Green Cloaks

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Green Cloaks

Deep within a wooded forest forbidden

Dwelled animals and foliage overridden

Tucked inside a dense leafless thicket

A mirror found and many mole-crickets

Lost, meandering from the baron canyon

She came upon the mirror abandoned

Tempting was her lonesome sad image

She stared inside the deflective finish

The picture evolved to an idyllic berth

Suddenly an inviting thought unearthed

An invitation whispered, “Step across.”

The maiden did just that, into the gloss

Stepped upon the tender green moss

On the other side, toward entering Oz

Placing her green hood over her head

The damp drizzle and dank new forest led

To the site, that must be virginally read

And off she went, with her cape overhead

The fair maid found her home up ahead

And lived forever within a fairytale 

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All  Rights reserved

Image from BeverlyMyers Yeomans

That Bridge is Only Simply Imaginary

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Looking forward to the faint light 
Squinting to see the future despite 
Having to travel across the dark bridge 
Stood, observed how wobbly rigged 
Contemplating how to proceed 
Saw darkness and knew my needs
Were filled with fear using eyesight 
Dreaded crossing into the night 
But this was the only path between 
So in my mind, I created a new scene
No longer will my eyes see bleakness 
However, I will to see, only pleasantness 
And I will cross the bridge of flowers 
I will know, that light will give me powers
And I will cross that way because mandatory 
Because that bridge is only simply imaginary

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Photo image from A Poets Haven hosted by Alan Boyles

 

The Healing Place

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The Healing Place

 

Dwelling home under the Aurora Borealis

Haunting you seem, though a palace

From the magnetic fields you breathe

Below the earthen ice and dirt beneath

The perfect place to heal carbonic life

Amidst isolation of mankind, just wildlife

Green and purple hazes of energy streams

She takes her rest sleeping under light beams

And awakens from deathly angels awaiting

Instead goes home, her pneuma pulsating

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Stock image from A Poets Haven hosted by Alan Boles

Remembering You

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Remembering You

 
Grey billowing smoke, seeing embers snap
Down in the valley away from the woods
The bonfire blazes as we sip hot chocolate
Marshmallow caress our lips
The smell of fungi in fall is here
 
Pleasant were our memories of summer
The green grass, the yellow stingers
The laughter playing while tumbling
Barefooted in the warmth of each other
 
But you are gone, and new friends sing
Together our chorus loudly brings
The season of plenty, our time of death
Though distantly, I’ll remember you
As the Blue Bird of Happiness bequest
 
©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved
Picture from A Poets Haven (I think)
 

Ode To Autumn

 

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Ode To Autumn

Oh beauty, laden with bountiful brilliant leaves 

With the warmth dwindling living dying, watch

As if fainting from the living should be hallowed

Yet, thrilled by the colors greater than imagined

And we sing songs as if we’re native Indians

Around the campfires we celebrate by dancing

Guitars resound gypsy rhythms, embers popping

Yet the blossoms of summer fade from our thoughts

How we forget the suns warmth and green green grass

Seasonal birds sing from leafy trees and telephone wires

And summer sang it’s beauty songs while kicking sand

Short shorts and tank tops accentuated clad bodies

And the radio was loud and years later deafened ears

Oh but burning leaves and roasting smores

Kicking leaves, raking them in piles for the dogs

Throwing straw and bobbing for carnival apples

Riding the ferris wheel while gripping our sweaters

Soon the charade of monster masks and witches

The Pilgrims, corn, cranberries and a huge Thanksgiving

Family friends, wine, and mashed potatoes and veggies

Then fairy lights adorn Christmas trees and shopping

Oh fall, how I adore your greatest offerings

Yet some die, to give others this blessing

 

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Thank you Pixabay for the free stock mage

A Sonnet of Autumns Gifts

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A Sonnet of Autumns Gifts

 
The spirit said, “Isn’t it time for autumn’s glow?
Why do you hold onto the warmth of summer’s love?”
Startled by the interrogation thought amused, but was so
Holding to moments, words, reflections, golds and doves
 
“And isn’t it true when the clouds overcast the sky
To those who write, who draw, who tell tales emerge?
Yet, in summer, the activities lure the artists follies, neigh?”
Procrastinating the words that must come, it does urge
 
T’is known, when the snakes retreat, and the bear hibernates
And fires images that dance in your thoughts and you scry
Know too well, the time to create has come and arrived
 
Thus open the doors and welcome inside
Oh, my love of design and writing, how I’ve missed you
That only autumn’s falling golden hues graciously gift
 
©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved
Thank you Alan Boyles for the free stock image
 

Cat Stevens ~ Sing it Again…. Please

 

 

And what kind of world will we choose
And what kind of friends do you love
And as the USA debates happen soon
What are we as people, what do we mean?

