of his “old maid aunts” who had money. They provided him with the finest education a poor boy can ever have, though the two of them were unloving to him. So, young daddy felt betrayed, as he was the child who was chosen to be sent away. Ralf and Sarah Bess were allowed to stay in Pleasant Grove.

Here is where we understand, happenstances we hate are the things that are good for us in the long run and are intended for the greatest of our possibilities. He became a mechanical engineer after the war.

The starry nights were the best of times with daddy. I loved his wisdom, his patience in finding galaxies, and telling me his government secrets. Oh, but I was merely six or seven and he could tell me. After all, a child would never remember or have any interest in an adult conflict involving Top Security information. So, he thought.

He was at war with The Blue Book Project. He told me these men (forgot their names) were out to “debunk any knowledge or sightings of UFO’s.”
“Daddy, are there aliens?” I knew what he was referring to. He had given enough description in his story telling that even I a child knew what he was referring to.

“It would be foolish, and egotistical to believe we were the only ones in this vast universe of ours.” Pretty must his exact words.

I knew what he meant. This I too understood. “Daddy, why do these men want to stop knowledge of extraterrestrials?”

“To prevent fear and panic. To let people know they are in charge and no one else.” He was quiet again.

He helped me write a book report on Project Blue Book. I was in the third or fourth grade. My teacher said in front of the class,”how do you know this? Where did you get your information?”

“My father told me.” Right after that, I was sent through a battery of tests to determine if I was “retarded,” a slow thinker. Being different gets people in trouble.

Every night, seven days a week, we ate promptly at 5:30 PM CST USA. Daddy walked in from work Monday through Friday at 5:25PM… Like a clock. There was absolutely no talking while eating at the dinner table. He didn’t allow any conversation. Carol got spanked as she was always in perpetual motion and her mouth went before her. My mother intervened on many occasions when he spanked her for anything coming out of her mouth. She had recovered from Polio and was happy to be alive. Carol was a wee bit frail and tiny. That didn’t stop Jim. NO ONE TALKS! After he ate, he got up and retired to the TV room where he controlled the stations. The nightly news always came first.

My mother was not a rug to wipe any feet on. She also was a college graduate and knew business and current affairs as well as world history. She was a force to be reckoned with and had to be to live with Jim.

 

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I was the quiet one. I hated my mother’s political vigor and her verbal wars she had with anyone who visited us. She read five political books a week and biographies. She knew politics and probably should have gone to law school. She and “Judge Judy” are very much alike.

We didn’t go to church in the early years. Church was The Eighteen Twelve Overture blasting from the stereo that he built. Or maybe Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake, or Chopin.

Daddy threw his cards daily to determine if the gods were favorable for him or not. I learned to do the same. He used solitaire to determine the vibrations. I use numbers.

One night, around the time of The Project Blue Book incidence, daddy came home with a stone or piece of iron ore. He gave it to me and I held it in the palm of my seven or so year old hand. It looked like iron ore. It felt like iron ore and it weighed the same. Iron ore is mined in East Texas and it was plentiful. The stone seemed just like all the other matter laying here and there on the firmament.

“Here, look at it,” he said.

So, I did as he said.

“Now watch this.” He took the stone and changed the properties. It was no longer a rock nor a stone, but was a silver/black string about 14” long. He spread his arms apart and the stone unraveled. It looked like any other silver/black string. Then he took his hands and molded back into the stone without any effort. He said, “Now, you do it.”

I did the same with the rock. Daddy gave the stone to me and I played with it for years. My daughter remembers the stone as well. She was about the same age when she played with it. One day the stone disappeared. My father died in 1983 and the rock disappeared. it was no longer in the drawer where the library was and where it remained from 1960 t0 1983. After my mother and father were both deceased, I moved back home to find the rock, the stone. It was of no use. The stone was missing. Something happened to the rock and I have only assumptions to go on. the only witness that I have is my daughter who remembers its strange properties.

