2015 Poetry Wrapping up The (last 1/4) of the Year

Fairy dances of The Fall

Drinking brew when the wolves call
The Moon is full with beams of light
The elves shoes twinkle ever so bright
The final dance before winters hooray 

 

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All poetry written by me Bonnie Jennings or Bojenn and is © 2015 @ FS All Rights Reserved and any portion reprinted, used, borrowed must have permission by the author (me). Thank you.

~

I want to give a personal thank you to Mr. Alan Boles who has encouraged poetry and has provided poets with many opportunities on his FB sites (one) A Poet’s Haven. I also want to thank Author Susan Joyner-Stumpf for including two of my poems in her Christmas Anthology Book Vol 1 2015. Thank you, Susan for this wonderful opportunity.
~
The Images are from stock images from A Poet’s Haven and other sites, some are mine works of art.  And, at this time would like to thank all who have contributed to those of us who love to write. Many, many thanks over an over again. You inspire us more than you’ll ever know. We work hand and hand to create our masterpieces.
~
“For what is a shoe without a sock and what is a sock without a foot… A bare foot is vulnerable to many things. Art and poetry cover the naked flesh and protect the virgin skin.” Bojenn
~
And now Poetry 1/4 year 2015 begins with 
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Hendrick ter Brugghen, Esau Selling His Birthright, c. 1627
Shadows on my walls are silent
Telling stories; often violent
Because messages must be told
Within my self, my heart does hold
~
And the stories that were uttered
Hushed for intrusive others
Surrounded by the shadowy figures
In silence, I mouthed their nameless brothers
~
Walking in the past held memories
The dreams of my enemies
Explaining their inner pains
Listening, though I kept their refrain
~
Then my pneuma knew for certain
The tear of that grey curtain
From whence the shadow came
Stepped out from them and too be blamed
~

And in the darkness hovered several lights
Beaming hundreds, of tiny sights
Music heard from here and there
Sounds vibrating ghostly everywhere

~
And the birth of a tiny star did shape
Within that void
Troubled stories within shadows of souls

~

Well, laugh at me if you must!
The lost brothers who had no trust
Listen cowards with opened ears
Listen closely they’ll be no cheers

~

The words will not be enough
silently whispered and then hushed
Forever silenced, within, she wept                                                                                                             There the crowds morned her loss
Though misunderstood dimmed her gloss

~

There, she stood amidst her kin
She glowing from within
She held a sign for all to read
“The shadows are no longer silent, indeed”
And her peace rested as the shadows disappeared.


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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 wintry 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 invited 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 feeling no 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 that entered the space
of the ears of the fox alarming, He tells the furry rabbit who
crosses into the thicket nosing the doe and the fawn in warmed coddling
“stay within the thicket this eve, safe from guns,” the hare knew
~
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,
the buzzards hunting the carcass from away up there.

~

But, in three months the white witch sleeps, for seven
greens foliage pops abundantly mostly everywhere, in heaven
lives encircled by violent game continues to hunt prey
And all the animals ask the Great Spirit to end those days
when all God’s creatures are safe and won’t have to pray
Until that time, all creatures carry on, waiting that one day the living
may sleep, in peace, forevermore


 

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There was an occasion, one spring And with this key it may be opened
However, the cause, now, is lost
The rose petals gathered and dirt collected Where once on cup’s lips we sipped teas
The key remains and holds our memories in the china
The wind fills our cups with flower dust
The memory will not be forgotten in the petals
By Elysia Warne Elrod and Bonnie Jennings

 

As brilliantly warm the sun enveloped the forest amid the berries during the hub of Autumn. It was the perfect concoction of warmth, light and love that brought her to our place. Her mystic green eyes, her pale flesh, her hair of fire and her babies breath, all, appeared in the cold air that morning. By noon, we had witnessed her birth. and by evening the woman goddess of our forest emerged. We clothed her with a gown of burgundy velvet. Her language was not ours, but we needn’t know one either. With her eyes she told us many things. All of us listened and never spoke a word of question. There amongst us and she was trust. Total. Daily we listened. Her chords were vibrational like songs. Everything in the forest turned towards her as he sang her songs. The forest animals became plentiful. There were berries everywhere and all of us, creatures, too, feasted from the berries. This lasted through winter. And one day before spring her garments were found on the cold ground in the snow, but she was nowhere to be found. That is why the legend continues. Everyone loved the queen of the autumn forest. Every late August we eagerly await her return.