Are we reserved and conservative?
Yes.
Are we loving and desire goodness for all?
Yes
Are we to be used and abused
Or are we to stand independently tall?

So confused about where we’re headed.
The turning point is ~ now

Don’t vote slothfully 
Be careful who you choose
Our nation under seige
Our nation so defused
Don’t be led by any news

I don’t know. I’m so torn about you and me.
I don’t want my dark friends to hurt
I want my pale friends to smile
I want to see my multi colored friends laugh

I hate saying, “She’s black.”
I hate saying, “She’s white.”
Both are lies created by the media

The truth is your kind of pink
And I’m somewhere tanned, I guess.

Giving is more glorious
It’s because I love you

And standing up for self is valiant

So what kind of world shall we choose?

Do you love me too? 
I ask because there are enemies.

 

The Highway To Heaven

The Future
I understand parts of astrology
I do not use it to predict futures,
But use it to see energy that influences environments
and the history where we emerged

 

 

Under the sun of Libra, I was born
October the 9th, like J Lennon and K Osborne
Creative energy came our way doggone
But each determined the history we bayed
In the eastern sky Sagittarius
That determines the real me, to others
And my nodes north and south
Determine where I’ve been, and where going
Is this the heavenly highway of stars?
Did God leave a roadmap to follow?
Never giving power to fate
But giving allegiance to that overcome
And follow a system and influence
Of Godly knowledge and intuition
A gift given to investigators
Hunches, mysteries to lead, to follow
And where are we on the cycle?
Have we been and played the game?
Are we destined to fight a war?
Or are we to succumb to peace?
I look at the stars and see a pattern
I look and know there is more knowledge
And men corrupted by Holy Wars
For control of the masses, so absurd
But, under the canopy of the the sky
I feel a magic, can’t be denied
And God led me here, when just nine
And now sixty-three, almost sixty-four
Denied the stars and their leadings
To take on control and legalisms
But have come home where most happy
Finding God under the canopy of Heaven

 

Image may contain: 1 person
 
Somethings need pondering…
 
 
 
Synergy
(Imagine yourself on a swing flowing back and forth)
With each movement back and forth
Energy moves building between swinging depths
Negative / Positive with each passing sway
Creating a force controlling no boundaries
Is she happy? Is she sad?
This determines the lightening bolt rods
She creates energy that creates power
She is the vessel singing glory
And the fairy lights light passes
Tingling bursts of magnetic energy
But the common denominator is this
The mood she has directs the force
And we are witches that make
The forces the energy the occurrence
Anger/madness/loveliness/hate/beauty/fate
We are God’s sons the engineers
Of where the swinging makes flowers
Or where the swinging creates terrors
So make your world beyond belief
Swing as high, your soul takes
But if swinging low, beware mistakes

The-Art-of-Writing-Query-Letters-for-Writers-Chatting-

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The art of writing is in many beautiful forms and colors.

 

The reason that I started this page is for those of us who want to write – write – write. It is also a page for homeschoolers who are teaching their children how to query their own writing . So having said that please bare this in mind. Most query letters are not X-rated (LOL) unless you are querying an agent for erotica or heavy romance. 

So, here is my reason for starting this page. It is to learn through your experiences of writing queries whether they are positive or negative. We learn through our mistakes and I will share my mistakes, as well, as my accomplishments. My first query, I misspelled a  word. I heard from that agent, but I was embarrassed about the misspelled word… Oh, well… She looked beyond  my misspelled word and that is  unusual. 

Below is what I wrote on my wall and why I want to share freely with my writing friends.

I received another response from a query letter that I sent out regarding my latest novel…and that was a nice surprise. 

It is because Author Susan Joyner-Stumpf, RHYTHM AND MUSE ARTIST SPOTLIGHT, https://susanjoynerstumpf.wordpress.com/meet-poet-susan-joyner-stumpf/, and I were thinking about giving tips to writers about writing query letters, and Susan publishes poetry books. 