Now, when my father gave me the stone it was around 1960- ish. This was just about the time when he was going on and on about the men involved in Project Blue Book. One night while he and I were stargazing, he tells me another story. A story I’ve not forgotten. Why did he tell me? Because he thought a child would never remember. I was a sounding board. I was a person who he could tell with confidence that I was clueless and would never tell nor remember.

He did tell another man. He told his best friend who was silent until I approached him in 2014. He had cancer and could barely speak. We compared stories. They were alike accept for the timing. Number oen, I thought daddy said, the event occurred at 3 Am and Bob said, “No, it was 3 PM.” So the child’s memory who was then sixty-one and his best confident who was close to late seventies and having cancer, had very close identical stories, only Bob told the adult child more than she ever dreamed. Bob is still living and is doing well, by the way. Soon, I want to introduce him to my son, if he will grant us another visit.

Bob was frail at the time of my interview in 2013. I took the recorder on my IPHone 5, that I no longer own, not thinking that it would be traded in one day, I learned to ~ think ahead next time, should I meet Bob again. But, I remember what he said. The cancer had aged him. He didn’t look like the tall handsome man he once was, but the last time I saw Bob was when I was about 16.

He said, “I didn’t like you much. I thought you were a brat.” Bob paused for my response. Perhaps he was apologizing or maybe he was just being frank and had to get it off his chest.

“Yes. Yes, I was a teenage brat. But you must know there are always two sides to every story? Yes?” I spoke gently and so he would know there was truth to my being a “brat.” “My parents were harsh and tough, you know. They were waring between themselves. Daddy was not a communicator and mother was being driven crazy and became hostile and angry. They sent me away to school if you recall?”

“Yea, I remember well. So what brings you here?”

“My father. I want to know what you know about the rock, the incident at the launch pad and I need you to validate that I am not making this up nor am I delusional.”

Bob’s eyes lit up as best they could under his frailness as he laid there smoking one cigarette after another just like my daddy.

“Weil, it was the mid-sixties,” he said.

In my mind I’m thinking, “no,” it was early sixties or 1959. I clarified with Bob my dates.

“He said, “No it was after you all moved to Louisiana. You were a teenager then.”

Holy cow, thinking to myself. “Bob are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m certain. I know because you were away at school and the government came to your house. They went through the place. I’ve never seen your father so scared. He doesn’t scare easily.”

“Bob, you can’t be right because this happened when I was seven, eight or nine. We were living in Longview. I know because daddy told me about being at the launch pad late at night. He said that he was surrounded by brilliant blinking lights of all different illumines colors. Blinking all around him. They split in many directions and made a dancing pattern around he and another man.” He gave me the stone when I was in grade school in Texas.
“Yes,” he said. “The incident that I’m speaking of came later. You were away at bording school. Your father and another man were at the plant in broad daylight. They were working on a platform. Your father had a camera and started taking pictures. He took several and within hours he and the photographer were flown to Washington, DC and debriefed. They (the gov) threatened him and the other guy. They said if you talk, you will be …. “

Bob didn’t say what the…was… but the look in his eyes said it was ominous. “They came to your home and searched the Louisiana residence. They went through everything. Your poor father who was never scared was speechless to everyone, but me.”

 

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I realized that daddy never told me this event. Yes he was indeed silent, but the event where he gave me the stone, I was his confiden that it was around third grade and that made my happening much earlier than Bob’s story. I felt as though I betrayed my father. I wasn’t there to listen, but I have a “big mouth” so maybe it was the best for all of us as I would have had to tell someone despite being told to hush. Being a natural born whistleblower, silence would have been hard for me to deal with. Who knows what I would have said or done.

Bob’s voice was getting weaker. He needed to sleep. I left with the message recorded. I had what I needed and I forwarded it to my sister and children. Now, carol and daddy didn’t have these conversations nor did he talk to my mother about them. So, this was after his death, and I started telling them. It was rather shocking to my family.

My mother fell silent. She did not talk about the MIB visiting them in Shreveport Louisiana. She would say to me, “You talk too much.”