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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 shore
It considered all things and then it took to flight
Once there was a place called Heaven and now it’s forever lost
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And then, the angel shouted, their ears perked

Those waiting shouted ~ “We are gathered here ~ hiding.”

The tales are true, dear majesty, and we doubted

And, with a wisp, they and the pheonix departed

 


 

 

Playing in the drifts of fine white snow

The horse and the owl whimsically banter
Cold and brilliant, crisp and fine thin air
Like two children enjoying the woods as they go
She waits dressed in her dark long dismal robe
Hiding and lurking watching them behind a tree
The fun and freedom she MUST control
Concentrating on taming them using her telep-probe
The owl tells the stallion of her curse
The two bind together in unison
Committed to freedom they press the  witch
And, in love, the two reverse the intended perverse

 

 

She pondered; “It’s a riddle.”

Holding gently the found ware from the basin

The lamp started smoking as the puzzle unravelled
She knelt to feel for the pebble in the warm water
Alone, only she mastered the lamp’s secret
It found her fingers, the vessel waited
Time not an issue to wizards
She arrived as predicted
Alive, it opened.
Her genie.

 

The witch adorning her black garbs so Goth
Holding the chicken claw cup of blood she
Dared her to drink. The young maid entered
Cautiously she was descrying the next move
She untrusted the black witch with the claw cup
They matched off and knew only one would win
The other fades into just a poet or story teller.

 

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There once was a cameo dressed camper

Shooting the moose, a distasteful damper
He aimed at the three
Who jammed his gun at his knee
And bound him around the targets truck, Betty

 

“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?
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Ignoring them who yelled, “Mr. Darling, get out of the rain! You will catch pneumonia.”

They hollered, as they ran by, and there I layed the Camellia
Red as a rose the pedals began to fall
She loved the flower, as it blooms, were ever so small
Where have you gone, fairest love any has known?
Behind us remains a monument
Oh purest have you entered judgment?
Holding tightly is your bill of rights, my hands love
I will see you through disgrace, even from above
I will not let go of your virginal precept and promise
Forever, pledged to your chastity and modalis
Here in the rain, I sit, reading notes unfinished
Here I will watch and I will pray until my love has refurbished

 

What a muse for a schemer

Swinging freely from a heavenly chair
Playing the keys while suspended in air
What a muse for a gal like me
Can think where I’d rather be
Must laugh, if you’re a too, daydreamer

 

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The Forest of No Return

An Autumn path led me today

Lurking the mind to travel through time
Memory lane to my mother’s to stay
Awhile amongst her dreams sublime
The gold, reds, browns and stone
Whispered distant tales of we children
Took me there in visions of home
My mother cooking for a zillion
Always people around there
Politics, food and football
The odors of onions, peppers and pairs
And daddy with daughters gathered in fall
And this path in Autumn takes me home
Just kicking leaves and singing hymns
Remembering my mama as I rome
And thinking of daddy is another whims
This path is golden
Magical and not so distant
Once traveling it’s colors so olden
And commitment to journey that path be persistent
When at the end shall greet them if not resistance
On the path in Autumn thought nonexistent

 

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She scrying in the flame saw

Answers asked of her love so
Fair and where he hid his
Love far from her because
He feared the strength she
Possessed and found another
Less bold and demure so he
Thought leaving true love
Alone to scry for his
Affections gone wrong…
He will return

On a stairway not actually going to heaven
There I sat undecided and sullen
Turning back towards home seems boring and lame
However, realizing it’s the only way and less shame