The query letter is as important as your novel. It sells you and your novel on one (1) typed page and no more lest your letter be thrown out.There is an online class that you can take by webinar that is put on by a literal agent; however, it is costly ~ $700.00 for 5 lessons. I took the first webinar class and it was, for the most part,  a review of the information that I had read and researched prior to the class.

So, if anyone is interested in learning and discussing the “how to,” write one. Then please let me know. I’ve read 3 books and picked many minds about the in and outs of the proper way to write them.

I’ve only sent 5 out to agents but have received 2 responses from the 5 so I must be doing something right. It is customary not to receive any responses for years or for several (like hundreds) of querying.

If you are interested in having an online chat with each other, learning as we go, then let me know…

I’m starting to work FT with 75% traveling, so a set time will be next to impossible except on weekends and evenings, but I’m still interested in learning so that I’m not spinning my wheels like many of you know so well. This is a learning chat. 

 

 

Please visit and join my FB site. Thank you and write – write – write… 

https://www.facebook.com/The-Art-of-Writing-Query-Letters-for-Writers-Chatting-1803609986545421/

 

My intro on my FB page:

You are a writer (I need new glasses… my eyesight wrote water instead of writer and thats why we need each other!).

When you are so compelled to write that the desire is so strong that nothing can stop you. Most writers are not on The New York Times best sellers list. They are your neighbors, your children, and are abundant. It is stated that four out of five people want to write their stories. The competition is huge, but it’s generally friendly and supportive to all writers because we understand the compelling force that drives one to write whether it’s poetry or stories, lyrics to screenplays.

Number two:

First I want to tell you that you Do Not have to buy a book on Literay agents. With a little research by surfing the web, you can find free listings; HOWEVER, (underlined and in BOLD understanding) always verify the agents name and address and what their genre is. 

This is rule number one… The agents will immediately throw your work into file 13 (the trash) if you haven’t cared enough about them to research their genre and something about them. Your editor/agent wants to have a working relationship with you. This is important. Do your research.

Number three:

This is a web site that wants you to pay for his book; however, he is kind enough to post some of the literary agents. It will be up to you to check whether or not the agent is still employed at that literary house and you can do that research by going to the agencies web site and seeing their agents names. That agent will post their specific genre’s. 

http://literaryagencies.com/members/pg/69/

 

Number four: And this is a repeat from above so, here it is again. Feel free to skip number four… 

The reason that I started this page is for those of us who want to write, write, write. It is also a page for homeschoolers who are teaching their children how to query their own writing. So having said that please bare this in mind. Most query letters are not X-rated (LOL) unless you are querying an agent for erotica or heavy romance. 

So, here is my reason for starting this page. It is to learn through your experiences of writing queries whether they are positive or negative. We learn through our mistakes and I will share my mistakes, as well, as my accomplishments. My first query, I misspelled a word. I heard from that agent, but I was embarrassed about the misspelled word… Oh, well… She looked beyond it and that is unusual. 

Below is what I wrote on my wall and why I want to share freely with my writing friends.

I received another response from a query letter that I sent out regarding my latest novel… Author Susan Joyner-Stumpf and I were thinking about giving tips to writers about writing query letters. The query letter is as important as your novel. It sells you and your novel on one (1) typed page and no more lest your letter be thrown out.There is an online class that you can take by webinar that is put on by a literal agent: however, it is costly ~ $700.00 for 5 lessons. So, if anyone is interested in learning and discussing the “how to,” write one. then please let me know. I’ve read 3 books and picked many minds about the in and outs of the proper way to write them. I’ve only sent 5 out to agents but have received 2 responses from the 5 so I must be doing something right. It is customary not to receive any responses for years or for several (like hundreds) of querying. If you are interested in having an online chat with each other, learning as we go, then let me know… I’m starting to work FT with 75% traveling, so a set time will be next to impossible accept on weekends and evenings, but I’m still interested in learning so that I’m not spinning my wheels like many of you know so well.

 

Number five:

I’ve had to correct much of my spelling errors (lol) on my WordPress page and here… My eyesight is horrific but soon will be getting a new eyeglass prescription! Yea! Thats exciting to be able to see and hopefully spell…

 

Number six:

So, this is where I found my 5 literary agents to query. On this website it will show the agents picture, a little bio and what their genre is for accepting query letters. Some of the agents do take poetry; however, Susan and Deborah publish poetry and most of you know both of them. 