The story will continue. It has to continue. I have to give it a rest now…It is hard to write about.

Daddy had a close encounter of the third or fourth kind while on a missle lauch site ..

 

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Mother and daddy
Image may contain: 2 people, tree, plant, child and outdoor
Bonnie and Carol early 1970’s
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Some of the pic I’ve taken over the years

 

 

 

some other images that I took over mmy home IMG_0434IMG_0435IMG_0436IMG_0522IMG_0437IMG_0438IMG_0440IMG_0441IMG_0442IMG_0443IMG_0444IMG_0445IMG_0449IMG_0450IMG_0451IMG_0452IMG_0453IMG_0454IMG_0456IMG_0457IMG_0458IMG_0459IMG_0460IMG_0461IMG_0463IMG_0464IMG_0465IMG_0466IMG_0467IMG_0468fullsizeoutput_211cIMG_0471IMG_0472IMG_0473IMG_0474IMG_0475

Warfare Prayes

 

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For XXX

For the Sagittarius angel Avil who sends honesty and perfect perception

Give to XXX that what he needs when they shout destructions

And Ariel, “lion of God” roar the powers of persecution far from his body

Oh Asteraoth, you thwart their evil schemes 

Send them bound by their curing means

Azriel, Angel of destruction, remove their regimes and cause them factual dreams

There stands Balthioul, who calms distress

Send it far away from XXX’s success

Barakiel, please douse him with peace, love and stymy tears and unbelief

Oh Michael set the highway straight

Authenticate their lies and bend into their fate

 

And we thank you all

For fighting of his behalf

Amen in Yeshua’s name I implore

Angel Friends on Their Way

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This is a prayer of protection calling on angels that many don’t know about. The last two mentioned are from The Koran…

Prayers for Warfare
Calling Angels in Time Need

Bowing on knees, face towards the unseen
Place all faith in that belief of God’s genes
Who sends between the Earth and ferment
Above and below the place where standing
Surrounding chaos and drawn swords of men
Cast a prayer of protection from upon evil beings
Archangel Michael sheds courage and strength
On the weakness of men in times of unbelief
With a blade of faith douse the fires that burn
In a heart of man, manifest his purest of dreams
And Raziel, standing by the ready flowing stream
Casting blessing of clarity upon hidden agendas
Inspiring the lost with wisdom he extends us
Like rains he sends divine encouragement
To fallen soldiers in times of waging battles
Revelational secrets hidden in encampments
And Raqib on the right shoulder, truths records
Then Atid on left bare witness to all evil deeds
Together so named Kirama Katibeen
Give account on the day of arraignment
Meanwhile Gadiel, most holiest of all
Shall guide the child in question
To safety, on Earth, as it is in Heaven

BJ

Prayers for Warfare; Calling Angels in Time Need

This is a prayer of protection calling on angels that many don’t know about.

The last two angels mentioned are from The Koran…

Prayers for Warfare

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Calling Angels in Time Need

Bowing on knees, face towards the unseen
Place all faith in that belief of God’s genes
Who sends between the Earth and ferment
Above and below the place where standing
Surrounding chaos and drawn swords of men
Cast a prayer of protection from upon evil beings
Archangel Michael sheds courage and strength
On the weakness of men in times of unbelief
With a blade of faith douse the fires that burn
In a heart of man, manifest his purest of dreams
And Raziel, standing by the ready flowing stream
Casting blessing of clarity upon hidden agendas
Inspiring the lost with wisdom he extends us
Like rains he sends divine encouragement
To fallen soldiers in times of waging battles
Revelational secrets hidden in encampments
And Raqib on the right shoulder, truths records
Then Atid on left bare witness to all evil deeds
Together so named Kirama Katibeen
Give account on the day of arraignment
Meanwhile Gadiel, most holiest of all
Shall guide the child in question
To safety, on Earth, as it is in Heaven

BJ

The photograph is compliments of A Poet’s Haven

“Women’s Poetry; Within and Beyond Shores” By Dr. Shamenaz Bano

“Women’s Poetry; Within and Beyond Shores” 

By Dr. Shamenaz Bano

 

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This book is an anthology featuring women poets from 18 countries and edited by Dr. Shamenaz Bano

The surprise of being included in this powerful anthology came a couple of weeks ago, and thank you Deborah Brooks Langford for including my 3 poems into this collection of women’s poetry. The surprize has utterly taken my breath away.

