The Late Summer Ghost


“What was I thinking? I lost track of time.”
Running to the seaside home before the clock is nine
The water cooling from the heat of summer
Her feet are numb from the cool temperatures that plunder
Across the waters, towards the house she glides
Beating the forceful midmorning tides
Ah but, she’s an apparition lingering in my time
The curtain that draws memories closed is a fine-line
Will she be noticed past my prime?
She waved! She said goodbye, then blew a kiss!
Looking at the beach, in memories, I will reminisce.
Who was she? What was her story?
Oh, perhaps it was for love, aw perhaps her glory.
I will never know. Maybe she knows already?

And We Doubted

And We Doubted By Bonnie Jennings

©2015 @ (Bo Jenn)








Over the land covered in suet, singed by storms of fires
The Fire Drake surveyed for any breath of life remaining
The humans decidedly in unification ended all existence
Hovering over Elysium once occupied by eternal Spring
The Drake came to rest on wet wood washed to the shore
It considered all things and then after time it took to flight
Once there was a place called Heaven and now it’s forever lost

And then, the angel shouted, their ears perked                                                                    
 Those waiting replied ~ “We are gathered here ~ hiding.”                                                 
The tales are true, dear majesty, and we doubted                                                                
And, with a wisp, they and the pheonix departed


The Marionette Questions


A marionette addressed The Lord one day

Asking how long shall I live?

Will you make me a talisman

Or suffer me just simply to exist

On a shelf of an owner most troubling

Perhaps send me a lover whose humbling

Will the skies remain blue and the sun always shinning

Tell me Lord, is there a silver lining

Looking around at the puppets, other

Please, on my journey, please send a mother

One who will love and sustain me

And keep me from the fire and the drowning tsunami

The Circle of Life




The fog of dull moist clouds cloistered Earths hills

rolling slowly quietly assured with December’s presence 

uncovering the steal bleakness of chills

the grey fox sought the superlative time stalking

hunting, one catch, the hare eating thorns, is captured


All rests except the fox, and the hawk that swoops prey

and beautiful it seems to carolers that dream

pictured on Christmas Cards sleighing coupled in hay

but the hunted sigh as the singers pass by

ignoring the innocent life in the forest by night

really wintery rest is not what it seems

The white witch cursed the greens for 3 months

laughing, she pointed t’wards the fox and the hare

the hawk she invites on her evening animal hunts

while the fox, hiding and embarrassingly shares

dear rabbit if only there was another way to convey

my condolences and my fondness, for you, today

The fawn born in grey thicket that night

a hunter was on track for a meal, of the carnivores type

deep in silence, bitter coldness, that eve less bright

their faces showed meanness,  sickeningly alarming

hungry for killing the innocent and without any lament

the damp floors lined with twigs and leaves sent

warning there are trespassers entered our forest

and without invitation, the hawk soared forewarning

the dove in turn echoes cooing which entered space

of ears the fox alarming, the furry rabbit crosses into the thicket

noosing the doe and the fawn warmed coddling

stay within this eve the thicket safe from guns

the hunter’s love winter’s and the innocent blood

And the white witch carries on until spring

stay here little doe while your mother brings the cud

the sleet drizzling rains seem never to bring

peace within the forest it seems

and life circles around the fox and the hare

and the buzzards that hunt the carcass from the air




©2015 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Having Feverish Dreams

I can’t explain all the why’s but it simply was this way and actually much more, but if I had to put the dream into a poetic sense it would read like an Edgar Allan Poe poem… My version is like this…
One time, it was at midnight, feverish thoughts invaded
t’was many repressed fears and woes cerebrally persuaded
there laying on damp pillows tossed
came a tapping of a ghost seemingly lost
as if there was a distant message
rapping so gently donning a persuading vestige
i bid the ghoul farewell in hopes that it not dwell
in my mind, while I slept, feverish dreams foretell
November it was, damp and the air chilled
Alone without humans but with animals filled
The room and was company for a unfulfilled soul
Who convalesced alone standing at the gates of scheol
Calling my name from distant shores
Turning me back through countless dreams of opened doors
One voice remained who I do not know
She sounded like a mother an angel aglow
Go Back! She pointed, “You must return.”
And turning I, towards the stern
joined my animals who kindly bid me home

Mother Earth

the crimson red male Cardinal bird clicks
perching for frosty cold wintery pics
the wee rabbit at midnight gathers hay
hopping away at first rays of day
the foxes nibble on berries and toads
amidst grey thickets unseen by casual roads
oh, how the woodlands govern the creatures
of the Earth’s majestic rules of thumb
holding all judgement until the time comes

Surrendering Men

The cloud of grey fog veiled the city
On the streets empty; seemed people
The cabs looked vague, as if a ghost
Amidst the surrounding ashy buildings posts
The speeding of vehicles was just, an image
Now the pale streets dusty, with damage
Oh man, embrace and comfort and know
Bring back the lights and the glow
Of enchanting memories of useful lives
To hold them in love and break all lies
Do come to find us here underneath
We captives who’ve been under siege

Bonnie Jennings ©2015 All Rights Reserved

Image from A Poet’s Haven on FB hosted by Alan Boles