Poetry about Disassociation


Left alone, isolated in a closet

Though tears stopped one day, later

She hated her, and she knew it

Resentment she felt it deep

Having another child, God help her

But her friends merely laughed

That’s life, buck up!

Hush secrets, please, lock and keep

Loneliness bequeathed the child with friendship

And, she still hides in the closet

Come out little girl!

The angel wiped her tears

She was three or four

Angel lends gifts graciously handing                                                                                                        

Paper and pen the tools she needed

Love them, hold them, use them

Everyday while in that dark room

With Isolation her master

It taught mind escaping from that dungeon 

It showed her how to

Travel to Egypt, Israel and Istanbul

Transportation provided by Isolation and Despair

Appropriate names for them

And disassociation is wrong, so say they

They who’ve not felt walls collapse on psyches

The mind is a magnificent creator

God incarnate gave provisions

To those wayfaring life within a closet

And, may I add, mind adventures are not so bad

Learn the lesson and teach one another

On Islands, inside caverns she sits waiting

Departing the darkness of a closet

Propelling the down trotted 

And imagination transports her

She flies somewhere else and is on her away





@Bonnie Gay Jennings, or Bonnie Jennings or Boondoggling with Bojenn @Wordpress 2009 to present 2016 ~

*Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Bonnie (Gay) Jennings, or Bojenn with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Thank you

I Love Onions


If he doesn’t like onions; he won’t like me.

And, if I changed to hate them, than soon, I’d hate he.


You see, onions and God have formed a link

Because onions not only make the breath to stink

But, they being peeled cause my eyes to blink…


And, if he hated onions, then soon, you see

Angry people would we be, cause he changed me

So, then, Onions make for unholy matrimony

Unless, of course, we’re marrying  a vegetarian




She is Faith




Science proves or disproves theory, however, faith is unrestrained and has no boundaries as she is everywhere and she is farther than imaginations have traveled. She has never been proved scientifically, and perhaps she never will. Faith is an eternal mystery and she chooses to remain incognito and that’s what she wills.

She laughs while soaring here, there and about, and she’s gentle when she rests on the clock’s hands. And time ceases rolling ahead when Faith visits, it applauds her timeliness and kneels reverently when she goes. Her visits are frequent in time’s matrix of everywhere and Faith just knows.

From ships at sea caught in rolling waves where hurricanes forge a path, from chapel walls, and babies who crawl, on mountain peaks faraway from forest trees, Faith visits the hiding and tormented. She lights on the shoulders of seers and approves the desires of God himself when she whispers in ears.

Faith is beautiful and whimsically sings. She is like the butterfly who brings joy on hot summer days. She resembles a grub worm as she weaves within the woven seams and tippy-toes around freezing icy streams. She visits our dreams snd sprinkles her gold and Faith travels where others dare to go.



The Abductee Informant



Your Watchman


Sunday afternoon:

The opening scene takes place in a grocery store parking lot in August where there are numerous vehicles parked and many people shopping. It wasn’t a chance meeting though it was meant to be brief and appear accidental. The setting is in a small city in The Bible Belt. It was an extroidinarily hot afternoon and there were no clouds in the sky. Three people greeted each other. Two knew each other previously, the young doctor and the informant, and the third person, his wife, was being introduced, even though, she was not invited, the doctor brought her. The doctor’s young children were with other family members as it had been planned, but not his wife.

The story dialogue begins with the young wife asking the female informant,

“Who are you and who are they? You have told my husband so much bullshit?”

The informant, double agent for whomever replied, “I don’t know, but can tell you sincerely, they are not lovely, nor are they kind.” She looked down in somber explanation and then looked up into the eyes of a questioning young wife.

The double agent stared at her. She said, “I didn’t seek your husband  out; they did.” She further added, “Guard your children. Never let them out of your site.” She looked away into a distant stare. She remembered her own children’s disappearances twenty-two years ago, even though, they returned changed somewhat. She would never forget the horrors and memories that would never go away. Her children told of her about men who did terrible things. Such horrific details she could not bare to listen to them. Each child taken at different times and by different people. She reflected for a moment about her own childhood and those men cloaked in black hoods and were taller than anyone she had ever seen. Their faces had been hidden from her, but she didn’t want to see. She hid under the covers on many cold nights.

The doctor’s wife said frantically, “Who the hell are you? What do you want?”

The female agent hesitated before she responded as she thought. It wasn’t that she was withholding information from the insisting young wife. No, but she was truly unsure of who she was or is to “them,” or anyone. “I am not sure of who I am, or why, or how I came into their services not by choice.”

“That makes no sense! What do you mean, you don’t know? Surely you know something? You’re lying.” The young wife was trembling as she was angry, frightened, and determined to understand the craziness of what she had just heard. “And, what do you mean when you say, guard my children? Are you threatening our family?”

The atmosphere was somber. The electricity of the moments before fell when the informant raised her hands and gently moved them slowly up and down from over head to lower than her hips settling and calming the air. The young wife at first thought the informant was aggressively posturing, but a few seconds later realized the movement was certainly not generated to cause any physical harm.

The female informant said, “I’m not here to harm you. I don’t have any hardcore answers. I’ve searched for those answers all my life. I can only tell you the little that I know. But, we must find a safe place. A place underground and protected. We’re being tracked. They must not see that we connected. And, I hope it’s not too late.”

The young doctor of medicine spoke up. He had been silent because he was as confused as his wife. “Where do you suggest that we meet?”

The informant said, “Go to your office Monday and work just like any other day.” Then, to the young wife she advised the same. “I will arrange the place and the connection.” She told the doctor, “I will call for an appointment and will tell you then the particulars, but know your office is not safe. They will track and listen to  us. You can not write a note to me there in my presence or speak of this. Understand? You will not call me and I won’t call you unless it’s for an appointment.”

He nodded yes.

The informant said, “We must break this meeting up, now.”

“He said, “Will this be soon?”

“Not sure. It could be awhile. We have to leave some gaps in time. They’re tracking us even now,” she responded quietly.

The young doctor’s wife said, “This is crazy.”

The informant nodded in agreement. “I’m going now.” She gets in her old white 2005 Honda Accord and starts the engine. She opens the car window on her way out and says loudly to the young doctor’s wife, as to be heard, “It was so nice to meet you.” She drove out of the parking lot.


Chapter 2


The female informant takes the little amount of cash from her piggy bank, she takes the money and speeds of to The closes discount store. At the back of the store she purchases three cell phones. One for the doctors wife, one for the doctor and one for herself and places them in bubble wrap in a large envelope. She puts only the doctors name on it and tightly licks the glue on the envelope and presses it tightly. She also included the instruction for the cell use to each other only. Use it as little a possible. All regular medical calls were to be by appointment and by going through the secretary, just like normal. She left the store and drove to pick up her grandson who is getting out of summer day camp. The boy is ten.

“Grandma, where are we going?” This wasn’t their usual way to go home and he had friends to play with so he was in a hurry. “Why are we going this way?”

“No worries. We have to drop off papers at the doctors office.” She pulled up in front of the front door drive. She handed the boy the envelope and said, “Tell the receptionist this is for him and open as soon as he can” So, the boy did just what he was told.

“Now can we go?” He was whiny and put out that he was delayed as he got into the car.

“What did the receptions say? Did you her that the doctor was waiting for her records and they were important?” The female informant asked her grandchild.

“They were nice and said, “Who sent it? And, I told them, you did and you said it was important.” The kid was sighing as he had things to do. “Can we go now?”

She, the female informant smiled at the boy and drove away wondering how soon the phones would be delivered and will he open the package then, and would the secretary loudly announce who brought them? She ruminated about this. Should she call him to be certain he got the?

The receptionist hand delivered the packages to the doctor when he was sitting in his office. He said, “What’s this?”

The receptionist said, “Oh Mrs. Smith, you know the kind of crazy one, said you were expecting these.” She smiled as she stood in the door waiting and watching him open the notes as she was told by the boy. “I sure hope her grandchild won’t be that looney.”

The doctor stopped opening the package and said, “That’s okay. I’ll open the latter. We have work to do.” He arose and put the envelope on his chair and scooted it under the desk. He shut the door behind him as it automatically locked. He then took the envelope and carefully opened it and looked at the two phones. Man, she’s serious about this craziness. He put them in his briefcase and the note in his shirt pocket.



Chapter 3

Monday Evening:

Later he made his first call to the informant. He was alone in his car and he soon pulled over on the side of a dark road hidden under trees where it was safe. He called the informant.

“I thought you said this would happen later? What’s going on?” The doctor’s voice was hostile, angry, but on the other hand ~ He called her.

“Glad you called so quickly. We have work to do.” The informant was short and to the point. She walked outside away from her home just in case her voice was transmittable from inside her home. She took a leisure walk as far as she could and stopped.