Barely reading 5 pages and the index that has these women and their bios, I have been brought to tears of great joy. This is such a gift to be included and I’m overwhelmed by these women. Where these women are located, includes 18 countries. You can read their short stories and 3 poems.

How can one say thank you enough. It is impossible for me to express my gratitude. Just being with these sister’s of all faiths, is mesmerizing and spellbinding to say it mildly. Being cliche can’t help but say, WOWed, Humbled, Awed, and express my gratitude that is not in the English language … Just is a great big acronym: “OMG!”

Please, not for the sake of anyone making money, but for the sake of hearing and reading women’s poetry from all over the world, I can’t urge you enough, to buy a copy. I promise you will cry, laugh and realize that whether we are from Tennessee, Colorado, Romania, Saudi Arabia, India, Mexico, Ghana, Bengal, Allahabad, Australia, England or The UK, Canada, Cuttack, Ireland, Poland, Athens, Uzbekistan, Pittsburg, Philippines, Maharashtra, Tulsa OK, Luxembourg, Italy, London, Jerusalem, Iran, Egypt, Gaza, California, Iraq, and other places that I didn’t see while reading, this collection is a must read. And, oh yes, there is my contribution to this poetic anthology, and I’m from The Piney Woods of East Texas.

Absolutely floored in great adoration Dr. Shamenaz Bano and Deborah Brooks Langford (who sent my poetry in to be included)… Thank you! 🌹

Too Many Chads; Dedicated to Molested Boys

 

There Is A Dragon in My Gardwn

“But, he was just a boy ~

For goodness sake”

He played in the fields like others

But he stumbled upon the snake

His eyes brown and fair-headed 

His skin translucent with freckles

And the serpent saw his innocence

It seductively corrupted any blissfulness

Of the eagerly seeking adventurous youth

Twisting him on a path lower than the highway

Specially crafted for the youngster kid

But, he missed it, chasing the horned-toad

Thinking within a single sole-second

Missing the fork on the path

Junctures unforeseen and then

Lost his way in adolescents 

Lingering on benches, joints and hotels

Tricks, gangs, railings and joints

Meeting lost souls of quintessence

Zombies with no promised existence

Walking dead with no mother to turn

Found steel bars and orange stripes

Grey walls, putrid food, constant gripes

Men meaner than Rottweiler dogs

Ready and willing to take part

Another slice of his hardened heart

From a fair-headed innocent lad

Playing in fields with other cheerful boys

However, stumbled upon a poison snake 🐍

Has made all the difference in the world

Of a fair-headed innocent lad

The story of way too many Chads

©2017 BJ

Resting Place

 

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Resting Place

There upon the glenn sits the way of hearts

Beckoning the lost, the faint and the perverse

A strong force, ready in the valley simply waiting

Standing by, coddling the lost in pilgrimage

Her doors wide open, no boundaries, sheer courage

She gently whispers to those who hear

“Enter in and rest my weary hopeless dear”

Squandered fortunes, stolen goods, the forgotten

Straying through the mountains, lost in the oceans on the tides at sea

Breathe and sleep under starry skies

Place the softened pillow under your head and see

How dull are the worries of men

When compared to the acts of God

 

 

©2017 BH

Goals, The Target

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Goals, The Target

Steadying the eyes upon the target

Solidly aim without quivering to get

The prize, ready, there’e no sweat

Aiming the arrow the way of mindset

The heart leading without regrets

No oscillation, just solid concentration

Misses the quarry, tainted speculation

No worries ever, there’s always

Tomorrow

©BJ

A Door

 