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Chasing wild stallions
Taming the beast
Is her goal, so it seems
In her dreams
Running after him
He who can’t be tamed
She who can’t win
Chasing wild stallions
Taming that stead
A enormous goal that is bittersweet
Leave now while your eyes are black
Tomorrow your heart suffers a panic attack


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Saphora loves the red birds

That nest in her hair
Skin so pale and silver tresses
Turtle necked tight black dresses
Always adorn you
And though misunderstood, others view
Yet, looks are deceiving because your heart is true

Here Samantha contemplates
Hiding eyes behind the red rim
Thinking others do not see
Her lips plumped as sin
Tonight is my moment
I shall not waste
Tomorrow is church
There I’ll go in guilt and haste

 

Oh maiden of winter so fair are your breasts
The Cardinal comes to rest and awaken you
Before the freeze comes and occupies the crests
Into the foxes den where it is warm
Come fairy princess and we birds shall nest
In your love and beauty
Within a winter cold and dark
Do come into hibernation as it’s our duty
To keep from harm and warn you our darling lark

A storm is brewing in 1622
Powhatan envisioned
What innocent colonists would do
The Virginia clouds rolled end
Just before the indian chief died
Now only Powhatan’s memory
In an indian bride

Trapped in a whimsical place so grey
Fantasies and stories plague her mind all day
Beating on her walls and knocking on her door
Dressed in white she thinks forevermore
Sinking in her gown, her face of despair
And in walks the nurse, who cares
Bringing drugs that makes one stare
Off in a distant place
Prays for that normal day

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Please, have a seat, I don’t mind if you do.

Waiter, please, pour them a cup of the secret brew

Yes, I’m a writer, if that’s what you want to know
I dream of romance and interludes with handsome foe
Aromas musty, and florals so sweet
Those fragrances you’ll read as if it were meat
Have a said enough?
Did I fancy your ear?
Because time for dreaming and writing beckons me, near

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She looked back in time and saw the golden girl reading.
The ghost watched through the window 
Years disintegrated from fifty to five
Why it was she! Alarmed at the picture so demure
What happened and why was she here now?
Time had escaped with her joy
But the child showed signs of life and happiness
Could she try this again?
She hurried to ask her guide.

 


 

Slapped in my face again and again
The martyrs blood didn’t just begin
I loved you and you, way too much
And lost my life while mending, all of your stuff
When visiting the family on holidays, seemed so dim
Everyone did it because we were all blood and kin
And fun was somewhere other than there
But we came together anyway, and had another beer
The superficial laughter, we feigned, so well
We “faked it until we made it” and we got over that hill
Of once a year family Christmas greetings
Where the canines brought the joy and less family heatings
Politics and football, food and wine
A day of utter tolerance and strangely kind
One more year behind us
One more year older and realization, that WE MUST!
Continue with traditional mayhem and tolerance
That once seemed so very terribly fraudulent
However, looking past now realize, that everyone belonged.
The magic was there, in those times, and with us all together, in communion, in all that time along
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“Be humble,” so they say.

So i was.
Now, I say, “Weather, I dare you!
Just try to make my day!”
Like Giddy, I challenge my fears.
I tied myself to the umbrella
The lightening may come near

 

‘Seems thar’s twoves in Kalhutan

     Thez’ bien mumblen and turchin
Gathied in onz anoder jibbering
     Grandishes and Larens
Abot’zee nudderins of Da Barons
     belliishen hatch for saking
Lozing habellishing bulleshitings
     Zee tongulashings regartrash
Ghtened in zee wesewer
     Fairest what’d zit longbeliefeth

 

Political whines
Screaming opinions
Demanding self
Entitled
The hare hole opens
Exposing plans
Hidden agendas
Ready friends?

 

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The black blue star lit sky hung as usual and no one questioned, why.