“What do I have to do with your delusions?” Firmly, he insisted an answer. “Leave my family out of your charades, you understand me!”

“Trust me, your family is in danger, doctor.” The informant bounced back at him. “Your wife shouldn’t have come Sunday, so why did you bring her?”

The doctor was silent, then he said, “Because, in case you were hitting on me, then she would see and intercept this bizarre fabrication. I should have you arrested for stalking.”

“So, why don’t you?” She was silent.

“I’m not sure.” He paused, “Perhaps, I’m interested in your tales of cloak and daggers, your mysteries of God knows what.”

The informant listened, “Go on. Any more , hmm?

“You talk. Your turn. Explain your business.” The doctor fell quiet. “And, to add, the phones. A little over the top, for a twisted sorted game, I’d say.”

She didn’t hesitate. “Did you see the laboratory notes in the envelope?”

“No.” He responded.

“I put two reports from my distant past and one of a recent test. Both under the name of Mrs. Smith.”

“Okay. Tests of what kind?” He reached for the envelope on the car seat next to him and opened it.

“Lab tests with my DNA. You will notice that both tests have 1% Neanderthal and the old test has 2% unknown DNA and the latest has 3.5% unknown.” The informant waits for him to answer.

“Wait a minute let me look.” He ruffles with the pages. “You know DNA is not my expertise.”

“Just look.” She shot back quickly.

“Yes, I see, but still I don’t know what this means, I don’t do DNA.” He’s disconcerted with her for insisting him involuntarily into matters he is unlearned.

She sighed having her own frustrations with his lack of concern or understanding.

“What do these reports have to do with me? I ask you again. Stop with the vagueness.” He insisted.

She thought, “I want you to have labs drawn on me again, then on your self.”

“What? That’s absurd. Why should I carry on with your delusional mystery?” He continued to look at the lab reports and her DNA. He recognized the lab values were not matching and are increasing and thought, why? “Why do I have to test mine? Why am I relevant to your search?”

“I will be in this week and you will draw labs on me under the name of Mrs. Smith, right?” She restated her request.

“Yes, come into the office Wednesday noon. No one but the staff will be around. I’ll just tell them it’s for labs that had to be drawn at noon. But, mine… not sure.” He gave clear instructions to the informant and took control of her craziness.

“Okay, Wednesday at noon, I’ll be there, but if my labs are remarkable then you will draw yours?” She took control again.

“Okay. Deal. But, what does your DNA have to do with mine? We’re not related.” He hesitated, “Are we?”

“Well, yes, in away we are.” She said, “I’ll see you Wednesday.”

They hung up and she walked back to her house. It started to thunder. Rain was coming soon.


Chapter 4

He was busy the early part of the week. The young doctor didn’t have time to think about the strange phone cal except the last words the crazy Mrs.  Smith, the odd informant said, “Well, yes, in away we are.” And, this bothered him. These words got under his skin.  What exactly did she mean? 

Wednesday noon:

“Hello Mrs. Smith.” The young doctor unlocked the door to the clinic. “Come on back.”

The informant Mrs. Smith was directed to the phlebotomy room. “Our phlebotomist is on her lunch break so if you’ll allow me to do it, then I’ll have it done in no time.” He was friendly and spoke loudly so the staff could hear him and think nothing about a noon lab draw. After all, the doors were shut at exactly noon. He had all the vials, the tourniquet, the needles and the centrifuge ready. “May I get you a coke or coffee?”

“A coke would be good. Thank you,” She responded.

“Before you drink the coke,” after he handed it to her, “Let me swab your mouth for DNA. We’ll do it every way we can to get comparisons. Okay?”

“Yes, that’s fine.” She seemed glum and was quiet, but decided chit chat would be best in case she was tracked into his office and was being listened to. “How has your week been?”

The doctor, nodded his head, “Here make a fist” as he had placed the tourniquet on her upper arm, “The week has been quite unusual. The office has been busy as all get out.”

She smiled. “Unusual?”

“Oh, nothing too crazy.” He chuckled under his breath.

“I see sarcasm, doctor.” She sighed. “I hope everything is back to your normal routine?”

“Absolutely. Things couldn’t be better.” He cut it short. He was beginning to sweat. He blew a vein. “Dam-it. I have to use the other arm.”

“Dam-it? Do you always talk this way around clients?” She acted upset. “Calm down. I don’t have all day. I have to go back to work soon.”

He shut up and put the tourniquet tightly on the left arm. “That should do it.” He was successful and unsnapped the cord. “There you go. Finished. The labs will be sent out after lunch.” He escorted her to the door and opened for her. “I’ll call you with the results, Mrs. Smith.”

“Make me copies. I will pick them up.” She turned quickly not to show any familiar behavior in case they were being watched. Off she went in the old white Honda.

The doctor walked into the office and sat down at the computer. He added a drug screen and a BAC to the labs. This way he would no if the woman was drunk, on drugs and her DNA which he was now curious of.

He wanted to ask Mrs. Smith for her real name, but thought about the fact that having too much information was irrelevant and would involve him even farther than he wanted. Nope, he answered his curiosity.


Chapter 5

Two weeks passed by and he had not thought about the labs or Mrs. Smith. After all, he was a busy doctor with many patients and his wife surely would have him involved in more social activities than he wanted. So, the thoughts of those two dilemmas were simply dismissed.

Mrs. Smith, the female informant, laid low and never once called him on the cell phones or contacted his office. However, she ruminated about the findings and wondered why he had not contacted her about the results. She bit her nails and chewed them off, but she was silently waiting.

Another Wednesday two point five days later:

The fax machine was shooting out labs as it usually did at any doctors office. The lab tech took them off the machine and delivered the results to the prospective doctors. She put values into the young doctors box on the outside of his door where he would see them and read them. He did just that and noticed in the pile of fifteen or more pages the name Mrs. Smith. She had several of the fifteen pages. He closed the door behind him and sat to look them over. The first one was the drug screen. It was negative of any substance then he looked at the BAC. No alcohol present in her blood system. “Damn she’s clean a a whistle.” He flipped through to the DNA results. And sure enough the swab of the oral mucosa results were conclusive to the last results she had. 3.5% Unknown and 1% Neanderthal, he whispered to hime self. He didn’t know any DNA specialists, he didn’t know what this meant.

“Amy,” he yelled.

“Yes, doctor.” Amy poked into his office.

“Find a local DNA or Genetic engineer, doctor or someone I can send a DNA consult out to.” The doctor ordered right now and Amy got right on it…

She called around and found  a Doctor not far away. She wrote his number and address down and took it into the young doctor.

He placed a call and was able to get through to the doctor when he identified himself as a doctor.

“Doctor DNA, this is the young doctor, and I wanted to ask about normal and abnormal DNA percentages. Could you tell me if 3.5% is unusual in oral mucosa for a normal human level?

Could you tell me where I can look such information up? A reference perhaps?” The young doctor asked collegiately.

The elder doctor replied after he cleared his throat, “You say 3.5% doctor?”

“Yes, that’s right, 3.5%.” The young doctor clarified.

“That can’t be right. test again. The lab is wrong. Can’t be.” And he was certain in the tone of his voice, the young doctor was mistaken.

“No, this is the second recent result. They are the same from two different labs.” There was a silence between the two men and the fund doctor said, “Well, I’ve taken up enough of your time. Thank you, anyway.”

“Yes, he added those two results are wrong. Your patient would not be human, sir. Well, good day, call again if you need me.” The elder doctor thought the question was odd and the response that two different tests from two different labs verified the same 3.5% values and this was more than interesting, indeed. He wished he had gotten the young doctors number, but he didn’t. He asked his secretary, but she had gone for the day, as usual.

The young doctor hung up and wished he hadn’t called the consulted doctor. But, he waited for the staff to leave saying good bye then he attempted to draw his own labs as he promised. Finally after stabbing himself three times was able to get them, four vials, in an upside down manner on the arm. He put them in the refrigerator and with a label the lab staff told him, after an inquiring call, for a miscellaneous practice draw. No charges, no questions, just a practice. He made two copies for the informant as he promised. He put them in the brief case, and sped off to the tree area on the side of the road where he could call her. Meanwhile, his wife called and asked why he was late?

“You forgot we had a diner party tonight? You’re late.” She demanded that he answer and she demonstrated her anger of missing such an event.

“Sorry, working late and I’ll be thirty more minutes. Go on without me.” He was sweet to her placating her for now.

He pulled the car over under the trees off the side of the road. There was no one around. He made his call on the cell phone the female informant, Mrs. Smith provided.

The phone rang several times. He did not leave a message. The messages had not been set up. Mrs. Smith thought that would be best, no messages to be traced. He began to drive home and when he arrived the house was empty. His children were staying with his inlays for the night. He didn’t feel like attending a dinner party so instead he poured a Jack on the rocks. He sat in a comfortable slouchy chair in the dark and thought of what the labs meant to him. What did Mrs. Smith mean when she said they are related?