Your assignment will be to go through this list and select 5 agents that suits your writing style. Also, please look at the books they’ve published and notice if their publications match you and your style. Keep in mind when you write your query letter you will mention who you think that your writing style matches and why you think so, in one sentence. I underline one sentence because you only have one page to query. Remember anymore pages than one will be more than likely discarded.

Always be polite.

 

 
Welcome message… 7 Insider Secrets to Get a Top Agent, Publisher, and Book Deal (65 minutes) Press the play button below now to listen or click here to download the file (left-click or right-click the link, then select “Save Link As”). Click here to view and/or download a free PDF transcript of this…
LITERARYAGENCIES.COM
 
 
Number seven:
 

When I listened to the free webinar on how to write effective query letters, I was amazed at how many writers never knew about having to query agents. 

So, here are some things to ask yourself and I must admit, I’m still asking myself: What is my book or poetry about? What is the core belief or genre that I’m writing from or what point of view does it arise from? Such as, is it spiritual, is my writing romance, horror, Christian, Islamic, or from what belief was it written? 

These are still hard questions that at times I still ask myself. I must ask people who have read my novel their opinions. Sometimes writers just write and are unaware of the point of perspective their work deflects. 

I wish that I had taken notes about the purpose of the novel or what it was that I was trying to convey to my audience, but hindsight is 20/20…

 

 

Number eight:

One other tidbit from the query webinar (number one ) was this question was raised and was what I had been wondering about. I know many writers ask this same question.

If I self publish, is my writing eliminated automatically from publishing houses?

I think about this often and have been reluctant to self publish. But the first agent that contacted me about my novel was first of all wanting 95% of the royalties for a $20.00 book and 7% of a $14.00 book and 3% of a $7.00 book… YIKES! Thats not worth it to me and by the way she was from a large publishing house so self publishing was more desirable than giving away a novel that I’ve worked on for 6 years. Also, when she found out that I put a copy-write on my book she was then hesitant and reluctant. In fact she said, “Oh, no you don’t have one.” And, I didn’t know what she meant and was stumped by her statement. 

The réponse from the literary agent who gave the webinar was somewhat vague. However, she did say things are changing somewhat. She also added, if your written work has been on FB or has had any internet exposure you as the writer need to be upfront because there are some legal factors that will be involved. 

One factor is who owns the copyright? Major publishing houses want the unblemished copyright and once its published even on FB, it’s published, so be careful. She also added that some publishers will work around this situation, but the major publishers are still skittish and she didn’t state which ones that she was referring to.

 

Number nine:

If anyone has any experience in writing query letters to agents or publishers please feel free to share your insights with us. Pretty-please…

 

Number ten:

So, you have finished your manuscript and it’s been edited a few thousand times, and of course I’m exaggerating, but many eyes (that you trust to tell you honestly) have read it and has helped you to make changes to better your story, punctuation, grammar and spelling, etc, and now you’re ready to find your agent… This is when it’s time to look for the agent. Simon and Schuster will not accept manuscripts directly. You must have an agent, so better get looking. 

Find the agent that fits you and your genre. Query one time to the agents office. If she/he thinks your story is better suited for another agent in that office, then the agent will hand over the manuscript to another agent. Feel proud at this moment because that means the first agent read enough of it, and was thoughtful enough, to put your prize manuscript into the possible right agent…

 

Number eleven:

The role of your editor and they all do different services. Know what they do and will do for you. Important!  Always get a contract. Some editors check grammar and spelling while others help strengthen your story. Ask before you two begin. Know what you want and need. Be clear and specific.

Before your manuscript is ready for submission to an agent, as I stated in the last post, you should have found an editor. Each editor does different things for you and you hire them according to the services they provide. You will give them a word count and it depends on your computer writing system such as IBooksAuthor (which I use on a MAC) or Word. IBooksAuthor on Mac always gives a lesser page count than Word. And, Word will run 200 pages + IBooksAuthor. I don’t know why, but it does and varies hugely, so go by word count. 

I want to talk about my first editor Sara who is an adjunct professor of English at a college in Tennessee. Sara was more of a dramaturg and took my novel (2013) from 125 pages to over 500. Her role was awesome as she picked my mind to tell her more about the story. She asked for more description and I found that after I finished with her services, that was written in a contract for one year. In that year ‘s time, she read the whole novel three times and made suggestions and returned the book to me. Then I corrected and wrote more about her questions or suggestions. Then she read and suggested more, and then again, I corrected, then she did a finale edit and the year was finished. We talked on the phone during that year very few times as her time was limited since she was a professor and I had strict times to call her, if I needed to ask a question and that was always after her church times on Sunday afternoons. Sara was extremely organized and professional. 