 

Seeing the entrance berfore my feet

A door of wood with ingrained designs

Solid and impressive to stop the way

Perhaps it might, some other day

 

Stepping forward one step at a time

Slowly inching the way to grasp

The bronze latch seperating me from that

Mattered not for the doors, t’was the way out

 

It’s grandeur and powerful persuasions daunted

Any passing by for the dawdry unwanted

I couldnt help but want to wander inside

Beyond the veil of human asundries and peer behind

 

Turning the knob this way and that

Met resistence squirming it about

Breathed in and out gainning strenth to pass

Beyond the entrapment called human life

 

There is more behind that door

This was no secret for adventuers, for sure

Turning to the right and then to the left

Almost gave up on the mighty quest

 

Stood back and regained flustered compsure

Tackled the lock with a strong hammer

Though busting the bronzed bolt not so elegantly

Entered the kingdom unannounced you see

 

But, it mattered not the entrance so gained

A fine crystal glass and a taste of chaimpaign

Awaited me where my placecard sat

“We’ve been waiting for you,” and so

That was that…

 

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Trying To Find Home (read by Tulika and Alan)

~Thank you both Alan Johnson and Tulika Dugar. Much love to you both

 

 

 

“Awe,” the radiance; so bright.

Then, follow it, with all might.

The road course shall lead by day.

Rocks, turns, stickers and curves Climb anyway…

~~~

My prejudiced thoughts; lofty visions of you.

Fiery images deflect a golden hue.

Imagined you, bronzed, dazzling, and vein.

We danced; then came rain.

~~~

Caught too long there; my Idol thoughts; so dear.

Washed away; with my tear.

My arms bound, and mouth sealed.

Woven, hey! What’s the deal?

~~~

OH, My God! I’ve Been Caught!

The coven’s web intendedly taut!

The feast I am; His delight.

Oh, fairy friend! By the firelight! Here I am!

~~~

Now the spiders home virtually unseen

vaguely tucks into that corner beam.

But, see the dim light, growing so bright?

A fairy then severs the silk, so tight.

And, falling from the web of fright.

~~~

Still arms tangled by silk threads

Pushing out; bracing the fall

The spider and the fairy brawl

wham, bam, to and fro,

from the deathly fight, they bow

Looking, whom’s, my fairy friend?

Noticing it must be Joe.

~~~~

Underneath the spider Joe waves thumbs up, You’re alright!

Now run like hell! To the light!

Run away little bait! For, the fate of the firefly might be too late…

by Bonnie Jennings ©1/12/2010FS

 

Second version~ Both, I love

 

 

The Changing

The tunnels brush border where mortals grow
The virtue and order of Brussels subtle are
Lavishing shabby living deep in the furrows
Fairies and goblins galore who sing and whale
All so deep down in the levies whimsy dale
And children run through the tree tunnel
Trying to reach the end but rumor has it
Somewhere in the middle or amongst light
Children deepen and become converted
Hair begins to grow oh so much longer
Fingernails sharpen and adding length
Toenails yellow from muddy wet dirt
Switching from boys to men and then
Sometimes switching from boys to women
Fairies come and dust shiny fairy dust
Faces once plump become downright fat
And bodies all girlie become hairy and old
Boys at the end have an odd bulbous nose
Reshaping orientation and finding away
Never thought modifications tweak us
But anything is possible in the tunnel of brush
Leaving the tunnel the pretty are rough
Leaving the tunnel oh so ugly are pretty
The fairies giggle at their high fashion designs
A long runway showing off the humankind

BJ

 

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“Chechnya is rounding up gay people and taking them to torture camps”

https://secure.avaaz.org/campaign/en/close_the_gay_torture_camps_loc/?rc=fb&pv=148

 

“Chechnya is rounding up gay people and taking them to torture camps, and it’s as horrific as it sounds. Men are being electrocuted, tortured until they reveal names of other gay people, and beaten so badly that some have died. “