His private cell from Mrs. Smith rang. It was her. He answered quietly. “Hello.”

“I’ve been waiting for you to call, well? Any results?” She jumped into the labs without any surface conversation.

“Yes, I have them. And, your two copies.” He shot back at her.

“Well, what do they say? Did you make me copies?” She was eager to hear the results that she was certain concrete as she thought.

“They are conclusive to your other labs. 3.5% unknown in oral mucosa.” He paused.

“I want the copies. Where can I meet you?” She hurried not wanting to miss the results or to allow time to prevent her from getting them.

“Not tonight. I’m too tired. Come to the secretaries in the morning. They will be there.” He again took control as that was his nature.

“No, not at your office. Bump into me tomorrow at the store just like in August at Mid-day. We can greet and pass the envelope like everything is normal.” She was in control.

“Okay, but meet me at 2pm. I have meetings until then. Oh, my wife has come home. Got to go.” He hung up the cell and put it in the brief case.

“Hello honey. Why didn’t you come. Everyone waited for you.” She was tall and red headed like Maureen O’ Hara and fiesta like her, as well.

“Too busy. I just got home.” He swirled the bourbon in the glass.

“Well, you should have called to let us know to eat without you. Is that bourbon? Are you drinking alone in the dark? That bad, huh?”She could interrogate with her lean body and red hair better than an FBI agent. “What could be so imperative to a family care doctor?”

He rolled his eyes at her sarcastic put-down of being only, in his mind, a family care doctor? Geez, what does a man have to do to get recognition and respect? Damn her. 


Chapter 6

Early the next day he got a call on the private cell. He was on his way to work and alone driving in the rain.

The informant female says, “It’s not a good idea to meet you at 2pm. Is there any way you could meet me now? Do you have the labs reports with you?”

“I have them with me. I’m close to work and have only a few extra minutes. Where?” He responded quickly.

“Park your car at the grocery and walk to the post office. Go through their backdoor. I’ll walk there and be there in ten minuets.” She hung up.

He was early that morning with thirty minutes to spare. So, this plan of hers would work. Driving the car to the grocery and parking it he then got out and walked as if he were going into the store, but he walked the sidewalk to the post office where the most office boxes were and walked out the back door. She was standing there in the rain.

“Well, come inside, out of the rain.” He insisted.

“Just let me have the results.” She put her hand out and he gave her the labs reports.

“If you have any questions call me later. I gotta go,” he said. There were people starting to come in and he felt unusually uncomfortable to the beautiful grandmother informant, Mrs. Smith. “What’s your real name by the way?”

She didn’t smile. “It’s not a game doctor. This is not a flirtatious meeting or coincidental rendezvous, understand?”

The young doctor had to check his emotions. She was right, he was feeling like this was a scandalous rendezvous and he was rather enjoying himself. He forgot this was a bazaar story about wild DNA and a weird woman. The mysterious excitement was taking him into a fantasy of types.

“You’ll need to watch your pheromones, doctor. This is serious. By the way, did you draw your labs?” She raised a doubting eyebrow at him.

“Yes, yes I did.” He retorted. People were coming into the post office. It was 8:05am. “I got to go. Late now. When my labs come in, I’ll call you.” He left in the rain from the front door and followed his path to the store and then his car. As far as he knew, no one saw him. He felt sneaky and ashamed for feeling flirtatious, for enjoying a life of increased adrenalin. He never felt that way before…


Chapter 7

Almost Fall

The young doctor went about his work and social functions and left the flirtatious misinterpretations behind. After all, Mrs. Smith was a grandmother and not a normal stereotypical woman who would be considered as a rendezvous for a primary care physician. So, he carried on as usual.

The grandmother informant, Mrs. Smith was about the business as usual, too. Only hers were menial and mundane while in the office. However, after 5pm, it was the usual adrenalin rush she had experienced since she was a child. Once in a while they would visit her at night. The clock usually said 3am or close. They were not consistently on time, but they gave a few minutes on either side of 3. However, she was older now and their visitation numbers and times to visit were fewer, thank God. She did believe in God or a supreme power. She had to believe because something always saved her from their grip.

It was for the reason of monetary purpose that the informant did astrological forecast for extra money and for the fact she loved astrology. She finished a woman’s chart who lived in Oregon and noticed intently that this woman had similar coordinates as herself. It was later in central time as Oregon so she called the woman for clarification. The phone rang and the woman picked up.

“Hello,” she said.

“Yes, hello,” the informant had a Southern drawl from being and living in The Bible Belt for so long. “This is Lottie the astrologer and I need to clarify your information, is now a good time?”

“Oh yes! Now is great.” The woman answered.

There are unusual themes in your astrological readings and I need to verify your birthdate and time of birth Is it 1952? And, were you born at 7:58Am in Portland, Oregon?” Lottie asked.

“Yes, that is correct.” The woman replied.

“Okay, good. So, I want to explain that in 1952, October 10th, The Constellation Ophiochus was arising in the Eastern sky. This is rare to occur and we know the zodiac has 12 houses, but in your case 13… Lottie waits for a response.

“Very insightful,” the woman replies. “Do go into more of this. I’ve never heard of a 13th house in The Zodiac.”

“Sagittarius is in the twelfth house and is also your ascendant and it is also sitting near the constellation Ophiochus or Asclepius . This would say you are a strong believer in a force much greater than most other men. Your Chiron is also near the ascendant and close to the constellation Asclepius and would indicate you are a healer. Are you a health employee?”

“Yes. I am a nurse.” The woman proudly answered.

“That would explain Ophiochus/Asclepius in your chart on the horizon at the time of your birth,” Lottie explained.

“I’m not aware of that name or custom.” The nurse responded.

“I’ll send it as a text. Look it up. The myth goes like this. The constellation on the horizon at the time of your birth would be in the eastern sky. Asclepius was then coming up or arisen. You could then, identify with the constellation as your birth home if you thought that we are all star children and connected spiritually. It is reported that Ophiochus/Asclepius  is your DNA home or where your descendants came. You are from that Constellation and nearest star to you at the time of birth would be the home of the star that your family came. That is where your spirit came from, if you believed that’s a possibility and wanted to know more, there are references to this information.”

The woman closed down.  She was somewhat shocked and refuting the ideas. “Oh, that’s silliness,” she responded and laughed. “That’s not feasible. No, can’t go there. I’m Christian and star children and aliens are not anything that I take any part of. Astrology is just fun. That’s why I did this reading with you. Can’t do the other.”

Lottie shut down, also. “Well, if you need me for future reading please contact me. You now have my number. She realized that she wasn’t going there and wasn’t interested. Perhaps frightened by the idea that we came from alien life forms.

“Well, good night Lottie,” she said her goodbyes.

“Goodnight.” And, Lottie hung up disappointed because the woman was clueless. She saw no reason to forward the woman any further any information.

Lottie, Mrs. Smith or the female informant sat on the couch thinking about the phone call with the woman in Portland. Recollecting their conversation it provoked dismay and anger because the woman said that her astrological read was indeed, “A joke between Christian friends who chose the same birthday and decided together to do a test. They would send the same birth information to three of four astrologers to see if they all came up with the same natal horoscope.”

Lottie had explained to the woman, “I don’t use computer generated charts and interpretations. My interpretations are original and I personally sift through the data the information provided.”

This didn’t impress the woman in Portland. The woman was certain that all of the reports were simply conjured from “a demon.”

Lottie was disappointed, but she went on and gave it any more thoughts.

The thunder came again. Lottie lost power in her home. She lit candles. It was soon to be her birthday. She too was from Asclepius. It was on the eastern horizon at the time of her birth.

She thought about the doctor and his birthday. “Could his birthday say the same. How could I get his birth information without seeming bizarre? After all, the doctor was living in The Bible Belt and he may hold the same belief system as the woman in Portland? Well, he already thinks I’m bizarre enough. It can’t hurt anymore to ask.”

The thunder boomed overhead. It shook the house. I hate nights like this.

Lottie hated nights like this one because they, whomever they are, would sometimes pay her a visit and since she was on a quest to find information and other human victims were more than likely angry with her. For these reasons she feared they would come, Lottie expected them soon, possibly tonight. There was no absolute telling about their arrival except it would be between 2 and 3AM.

Lotto’s adrenalin was high. She felt it rising. She had to work in the morning and knew with her norepinephrine this high, sleep would be hard to fall into. She took a Xanax and used the dose by a half.

She marveled at the coincidence of having an appointment with the young doctor. The previous doctor moved out of town and for this reason she was absorbed into the new young doctors patient list. The first appointment two years prior she had with him was normal, and without any odd or strange feelings. He was a doctor and there was no signs or odd occurrences that pointed to any connections with him. Lottie thought about the first time she had an eyebrow raising experience with him.