A rumbling resounded from a distant horizon still high
And folks didn’t wonder or look upward at the magnificant sky
And, alone stood a winter tree, in the freezing lake starving for companions while dying
Under the umbrella of heaven it watched, as it knew, there are no champions on the horizon
Frightfully from the distance, came rolling in the dense ghostly fog
The Winter Tree witnesses the start of ~ It won’t utter what it seers..
It sees the future. It knows the last storm is coming, just behind the fog.
It knows the  prophecies are unveiling just as written.
Shaking in the icy cold water, standing alone, it will be brave, it realizes it’s destiny.
And, the stars will come again.
There will be other trees.
Another prophet shall emerge.
And life rolls as directed

 

Winter
 My fairy princess is a double gemini
Should I expect anymore
Anticipate, death
Cold, gray skies cover me, write
Introspection’s drawBetrayed again by
Those who say they love me too
Why do I stay nearSo, I feel sorrow
My eyes cried, but I, will live
My life will resumeTruthfully, time stopped
Slow-motions of long times pasts
It’s relative nowLife has it’s lessons
Karmic, reaping and sowing
This too, I have learnedcropped-img_1466.jpg

In addition: Day 2

Laughing together, eating cotton candy
We rode The Ferris Wheel dangling our feet
Over the side, all the while screaming
Laughing once in awhile

Life has ups and downs, but mostly valleys
Sometimes desperately crying for calm water
Please, we’d pray. Please, just for a day.
So, we learned to love Ferris Wheels and such

Many years we lived together with adrenalin
And I tried to wipe the chocolate off your nose
You cried, and I did too, and he did, as well.
You left in Spring for green pastures

No troubles while grazing amongst the clover
With the rabbits you nibbled and ate Tarots
And, did other things called art to your body
But, you always did your best to laugh

You chose to leave us behind and escape
We missed you, but understood “the whys”
Visiting here and there, you came
In and out like a whirl wind of turbulent breaths

This was your style. Lighting on home and friends
A little here or there, wherever your whim landed
Until sadness overtook you and then you always left
Again and again, even after bloody devastation

One September you stole away after midnight
You thought you were clever and free
Closing my eyes for a year and a half
Bowing in prayer, had to set you free

Did you know it was one year and two months
One week before Christmas that you returned to me
Brought home by a wayward girl
She called in the middle of the night a hundred miles away

I went anyway, and lost my job
I didn’t care.
Holding you in my arms
We both cried again, but you, did not cry for me.

I write this because, it’s happening again
The cycle is here and you’ve chosen other’s to light on
Time and history repeats itself
But, I’m weary now and it’s Christmas again.

 

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Oh, so Smooth and Beautiful

My Mandala for today

This is where I’m at, not sure what it means
Halted at a green light, no energy it seems
The Mandala is our psyche of where we stand
Is this a green light or reversing as planned
The green is for peace and health of our soul
The blues and purples are majesty, so I’m told
Today this is my Mandala and it’s where I stand
Perhaps another day my Mandala may portray a different hand

 

Time

The bench in spring held our laughter
The bench in summer scorched with our embrace
In fall we agreed to say good bye
The freezing winter alone I often cried
Once my life was filled with your love
Seasons came and passed by and by
And time marched on
Like a vague memory that you’re here
And then your gone
And time did not care
nor did it elevate any suffering
It just stepped forward and never back
And time marches on

 

Time
This bench in spring holds our laughter
This bench in summer scorches with our embraces
Though in fall we agreed to say good bye
That frozen winter alone, I often cried
Once, I was filled with your love
However, seasons come and pass by and by
And time does march on
This bench is a vague memory of that time
A ghost. You were there.
And now, your gone

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Cinderella and Karma

Soot on her nose and on her clothes
A princess under the gloom
Sweeping by day and sleeping with a broom
Occupied her, several years and a day
Then one eve after chores completed
Cindy’s thoughts were always fleeting
Except on Sunday when snow fell sleeting
She lingered looking in a mirror scrying
Amazing stood an image of her abiding
Dressed in clothing so fair
With hair done up with care
Her face trimmed with shimmering flair
Her broom became a handsome princess’ groom
And the hearth beheld foods that filled the room
And she danced until the moon’s lights diminished
And Karma knew Cindy was quite unfinished
And the shoes belonged to the princess in soot
And not another minute was spent feeling unloved and unkept
Because Cindy saw the crown Karma promised