Everyone needs an editor initially like Sara and I can’t thank her enough for bringing the story to life. I was not telling the story any longer, but the story told it’s own story. When she finished with the three edits, she said, “This book is far from being finished. You will need more and more eyes on it. It’s not publishable, yet.” 

I knew she was telling me the honest truth. So then, my daughter read it and made her suggestion and was more of a grammar, spelling and punctuation editor. I also read it ~ again (for about the 10th time). 

I have read my novel at least 25 to 30 times at this point and I know the story fairly well. You see, stories tell their story and the author is like a channeler. We listen and write, we listen and write and the story might not ever end until it ends itself. The author is a vessel or a medium for sensing a story that wants to be told. The author simply listens and writes. Stories often don’t recognize time such as present tenses or past tenses and the story gets conbolulated in chaos and the editor helps the writer sort out the chaos and mess that earthly time demands of writers through the use of proper grammar and editors sort the mess out by asking questions that are often confusing. The writer must summon the characters in the story to ask what time was that when that happen> How old were you? What year was that? Who was present? Etc, you get the point? 

So, then I had and still have two more editors. Each editor does something different. 

The costs vary and I went to a NY editor once and he read the first chapter. He praised my work (so far) however to finish the editing would be ~ $5,000.00 and people, from a NYC editor, thats cheap. They run up into the $20,000.00+ range. 

Where to find editors? Ask around. Check your local colleges English department and ask if there is an English major who might be interested in editing your manuscript. They charge by word and it’s usually around $0.29 (cents/word). My manuscript has roughly 149,000 words x 29 cents = (I rounded my word count to 150,000 words to include citations and wrap ups) $4,300.00 … and the cost is WAY OVER MY BUDGET! Forty-three hundred dollars! So, I keep searching…But this is the average cost. So the NYC editor is reasonable compared to the next college professor that I selected. 

Bottom line, editing isn’t cheap. 

By the way in case you’re wondering, editors use editors…. 🙂

 
 
 
 
Number twelve:

 

So ~ Now, that you understand that editing services are costly, and you also understand that editors use editors, and that editing is a MUST, and you’ve completed the editing cycle then you are ready for an agent. Your search for the right agent begins. 

Remember: Find the literary agent that fits you genre. Do your homework. Search the web on Google ‘Images’ for the way to set up your query letter. See link for an example. You can also find templates on WORD, or IBooksAuthor and use them. 

Just google query letter images and it will give you many pictures of the right and wrong way that you should set up your query letter. 

Try this picture that I captured and notice that its one page only..

http://awesomescreenshot.com/0366500ged

 
IMAGES.GOOGLE.COM
 
 
 
 Number thirteen:
 
Earlier, I explained that I have queried 5 literary agents and of the 5, I’ve received 2 responses that were positive. Keep in mind a literary agent can receive 1,000 queries per day. They usually contact the author within 3 months, if they like what you’ve written. However, (usually) you will not receive any confirmation since they get 1,000/day.
 
Here’s what you will need to have written and edited before you contact the agent. They are all different and ask for different things for submission and they will tell you on their website.
 
I always submit by online services. By mail is totally different than on line guidelines. Be sure to read, read, read their submission rules. Again, all are very different.
 
Normally have ready:
#1 Your query letter.
#2 A short bio. (one page)
#3 A synopsis of story (a couple of pages) READ THEIR GUIDELINES FOR SUBMISSION!
#4 Be prepared to send them at least 3 chapters.
 
They may ask for the entire manuscript, but so far, the agents that I have queried have asked for chapters 1, 2, and 3. One asked for the entire manuscript. Or have asked for the first 50 pages.
 
Each are different and please follow their guidelines. The agents say, if you don’t follow their guidelines then your manuscript will be trashed and don’t query until 6 months later or whenever they say to re-submit.
 
They are sticklers for doing things the right way so be prepared.
ALL ARE DIFFERENT, so read their guidelines. 
Number fourteen:
Hypothetically, if I was a literary agent receiving 1,000 queries per day and the first thing I read is my name misspelled or the wrong genre, then that query would be discarded. (sad face ~ all that work only to be thrown n file 13).
However, If I receive a 1,000 queries per day and I’ve read that my name was correct and the genre is right then I might begin to read the writers opening or hook.
 