It was when she had her second appointment to see him. He neared her to listen to her chest, suddenly a vibrational shock happened, they both felt and jumped. They blamed it on static electricity. However, Lottie saw it differently, but she drew no conclusions or conjured anything from her imagination. But he had something else that captivated her. His eyes. They were blue and sometimes green and the pupils changed rapidly. The way he glanced at her for a split second, his pupils and her own met. It was hard to explain to a normal person. It was not flirtatious or romantic by any means. No, it was like two railcars latching together conjoining to become one. Clink. She felt it. They matched. Another piece of the puzzle had been found. Lottie was certain that the young doctor was the one. Could his birth have the same coordinates as hers and since he was a doctor would certainly be interesting to investigate. If he was also born with Ophiochus on the horizon than this could only mean that he is the link, the one person who would help her. After all, he would be helping himself and his children. Asclepius would be his origins. The Serpent Bearer, the healer.

She knew she was imaginative and had to check on occasion, if things were real, or psychotic. Not once had she been diagnosed with psychosis, but when psychologist and doctors examined her, they simply said, “It’s in your imagination. You’re quite creative, aren’t you?”

She had to agree with them on the creative description. That is a fact. She was imaginative, but high levels of norepinephrine could usher epinephrine synergistically. Her mind was going that night, all of the what if’s, could be this or that, and so forth, had her in a whirlwind. The Xanax Thank God was kicking in… Her mind began to slow down and she went to her bedroom, took her clothes off, laid in bed and drifted off to the land of no thoughts or adrenalin. She loved that place.


Chapter 8

Rem Sleeping

The thundered rolled all night. Though it was now distant, it still reverberated the small house.

Lottie slept soundly, snoring in and out with the cool breeze of October. Her windows had opened and she was not startled, nor moved. Sleeping as soundly as one could, she had no cares. No lights were on and only shadows from the lightening and trees danced on her walls. This never frightened Lottie as she was use to terrifying images and these were natural and she hadn’t a care about how they played out violent themes on her walls or had ghost faces appearing in the mirages of shadows. The images carried on as she slept undisturbed.

Standing tall, hidden in the corner an entity stood, watching her. No facial expressions it had and time was of no concern by the looks of the thing. Its finger arose from its side cloaked in a black robe and it pointed at the clock. Time stopped then as she slept.

Bright lights everywhere. Not Earthly, by any means, they illuminated the cold metallic room, as she laid on a slate slab. Cold with vapor rising, humidifying the room, Lottie opened her eyes. She knew this place all too well, it was a place of torture and a place of hell. She screamed, “NO!” Paralyzed without restraints, as usual, and her mouth muzzled by invisible sources, her screams were not heard by anyone or anything. She hoped God heard her and would send angels to free her. Eyes were wide open, breathing in and out through her nose, she looked around as far as her peripheral vision could go, she felt movement, and from ten feet or more she saw shadows.

This time there were no instruments used on her body, no sounds that broke her ear drums, there was filling the space of tall figures of whom she saw no faces. They surrounded the slate slab where she laid, and permeated her body with mental messages. Threatening her to stop her investigations, to stop visits with the doctor. They showed her the room next to her as the walls separating vanished and in the next room were two children.  The children of the doctors, lay.






























Slew Foot



There Is A Dragon in My Gardwn




Carefully coiffuring the etiquette garden of the cascading words

Trimming the elegant exuberant plethora of stumbling somnolent leaves

Happened upon an opulent slithering serpent and some bees

Hiding within the myriad of sublime transendent trees

Shrieking in a shrill voice a cacophony was heard

And the shunned godly creature

Slithered serenely from the place of my obstreperous yells

And the words fell back into a peaceful tranquility and tune

Excusing the moments as serendipitous and absurd

But was harangue for no reason except tales of Slew (Foot)

And went about my business without any further adieu

@Bonnie Gay Jennings, or Bonnie Jennings or Boondoggling with Bojenn @Wordpress 2013 to present 2016 ~
*Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Bonnie (Gay) Jennings, or Bojenn with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Thank you


Winter Poetry 2016 and included on the bottom half Valentines’ Poems to Self

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




Winter Poetry 2016 By Bonnie Jennings


A vision, there, a fairy bright

She bends to touch flowers of lights
Am I dreaming or is this real?
The most beautiful place, is so surreal.
May I stay here, but for awhile?
No, not now, but may visit, my child
How may I come, If there’s no road?
At nighttime, while sleeping, from your abode
We’ll come and escort you when dreaming assured
And let you play amongst Elysium’s flowers and stars




Amidst the lush green of the forest one day
Appeared strange images of invisible spirits moving
I dare say
Hiding from those creatures in a thicket, there pray
Holding a sneeze, as tight as I could
Whilst sitting  in hay
Moving and looking towards me it scanned!
Eyes of lights and a devilish grin
Exploding the sneezed covered the land
And the beings of invisible molecules of lights
Took my arms and we disappeared from this sight


Queen Alluilla of Star Magnus Astra

Gave blessings of lights and flowers
She stands aside seeing the subjects
Magical blessings that never, ever cowers



Darkness was illuminated
by the white drops
of water and flakes
I sat perched
unclothed in my window
For heavens sakes
Just watching
the amber light shine
through the flurried night
Waiting for something
so spectacular
to appear
Within my sight


Running towards the lit portal
I can’t be left! Out of breath she yells as she runs
Don’t leave me! Don’t close the door!
Plump plump plump her shoes are catching in mud
The shadows were closing in on her
She could hear The Langoliers behind her
Eating time like pac-man does
Will she make it

Here you are surrounding
As you always do, waiting
For the moments of surrender
Screaming, crying, all alone, you anticipating
The whirlwind of panic circles
Down the funnel like a toilet
Watery feelings, faithless fears
Washing down with mercury tears
And you and Saturn call “it a day”
Before you, back away
Looking at the victims fallen
You leave behind some often crawlin’
No mercy have you?
Promising you’ll return, to do
All the work on wounded soldiers
Slashed by whips of hatred motions
The pitiful grasp a whispered free breath
Crawling face down hidden from death
Those who survive your camp
Steel-toed boots used to “make us champs.”
For Who? May I ask irreverently, dear
Who are you that cause the tear?
Why do you linger like a bully?
A god? Forbid! You are irreverent, truly.
Casting you far away, only moments before
You come to stay, worse and more bizarre
A prisoner caught in your web of terror
Surrendering to the deity of less herald
Waiting for my savior again
Who always comes way past when
The clock struct eleven fifty-nine and thirty secs’
Before he shows up and whips their unholy asses.

The Agent

Once again, she was the bate

Alone in the coal dark dressed for a snake
The candle light cast a soft Amber glow
On her delicate shoulders
bringing the target low
Shaking from her nerves she said, I can’t get use to this
But someone must be the bate and perhaps they’ll miss
Backup is in the shadows of the dark
I must bring the killer into
the timing arch
One attempt I have to allure
Lest my destiny is obscure


The Carousel 

Da Da Da Da Da Ta Ta 

Da Da Da Da Da Ta TA
Slowly around we began
I choose the white horse
And Barry the bear with the band
Ta Ta Ta Ta Ta Ta ta ta ta Ta ta ta T ta tata
Up and down the carousal went
Moving faster with each left turn
The snow was falling and freshly sent
The winter cold, and our hands didn’t burn
On our faces catching the wind and snow
We just enjoyed the beautiful lights
And music from the organ bands brilliant show

Winter’s Waltz played with his strings
Father times sits amid the trees
Playing for nature a beautiful tune
Resting in weather preparing for spring

Take a good look, never will
You see this moment ever again
Time like seasons, come to go
To sisters walking, in summer haze
Holding hands, a long time ago


Our Setting Sun
  ~ The setting of the sun
in the late days of winter
A shadow of warmth appears
On the grey and cold murky ground
Here we are sitting so apart
Wine glasses different as we are
Like Mars is to Venus
Silence prevails from day to day
And nodding in agreemnet
Or stares when so apart
The conversation has no fabric
There is quietude within our presence
And the setting of the sun
Is different on Venus as on Mars

And, Speaking of Mars
She stood on Mars so desolate and cold
The ground parched from no atmosphere at all
And frozen by night from lack of warmth
She released from her left hand a metallic heart
She blessed the land from further dismay or neglect
Clouds formed dark, dismal and grey in due respect
Releasing love upon a dry land
Releasing dominion in future hands
The black angel of magic came as cupids dam



Valentines Day

A day of love, not for me
It’s a day to mourn
So, I came to the sea
Drops of rain cause ripples to form
Because I was raped under a tree
And now I wish I had never been born
This red rose represents love lost
Starring at it’s crimson petals do cry
The white gown my purity is frost
My father, had he known, that man would die
My emotions like the waves surely tossed
My mother pushes me to marry that swine
“Marry that man, he has money, darling dear.”
She has no idea what she says, she’s so utterly blind
And, daddy looks away, seeming to shed a tear
Sometimes I think I’ve lost my mind.