 

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Time it was

Caught in glance
And a glance was caught
Though in innocence
She saw
Secrets of long ago
It does seem
I know this place, before
She dreamed

Madonna’s flame and smoke trails her now

Once burned, but rarely does she bow
Running in the fields, towards her past
Madonna look ahead, to that which will last

The Golden Princess of The Autumn smiles

She blossoms when summer bids goodbye
A wreath adorns her head overgrown with fall
Purples, golds, red florals and all
The Winter Fairies adore her entrance
The white snow unicorns prance
She heralds the epiphany, she is the bride
That brings with a promise to those who cried
She brings to life those who sleep
And unites old souls and brings home the sheep

The Queen of Hearts

Didn’t win today
Being dismal she refused to play
Demanding all heads on her plate
Then she sat alone, to live her fate

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The knocker came as a gift today

And raising it to my eyes, I noted
Attention to the details of the two
Embraced in a kiss, as if, I should too
Slowly placing the knocker, far from my sight
I placed in in the back away from the light
Then, it stayed for a year or four
Until one day there was a knocking in the drawer
Opening the dresser carefully, examining the sound
Noticed the knocker tightly covered and loosely bound
I then looking in fright at the years I’d lost
By putting the lovers knocker in a box, that I tossed
Carefully holding the embracers to my lips
A tear fell upon the lips of their tendering nips
I then nailed it to my door on the last day of winter
Suddenly, a prince came and placed a ring upon my finger


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The Queen of Hearts

Didn’t win today
Being dismal she refused to play
Demanding all heads on her plate
Then she sat alone, to live her fate

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The reds, oranges, and golds of Autumn swirl

In the forest of enchantments and colorful girls
The Earth and all of it’s energies
Watched dancing in elements and synchronicities
In bare feet when the Earth cools
When The Moon and the wolf rules
In silence during the first virgin lights
In November at the stroke of midnight
The leaves and spirits twirl
To the dance that ends the world
And ushers in rest for the end of the year
Which, often takes the lives of a deer
The hunter knows where to aim
Ending the year , what a shame
The last hoorah is for now
We join together reverencing our bow

Fairy dances of The Fall

Drinking brew when the wolves call
The Moon is full with beams of light
The elves shoes twinkle ever so bright
The final dance before winters hooray
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And so, I wrap up 2015 with my poems for 1/4 of the year. The last quarter obviously. Thank you for making it through to the end, those of you who survived. I hope I didn’t put you to sleep. I don’t hear any snoring, but if your in REM sleep I hope the poems bring you dreams of enchantment, enlightenment and love.
One more poem to go… I think. So, May you have a Happy New Year 2016. Thank you for visiting.
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The Day My Mother Died
The phantom who hides within my shadows
Speaking on occasion as if we’re brothers
In whispers the ghosts utters futures
Leaving truths and unanswered mysteries
Hence the messages given haunts
Forever traveling in times
Within the masks
Of my livesIn clouds vague, I transend
Through vapors and sparkling dew
Under layers of ancient art
Reading to understand the clues
Turning through the doors in which I knew
And the answers remained within the stones
Foreverthere
In another season
To viewAnd in a dream I awoke
Seeing humanity without lovers
Mumbling with no purpose
Screaming without sounds
Writing without inspiration
There was no illumination
Just eternal voidness and no loveAnd I prayed for a thousand cheers
Bringing back the fragrant years
And wiping away all rusted tears
With the hope of a redeemer
He who arose from the damned fires
He who lit the eternal dark shadows
And cast the phantoms
Far from the whispers© 2015 FS Bojenn All Rights reserved.
Image from The Occult University
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May The Lord bless us all with love, health, peace and prosperity.

Sincerely,

Bonnie Jennings (Bojenn)

2 thoughts on “2015 Poetry Wrapping up The (last 1/4) of the Year

Thanking all lovely thoughts today

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