Take a good look, never will
you see this moment ever again
Time like seasons, come to go
Two sisters walking, in summer haze

The bills, the taxes, the threats from bankers
The swallowing of her pride, the last of herself
She hangs onto why he’s gone
Why did he leave me drowning in this
As surely as the end of my life comes
I will learn and know how to pay my taxes alone.

February 15th Love
Did you say, “I love you?”
Is that what you said?
Please, understand
I’m anxious and dread
Any vows that promise to love me
Or cherish me forevermore
So, forgive my harsh inquisition
My wounds are not yet healed
And, though I’m so flattered
And in total delight that you should care
For right now, I’m trembling
And must renege your promised vow
But, please ask me on Feb 15th
When the whistles and bells silence
Bring me chocolates and flowers
And teach me how you dance
But, on the 14th of February
No whispering of love in my ears
But, come on May the 2nd
When there are no commercials cheers
Just love in mid autumn
When the cold comes to play
Then you will give me your heart
And promise that you’ll stay
©2016 WP

Our Setting Sun 
~ The setting of the sun
in the late days of winter
A shadow of warmth appears
On the grey and cold murky ground
Here we are sitting so apart
One pare of wings flew from our heart
Now our wine is as different, as we are
Like Mars is to Venus
Silence prevails from day to day
And nodding in agreemnet
Or stares when so apart
The conversation has no fabric
There is quietude within our presence
And the setting of the sun
Is different on Venus as on Mars
And one pair of angel’s wings flew to a distant star


Dreaming and entering life because we choose to fight our human battles… Now fight with faith Believe
The White Feature
It’s an antique brass urn
Now the coldest day at noon
And the crystals snowflakes gather
There is a prism in my room
A chill passed, when picking up the urn
And a feather so white floated across a sun ray
Dangling freely it seemed to loom
In my mind, you’re here on this icy cold day
In the silence, there seems a tune
The one you so loved to pray
The feather rested upon my pillow
Is this your sign which came to lay
Are you near me, that’s all that matters?

To leave you forever is unimaginable

The summers spent barefoot and slumbering
Walking over the Lovers Bridge holding hands
The memories forever etched in amber lights
And I shall never leave you
In winter, spring, summer nor fall
Eons of time come and go
But our names echo if you call
And our dream and legacy continues for always and a day


About Cursing
when you feel like saying a curse word
it’s best then to say a good word
when you think the world has ended
it’s only just begun
Your changes are meant for better
Even when the sky seems dark
But it’s always best to speak good words
even when your mind feels a fark
Cause your heart changes the bad things
From the fark and dark side of life
and makes your world healthier
and wired on a positive spark


UFO overhead
Dreaming and entering life because we choose to fight our human battles… Now fight with faith Believe


From A Personal Point of View

Pink is the sky from my front porch

When the sun sets late winter on this eve

Shadows from trees cast upon the wet ground

And the evening shade appears a dull brown scene

Sitting from the deck alone amazingly thankful

Listening to Baroque and lighting a fire for the warmth

Writing verses so inspired by God’s handiwork

Wishing only to share the scene with someone else

And the prayer to the Almighty is respectfully glad

And, I imagine that He stands beside me, as I hum

The verses flow with love given from above

Staying awhile writing is short lived though, I relish

However, moments filled with graceful imaginations

And the ending is met satisfyingly with a sigh

The verse seems freely exaggerated

The words don’t tell the truths

The accents are not even

The poetry lost the youth

Albeit the rhymes are for lovers

In romanticized time

And the pink sky for watchers

For those who see the night

©2016 From A Personal Point of View
By Bonnie Jennings
All Rights ReservePhotograph by MOI


I awoke dreaming the words. A voice said, get up and write them down. It was 0430.

Awaken from slumber, you sleeping ones

Arise before the morning Sun
Brush the veiled smokescreen before you
Trust not your deceiving sight or ears to understand
Believe from within truths set before you
Look at the eyes of the cat
See the slightest movements of the surroundings
Watch for clues that bare studying
The Moon is staged and not so far
Awaken child from sleeping slumber
Perceive the time before the rooster crows
The hour is a liar, and minutes are left to behold
And you see behind the curtain
Frightening from so many lies
Truth was never perceived correctly
Mankind is far from the thrown
And we are slaves made from a conjure
We came from a bet that fell cast
The child is a way of safety
A bread filled path to the Tree of Life
Take the loaf’s trail and proceed with might
Finding the way, not using your sight
Faith guides your heart
Belief takes you all the way home



Midge, thoroughly disgusted with her “daddy.”

He made her stay home on a Friday night
Pouting like ‘A Cat On A Hot Tin Roof’
Placing curses as he passed by
The antenna helped carry her signal
Pop died the next Saturday night
Midge, thoroughly disgusted with her “daddy.”
He made her stay home on a Friday night
Pouting like ‘A Cat On A Hot Tin Roof’
Placing curses as he passed by
The antenna helped carry her mad signals
Pop’s died Saturday evening
And Midge ate the caramel delights
And, “Father Knows Best.”
Midge, thoroughly disgusted with her “daddy.”
He made her stay home on a Friday night
Pouting like ‘A Cat On A Hot Tin Roof’
Placing curses as Pops made her cry
The antenna helped carry her mad signals
So, Pop’s then died choking,
As Midge drank Turkish Delights
And, “Father Knows Best,” on Friday nights
Where The Boys Are, honking when they drive by
A message to the past

Stop. Please, listen, I’m watching from so near
Just stop talking and listen to me me dears
Life is too short to argue as you do
Now listen to me children
Your mother still cares immensely for you
A veil that is so thin separates us now
But there is a place you can reach me, by bow
If you’ll only take this time to listen dear child
You can her me whisper
but your soul must be mild
Come a little closer, I will tell you more
Please stop, don’t run out that door
Listen so sensitively to my silent voice
Feel me as I brush the winds
It is entirely your choice
But, please hear me
Listen my children and see
I’m still here



The soft warmth of a summer breeze passes

A North wind gently blows against my hair
Amber golden memories cover hazy visions
You walking amidst the silky stalks barefooted
Smiling, playing hide and seek, in the recesses of my mind
And if we could love again there playing games as lovers do
Laughing as if no cares exist in the caverns of time
Feeling your flesh and touching your lips
Watching the North wind bend the amber lens behind
Yielding flesh, thus meshing souls in one dimensional bind
Promise eternal flames tightly conjoined
And never meant to be broken
Vowing love for you, forevermore
As our love takes flight invisible, as before.


Oh, how she loved The Grey Dappled Stallion
He so proud and adorned with his lovely companion
Both coming alive in romancing novels
A fair maid in red and a Stallion “Aristotle”
Dramatically engaged in erotic sagas


Insightful was the maiden girl
Who watched beyond a surreal world
Looking for answers seemed well hidden
By private eyes and demon legends
Until one day, while barefooted in the forest
Alone there she did ponder
Noticing a break in the lining
Stretching forth to touch the crystal chamber
Pounding her palm on the weakness of veils
Shattering the mysteries of the others tales
And, the forest trees and skies disappeared
To a place lest lovely and no care
But, the truth was bare for her to see
And, she covered it from you and me
Walking the forest floor about the shattered glass
Watching the others and their plans for us
Wondering why from whilst we came
She spoke no truths and simply sighed
When the forest population questioned the sky
She kept the secrets as others passed by


Remembering Summer and That Old Swing
Memories of childhood under a tree
A swing left vacated by me
The warm wind blows across goldenrod
In a distant voice children laugh
Playing together there under the tree

About Aliens 
In green foliage of the spring woods
I happened upon men as they stood
Seeing through their bodies frightened me
What the devil that I can see
Amidst the lush green of the forest one day
Appeared strange images of invisible spirits moving
I dare say
Hiding from those creatures in a thicket, there pray
Holding a sneeze, as tight as I could
Whilst sitting  in hay
Moving and looking towards me it scanned!
Eyes of lights and a devilish grin
Exploding the sneezed covered the land
And the beings of invisible molecules of lights
Took my arms and we disappeared from this sight


Elysium dedicated to my daughter Elysia


A vision, there, a fairy bright

She bends to touch flowers of lights
Am I dreaming or is this real?
The most beautiful place, is so surreal.
May I stay here, but for awhile?
No, not now, but may visit, my child
How may I come, If there’s no road?
At nighttime, while sleeping, from your abode
We’ll come and escort you when dreaming assured
And let you play amongst Elysium’s flowers and stars

Yours Forever

Forever is unmeasured
Maybe forever plus a day
Forever could be a moment
in just one single rainbow’s ray
Time has many dimensions
Where dreams do seem to whirl
Forever is a promise
That is defined by the surreal
When you say “forever”
My eyes are clever sleuths
Forever is in a conjured imagination
That rarely holds the truth


They say I’m insane but you say, “I’m not.”

Little bird, how fearless are your thoughts
Friends have I none
But, you are are my song
Little bird, love you have sung to my heart


Her Finishing School spawned her madness

Failing etiquette, Victoria challenged tea time
Failing etiquette, Victoria challenge
Practice walking Victoria, teapot on head!
Now get up! One two three!


Isabella Isabella! There is work to do!
There you dream looking out a subway window
Dreams and visions are not limited to the walls of brick
Open your eyes, girl, see beyond the thick
Prison of the cities eternal cement walls
There is greenery and life beyond the city malls
Now dream your way out! 
Pursuit it with your shout!
Now, shut your eyes and believe it o come about



A blue veil encompassed me when I erased you away
Forever gone from me, I gladly bid you adieu 
But, your haunting memories plagued mi amore 
There! Creeping through the blue veil by day
And tantalizing my night visions I see your face
Certain of your death under the blue veil
This can’t be happening, you’re dead, I do tell!
And, here she drifts freely
On cold icy nights in only her gown
A blood stained hand spattered the shroud 
Her baby that lived despite the murderers hands
But, took the mother whose seen drifting down
The road during icy cold winter’s
Towards the assailants’ home of three brothers

Where I’ve walked has left a trail

The path I’ve traveled, I came afar
Left behind a cold desolate life
But where I’m headed only I can tell
In a life are numbered days
Given to man to find a way
Making the trails from the clay
Walking our steps as we may
At the end man hopes his God
Sends angels to greet him with welcoming nods
And the trails walked that look dismal and grey
Are men’s accomplishments rather than ill dismay


To My Children

Have I told you that I love you

Do you know this fact my loves
And if time slipped away from our shores
And the Sun’s rays came no more
Would you still know I loved you
Far greater then time barriers ever knew
Passing that of the speed of light
How great is my love for you two


The violence in the water challenged the gift of music in my strings

I stood firmly on that peer ready to play the vibrations of my heart
In my right hand, my fiddle, and in my left, my bow
The waters dared me, and my violin was prepared for the show

And what was she thinking
One could not know
She stood on the peer
Looking away from the shore
The mausoleum seems frozen; ghosts reside
The frozen mausoleum; there ghosts reside
Haunting, cold, lonely the monastery life


He surveyed the horizon for hope
The long unyielding day ended with the cold wind
And the man and his dog were truly best of friends
The night’s arrival brought dark clouds with perhaps a storm
But together they’d make it and be unharmed

Watching so quietly hiding from you
Within the foliage masked from view
My eyes fall at the light, my face disguised
Seeing you there, my soul hypnotized
Wanting, but shan’t go through
Fore you’re away, way out of my queue

There is a red bird that has come to visit me
It rests upon the warm Earth singing of love of Thee
In it’s song a voice that says
Time for rest from all your cares


Within the cold air that night the breaths of father Joseph and his infant child Jesus were lingering in the chill. Wrapped in swaddling clothes the infant is also held tight by the arms of his arms wrapped in lambs wool.

The cattle and goats laid near and the manger became toasty warm. The Stars light shown threw the cracks in thatch ceiling
And love permeated the air when God was born.


“The sleek cold turquoise forest of ice cycles simply welcomed the tired into it’s beauty. Crawl into the cradle, so cozy and warm, and the wind will sing lullabies to beckon sleep. The babies felt comforted by the hues and the limbs of branches that rocked the infants to the lands of the deepest slumbers. And there they schlafen until the fairy lights sent by the Sun awakened the babes and then another adventure soon promised to begin…” Goodnight World

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


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


The Needle and The Thread
One birth

One thread

One eyelet
Two ways
One person
Many chances
Many challenges
Many mendings
One block
One time
One death



The fog rolled down into the valley where the train station sat
Three crosses on the hill rested above where holes in the fog Bared their solitude and dignity of where lives were once present
And no one was around. The track was empty of humans or ghosts
Yet the lights within a cabin expected a passenger for certain
I smoked my last cigarette. I watched the station for movement.
There was none, not even a stray cat or dog. Them the box car door slid open. The stairs came down towards me, like and invitation, just for me. After taking my last drag, I through the butt on the ground and walked to the car. My suitcase rolled behind me. I had no idea where I was going. I trusted for a stupid reason that really doesn’t matter. Simply, I wanted change and the railroad wants to take me. I’m tired of fighting for all the things I want, they want and my employer wants. Damn weary. Anything is better than one more day of exhaustion so I step on the first step. The conductor ghosts yells, “Last call, All aboard!” I get into the car and suddenly my life changes, forever.

Lifting her hands releasing the power

Behind a window for all to see
Come out from behind your shield daughter
Sending the gift and setting it free

The Love of Grandmothers and such

Looking on the bad side the cup was empty, old and tried
The petals of roses dried colorfully whilst resting on its side
An antique china tea saucer and it’s fragile cup lay
Dropped among the wet leaves one cold autumn day
And, there it lain for four seasons, or perhaps even more
Amongst the slimy worms and upon the chilled damp floor
Hidden for a reason, until time had chosen to share
When Molly was a teenager, she discovered the delicate ware
Up she picked it, from the foliage, thus lifting, ever so gently
Dusting off the muddy earth and lifting the leaves intently
From its inner depth fell a key hidden before
And Molly held it to the sunlight examining the signs of yore
“Something is about this,” she thought to herself
Seeking any mysteries about grannies sudden fate
The china cup and saucer soon sparkled with love
And the key she found opened a treasure box with a picture of a dove
And Mollies life changed that day beyond all measure
Her grandmother gave her secrets found within the earthen treasures

Figure me out!

“Yes, I’m pissed.”

Just read between my lines
I’m a woman you understand who ~
Speaks beyond words and uses an expressive brow
Now listen very carefully
No excuses for not comprehending
Now read me very carefully
Your test is in my aching
Figure it out!
The message within my pout
Look at my arms crossed
And my stance so warningly rigid
Figure me out!
I’m a woman in the making.
Read my grey areas
And thanks for your caring


Prostitution of The Soul 

Christmas Day and it is warm in San Juan.

Sitting on the stones wishing that I was home.
I moved here away from my family
Partying, booze and hanging out with clientele
I miss my mom, i miss my dad
I want to go home and sleep in my bed.
I’m twenty two now and lived harder than one should
Pretty once, was more then, than, I am, now
Gave up school to experience life
The road I’ve traveled has been rocky and cold
Even on the Caribbean streets of gold.
Getting home my deepest desire
These streets of pleasure are demons of hell
And there is no Christmas down here on the street
But, I followed a man who made a sale
And, I bought Hades believing it was a treat
That any girl would want to play with a male
And, getting home may cost my tail.
But it’s worth getting home again.
It’s just a trick and pocket change
Soon I’ll fly far away from this place
The streets of San Juan aren’t for country girls
Mom I’ll be coming home after Christmas
I promise somehow, mom, I will.


When Fairy Princess opened her books

The magic awakened from inside the pages
Butterflies flit about the nooks
An amber light glowed when out stepped sages
Whirling lights dancing to and fro
Golden hair and pink cheeks of youth
The fairy princess caused them to glow
Her dimples, pink lips and missing a tooth
Made the wonder beam even more
Orbs of lights shown so bright
Her mother gave her the gift of lore
The love of Christmas became a glorious sight
From a child of wondrous creation
From a God given for delight
To the parents of all nations
A gift of magic in children so bright


February Poems a Valentine to Self



Embracing me; smothering me.

Your insecurities extinguished my flame

You said, “I love you,” way too many times

But, I’m not sure,

Because, I don’t think you love yourself


Venus didn’t bless our love

Tried so hard to force you

Stood upside down on my head

Flipped for you to wed

Became what you wanted, yes?

Though, Jupiter was un-expansive

Because, Saturn ruled instead

Had to walk away

No energies to play

For’ Saturn ruined our day


Eros love is lust

If there is phileo love

It will arise

There is no need to force the feeling

In time, if love is missing

Then, we’re dismissed

Hey, let’s not forget to smile

Being free

No condemnation

Agape’s love is


I bought myself chocolate today

And a message

In the red floral bouquet

I sent these

To me

The message said,



There is one goal that’s unfinished

To conquer fear of loneliness

The fear of incompatibility

The fear of lightening storms

The fear of powerlessness

To conquer my fears


Loving someone because of fears

or powerlessness

or for lightening storms




Is not loving them


I love to see you laugh

When you cry

I cry

I know you are genuine

As you know me too


Traveling to a mountain top with you is unimaginable

An ecstasy that I hope for

Because as sure as The Moon appears

I will travel to the dark side

With you

When dying


And love is

that I loved me

Sacrificed me

Just for you

Because I loved you as my equal

And raised you a little higher than myself

Because you did the same

For me


“Fools Rush In”

Where angels fear to go

Attempting love again

Is beyond any scope that I know;


A life void of tenderness

Is an ocean without a ship

But to be a fool, once more

They’ll be no rushing of this wind

And, this I know, for sure





@Bonnie Gay Jennings, or Bonnie Jennings or Boondoggling with Bojenn @Wordpress 2013 to present 2016 ~ 
*Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Bonnie (Gay) Jennings, or Bojenn with appropriate and specific direction to the original content. The artwork is also Bonnie Jennings.

Thank you










The Web is Your Oyster: Where to Find Free-to-Use Images

Free Images…

The Daily Post

For many of you, images are an integral part of your site. But sometimes, you might not have the right photograph to use for a post. As we’ve mentioned before, you can use the Creative Commons to search for images you need across the web, from Flickr to Wikimedia Commons, and source and attribute images that you find.

This spring, WordPress.com announced embed support for Getty Images, which means you can also access and share photos from Getty’s extensive library for non-commercial use.

We’ve recently noticed other sites that compile great images that are free to use for your personal projects — like your blog — or commercial work. Let’s take a peek.

View original post 277 more words

Notes to Self About BU 201 (and blogging)




This is Blogging University 201 class and extra articles that I found useful and informative. It also has my thoughts on each class. So far, we have almost finished the 2nd week.


Week 1)


In lesson one my personal understanding of the class and my new angle is authenticity and I tried it, but have decided that being candid is perhaps wiser until I develop a pen name or a blogging name far from my own name. We don’t live in a free world, so having said that, know that protecting identity when blogging is a safer manner of writing. It’s protective in many ways and that’s my personal decision.


Week 2)


Week 2 has been the most interesting as it makes one write openers that sometimes push one’s personal envelope. It makes the writer come out of the comfort zone and write the hook or post the picture that brings the reader into a blog.


Week 3)


We just started this week. It should be fascinating. It has been a couple of weeks since this class and honestly this will be a redo for me…  I din’t comprehend the lesson, so when this class is offered again, I will sign up…


Week 4)


It is because I had already begun the process of crafting a scene, I understood the reasoning and the mechanics of the lesson. Good class!

Week 5)


Awe… This class is ongoing and will never be completed… Rewrite rewrite rewrite …  Corporation of everything learned in the course will make an awesome blog, book, poem or whatever… Simply put into practice  your new angel, create the most dynamic hook, work your key moment or pinnacle parts of the story, write it as though your telling a story in a book, make your scenery, plot and characters tell the story (not, you). Lastly, never stop polishing your creation and write write write…

This was a great class and I will be taking it again….





And, a happy blogging to all of us…  Please feel free to add any blogging tips, or experiences, thoughts, comments if you so want to….


Quick Tip: Give Your First Sentence the Axe

Now, I need to always remember this information, so, I’ve reblogged it. Perhaps you need it, as well…. Good to have on hand and return to the teaching.

The Daily Post

When we surf the internet, we make constant split-second judgements about what we want to read. There are lots of reasons we might click away from a post — a hard-to-read font, a busy background, or an opening that doesn’t grab us.

We’ve talked about fonts and backgrounds before, so let’s turn to the latter: think about nixing your first sentence (or your first few) to create an intro that hooks readers right away.

The beginning of our story is not always where we think it is.

Often, when we’re drafting, we use our first sentences to set up and focus our posts, and then we get into the nitty-gritty. For example:

Sometimes, my imagination gets in the way of real life, and it puts a strain on my marriage. I was in the living room thinking about what color to paint the walls, and Jim was in the kitchen making suggestions…

View original post 504 more words

Lost Loves in February

A wise tale speaks of Cardinals or red birds being the departed, paying visits to the living,  on cold days of winter.
There is an antique brass urn
Now the coldest day at noon
And the crystal snowflakes gather
There is a prism in my room
Its cold in here I noticed, picking up your urn
Speechless, I stood, having nothing to say
In quietness, from my eye, as I began to turn
A white feather lingers downward in a sun-ray
Dangling freely in the air, it looked, as if, to loom
Are you here? I soberly whispered on this icy day
In silence hear your specific loved tune
The one you hummed and then knelt to pray
That feather came to rest upon my pillow
Is this your sign, I asking, did you come to lay?
Outside blows the branches of a Willow
Yes, just as if any other day
There’s an antique brass urn
Now the coldest day at noon
And the crystals snowflakes gather
There is a prism in my room
©2016 WP Bojenn. All Right’s Reserved
Youtube: Little Anthony Tears on My Pillow

Inspiration of the Weird Kind


Inspiring places…


Some people must go to a cabin in the woods to be inspired to write

There are some who like mountain tops or large, loud, bustling cities

Places where the foods are exotic inspire Andrew Zimmern

But oddly, the best way to inspire me is to make me clean grout.


It’s called. “Let Me Escape! This floor is cold, dirty, filthy, disgusting and I’m sitting on it! 


Escapism 🙂 by writing … Stories are a terrible thing to waste.


“I’m too old to do things I don’t enjoy” — An Interview with Margaret Atwood

“I’m too old to do things I don’t enjoy.” Margaret Atwood discusses genre, parental approval and the place of realistic fiction in the digital age.

Source: “I’m too old to do things I don’t enjoy” — An Interview with Margaret Atwood

Andrea Dora, Investigator DeBunker


Investigator Andrea Dora drove to the residence that was plugged into her GPS from a remote location of her employers at WWIU, that is, World Wide Investigators United. When she’s called to work, she is never given anymore information except the bare minimum. Whether she enters a crime scene or a theoretical conspiracy, all information, given to her past or present is nil. And, that was for a good reason.

Too much information confuses the pressure, the images, the thoughts that Andrea receives from somewhere, beyond. She’s not sure where “Beyond,” is, but information to her is always kept to the minimum. It confuses her and the investigation. Not only that, but in the investigative departments, many agents kept their findings to themselves until enough evidence could be used for a formulation or hypothesis worthy to investigate further or be used in a court of law.

The drive was five hours from airport to the GPS location. She read that on the GPS and saw the map, but was unaware of this part of the world. Never been here, she mumbled to herself. A black Cadillac SUV, though it was comfortable, was provided compliments of WWIU.

As Andrea drove for an hour, or so, impressions and images began coming to her. Some of them, were unpleasant. One in particular had a bird of prey following her as it screeched. She stopped the SUV, in the desert, and got out to look. What is the screeching cacophony? So annoying and trying so get her attention. But, nothing was there. She looked three-hundred and sixty degrees and also under the vehicle for harmed animals or birds. Nothing there.

Climbing back not such a large SUV, for such a short tiny person, was similar to mounting a wild black steed ,only more controllable. She chuckled at her own thoughts as sometimes she entertained herself with thoughts of men and what they would be like. However, for now, she had work to do and the SUV was back on the road again.

Soon, the loud bird was coming at her from somewhere. Its noise was getting louder and louder. She heard it and didn’t see it. Then suddenly, it appeared. It hovered over her windshield, as she drove. It managed to fly backwards, not hitting the windshield, but facing her. An owl, in the daytime. Its wingspan stretched across the windshield with it’s feather tips stretching further. She pulled over. The bird hovered for moments then took off in the same direction she was traveling. It must have been trying to tell me something. Andrea watched the direction it turned until it was no longer seen. It’s a sign, but I don’t know what it means, yet. I don’t know if it has anything to do with where I’m going. This hint will have to play out. Sometimes it’s hard to tell which sign belongs to which investigation and the clues don’t tell you categorically. You just have to put the puzzle together. Some you miss. Some solve other mysteries of long ago and are coming through late… Andrea talked into her phone recorder to explain what she saw and heard.

Within two hours and no further interruptions from large birds, she pulled up to the GPS location. It was dark outside and there were two other unmarked cars in the driveway. The lights were on inside. Andrea made a verbal entry into her recorder.

Her notes:

Date 2/4/16

Location: Gps coordinates Somewhere, USA

Time: 2022

Temperature: 0C and 32F

Present: Andrea Dora and ?

Findings are as follows:


The neighborhood in which the SUV’s GPS brought her was dark, as it was night time, and what she could see, it was quaint, had trees and sidewalks and was an older established area. The mature oak trees line the street and they looked, old. The stone path led to the entrance of a wooden door. It had a wicker wreath on it which was decorated with wintery tchotchkes. Andrea started to ring the doorbell. She thought of how she felt a mess after the drive in her wrinkled suit and unbrushed teeth and a scant amount of make-up left on her face, but it was getting late, and she had work to begin.

Her hand lifted to the brass door knocker of two lovers, but before she reached it, a loud hoot or coo seemed to yell at her from the tree behind her, she looked that direction. Her eyes caught a glare from the street light and seeing was difficult. She went to turn around to knock again. Then, the flapping of wings occurred and another loud hoot. This time she saw the owl flapping it’s wings. She watched and started to step off the front porch and go towards the bird when the from door opened. It was an official person. Andrea turned his way and stepped with her hand out to shake his hand.

“You’re late. We’ve been expecting you hours ago.” He said this without any expression and extended his weak write hand. The digits were almost blue. He had vapor coming out from his mouth when he spoke.

“Late? I’m terribly sorry. I’m Andrea Dora. I wasn’t aware that anyone was to meet me. But, I do apologize as the GPS brought me here from the airport and through the desert where we made a stop. Please, my apology for any inconvenience.” he had pulled her hand back from his icy cold blue digits. She notices the chill coming off his breath.

“The desert, you say?” Gruffly he added.

“Yes, about two hours from here.” Andrea straightened her clothing. She continued to watch his breath whirl like smoke.

“Ma’am, the nearest desert is seventeen hundred miles from here. Perhaps you’re mistaken?” He corrected the silly woman.

“Of course. What was I thinking? And may I ask why the heat isn’t on in the house? Is it freezing in there? I see the smoke coming off your breath and your hand is like ice.” Andrea carefully watched his response.

There was non. He simply said, “This way inside.” They walked through a lantern lit court yard to another front door. There was an amber ambience in the area. The dirt smelled rich and moist. In the dark she made out leaves from large potted plants. A cat scurried behind a large clay one. It’s eyes watched her.

As the man opened the second door, Andrea said, “You know I’m so sorry, I don’t remember your name. I think I failed to ask you being startled at that bird outside.”

He looked at her with his usual poker face. “My name is not important Ms. Dora. Go on inside.” He shut the door behind her as she walked into a foyer. He stayed outside.

And, that’s why his hands are blue and cold. He stays outside. Okay, that answers that. She reasoned with herself as she stood still in the foyer. She heard nothing and the lights were off. She felt around for a light and saw there was a table lamp in front of her on the greeting table. She turned the light on and noticed the sign in book. The names in the book and the dates had not been signed since December 20Th. 2015. She held it to the dim light and studied the times and the last entry. A week before Christmas.

A cold chill passed over her and through her. Andrea turned towards a light and behold a woman stood there holding a candelabra with five candles. The matronly woman said in a soft melodious voice, “Ms. Dora, are you hungry? The mistress left some food for you in the other room. Would you like to have some hot tea and a sandwich?” She gestures Andrea to enter the hall and she would follow her.

Andrea didn’t refuse as she was hungry and she needed to use the bathroom.

The woman turned to her and said, the restroom is in here if you would like to tidy up?”

Andrea nodded her head yes and went into the restroom closing the door behind her. There was a soft candle burning for light. The place was cold. Almost as cold as the February outside, in here. I guess there is no heat on in the house. The is no warm water either. 

She made a right as the woman suggested into a fairly bright kitchen. Bright because there was a fire burning, it was warm, and there was a man reading the newspaper sitting at the table waiting for her.

“Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Mrs. Hilary, please pour Ms. Dora a cup of hot tea.”

Andrea noticed he wore a red flannel shirt and smoked a pipe. No one smoked pipes like that anymore. It smelled so cherry like and he looked like such a nice grandfatherly man. Silver hair, slouched over, eyeglasses on his nose and pink cheeks. He was slender and probably was much taller years before. He had a kind chuckle with a certain twinkle in his eye. He seemed friendly so far.

“Normally, I would stand up and pull your chair out. The years have taken away my ability to be a gentleman and cordial. But, please, be comfortable.” He smiled.

Andrea sat. And Mrs. Hilary poured the hot tea into a delicate teapot. The sandwiches were butter and cucumbers on white bread. The bread was stale and mold looked like it had been cut away. She ate the sandwich and tried not to seem grossed out, but totally thankful.

The old man leaned over and picked out a Brandy from the cabinet behind him where he had stashed his hard liquors. “How about a dash of whiskey in your tea? We do this every night.” he poured it into Andrea’s teacup before she responded. “It will help you sleep tonight.”

“Sleep? Oh, I forgot my manners. I better find a hotel. It’s late.” She arose from the table.

Mrs. Hilary said, “No need to go anywhere. We’ve made a room up for you. I think you’ll find it quite comfy, dear. Finish up your tea and sandwich. I have a hot bath for you drawn upstairs.”

“But, you have no hot water?” Andrea replied.

“Oh, not to worry dear. Uncle has ways of pumping hot water from a hot spring in the backyard.” Mrs. Hilary explained quickly was to the point. Her answer satisfied Andrea.

“Well, if you are finished dear, I will show you to your room and bath.” Mrs. Hilary politely stood for Andrea to exit first.

“But, my bags are in my car.” Andrea turned to inform Mrs. Hilary who seemed taller than before. She reasoned that perhaps it was just her shadow that seemed elongated and long. Andrea thought that she could be loosing her mind as she was tired from the days journey and too tired to insist that she find a motel tis late at night.

Mrs Hillary spoke as she opened the door to Andrea’s bedroom. “I hope you don’t mind, but uncle brought your bags inside to your room.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” Andrea looked at her room, the bed with all the blankets and comforters and the hot steamy bath in her room on the ledge. “How nice and cozy. Just like olden times.” She felt as if she was back in time.

“Good night dear. I hope you sleep well.” Mrs. Hilary nodded and closed Andrea’s door.

Andrea thought she heard a key lock her into the bedroom. She went to the door and tried to turn the handle. It wouldn’t open. She noticed the bed and the hot bath and dismissed her fears for cleanliness and comfort. And after soaking for a while she dawned her flannel PJ and got in the bed with the down comforters. “God it must be 32 degrees in this house it’s freezing in here.” She climbed into the bed. And soon, Andrea Dora was sound asleep in the warmth of all the down comforters. She snored most of the night and awakened thinking she had been drugged. The tea. It made me sleep like that. I never sleep that soundly, anywhere. She sat up in the bed and noticed the fireplace was burning wood. The room was cozy warm, unlike the night before. She heard no one come into the room and heard no one bring in wood or try to light it. There was also hot tea in the china pot with a china cup and an assortment of teas. Cream and sugar were in silver decanters and on the tray were fresh flowers.

Andrea muttered, what time is it? She went to open the window curtain. Oh, it’s dusty. She coughed. After catching her breath, since she is an asthmatic, realized she didn’t have an inhaler handy. Soon she gathered her air and saw that it was early morning, there was frost on the ground, and she could see her breath twirl when standing by the window.

The door opened to her bedroom and Andrea saw no one standing there; however, she heard a meow. It’s the cat from the courtyard last night. Oh good morning, she said. It wandered in and jumped on the bed. It was a tabby cat. Female, green eyes and very scrawny and underfed. My, you are thin. Are you hungry? She broke off a piece of the toast that was brought up on the tea tray. Be careful it might have mold. She broke little pieces for the cat which devoured it and wanted more. I will see what I can find you to eat. 

There was a knock on Andrea’s opened door. Mrs. Hilary was standing dress in the same dark dress which was snug around her this waist and she had on the same servants cap. She looked as if she was wearing turn of the century clothing which was certainly odd for 2016.

“Oh, Mrs. Hilary, you startled me for a moment. I’m sorry, I’m a little shaky this morning.” Andrea says, “You’re up early, I see? Is there anything that I can help you with?”

“No, mum. Uncle and I sleep all day, but we’re up all night watching the grounds and working. So, there is something to eat in the kitchen and there is a table with pictures, belongings, and items that you will want to look over for the investigation. You make yourself at home. Uncle and I sleep upstairs and he’s already gone up so the day. We get up when it starts to turn dark, but please don’t awaken uo. Uncle gets grumpy and mean when he’s been awakened.”

Andrea couldn’t imagine that man Uncle walking up and other flight of stairs. This house is much larger than the one she thought she saw on the street. She replied to Mrs. Hilary, “Yes Mum. I’ll not bother you.”

Mrs Hilary said, “The cat. Don’t feed her, she kills the mice. Her name is Poetess. The old lady who died was a poetess. She named the cat, ‘Poetess'”

“A poetess? You say?” Andrea asked incisively.

“Yes, a poet or poetess. You’ll see her writing all over the place.” Mr. Hilary turned and said, I’m heading up for bed now. Help yourself downstairs.”

“Oh, my keys should I need to go into town,” Andrea added quickly before Mrs. Hilary was out of hearing range.

“There by the front door where you came inside from the second door, dear.” With that Mrs. Hilary was gone for the day.

Andrea mumbled to her self, I dreamed of poetry last night. Well, hello Poet. And, I shall feed you. You’re starving little body.” She extended her hand towards Poet’s body, but she ran off the bed. Oddly, she noticed that he was so light weight she never made a dent or a paw print on the made bed coverlet. No paw marks. She looked carefully for paw prints, but no, there were none.