The opening has a hook in it that grabs the agent more than the other 999 queries she/he received on Monday morning or on any other day where she has another 1000 queries on my desk. The agent has received 5,000 per week and the writers query must be better than all the queries she has read for over a period of time (maybe even a year or so. They don’t publish all writers, even if, they get past the excellent query letter the writer composed.)
 
The Hook: The reason she/he is absolutely compelled to keep reading the writers submission query. Let’s say she/he got through the entire query letter. She/he is okay with what was read and maybe the writer made her/he laugh or the writer connected with the agent because the writer did their homework and found a matching characteristic or a similarity between the agent and the writer.
 
On the agents bio she/he may have their blog where the query writer can visit and read and find that binding commonality that causes the agent to want to continue reading the writers bio, synopsis and the agent might request more chapters… But, be real, don’t just create a commonality. Phoniness will eventually shine through and is deceitful. Have integrity while finding your reasons for querying this agent. 
 
If I was the literary agent then the query letter might refer to the fact that I love animals and so do they, or the writer may have visited my WordPress blog and found a poem that I wrote that made them feel or connect to me because ~ And here is where the writer of the query uses one or two sentences to state that connection. Example: “I loved your poem called ‘Going Home.’ I related to returning home like The Parodical Son.” Don’t elaborate too much as you have one page to query.
 
Do you see and read and understand what I’m writing about? You must find (do your research) that common core that will create a lasting working kindred relationship (that your agent wants) for the length of your writing career.

Happy writing and I hope I’ve helped you, as much as, I have helped myself by organizing and by understanding the art of writing query letters. The very best to all writers. 

 

Manifesting, Supernatural Warfare

 

 

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Year 2012 in Spring I took this picture from my iPhone. The image was found accidentally as I was photographing our bonfire

 

Manifesting, Supernatural Warfare the Elements of, and things to remember when you battle.

 

There are 4 things that imperative for doing spiritual warfare and they are:

One: Keep your eyes set on your purposes. In other words see your desired end result in your mind, heart and creative imagination. Do not waver, even if you become afraid. God expects us to be afraid as this is human. Fear s not a sin in itself, but it is a learning tool used to prepare you to stand before your enemy/crisis. We all have fears though some humans are more anxious and fearful than others and though’s people are “seers.” They see things before it happens. Are they always right? No, but they are sensitive to the outer vibrational forces that might be threatening the surroundings or environment. Their mission is to put their seeing and sensitivity in check so they can achieve the mission.

 

Two: Believe beyond a shadow or doubt. They can not be swayed against their foresight. Without belief “It is impossible to please God.” What ever your dream, vision, desire, heart’s desire one must believe. “You have not because you ask not.” You must ask and believe with a plan otherwise chaos will manifest. Have a plan or course set before God.

 

Three: Before you begin, pray your prayers of protection over you. This should be number one, but you must have a plan before you begin. Pray over your plans and the initiation of the plans. Always be on high alert. Use love and peace that increases the vibration quantum force of your speaking forth of your plan. Anger and fear are strong but you will create better success using love and peace even in front of your enemies. However, there is a time to yell and scream. It’s not a total rule out. 

 

Four: Know that you have weapons given to you by God and they are not carnal. These gifts can pull down mighty strongholds. You must believe (number two) and you must know and understand that you are worthy of these gifts. God gave them to you. There are no men “worthy,” don’t you know this? Now, you must believe he gave you the power to become The Sons of God. USE THE GIFT! It’s yours. God said so. 

 

Make it so captains!

Have a splendid day soldiers of the supernatural!

 

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In The name of my Lord Yeshua here are reminders he’s taught me.

Decisions

 

 

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Standing quietly still trying to discern which way to go
The red clay road travelled was meandered with assurance
But now ~ so it seems ~ the future felt terribly vague
You see ~ the path changed because of life and death
All alone she stood on the portage trail pondering
Was she a ghost having trekked this journey before?
Or who was she in this existence called a woman’s life
There were so many questions before she set foot
However the fog rolls in behind the place of odyssey
And a decision must be made on the quest for identity

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Poetry ~ About Choices, and Cancer

 

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Equine maiden

Passing through the woods in early fall

Barefooted on equine while holding lantern

Looking for owl that was lost

Calling, echoing her voice she summoned

The fowl who warns of mishaps, before

 

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My mother, Babe,  1925-2011 Survived cancer twice. Beat it 22 years past the textbook prognosis

 

Cancer Awareness

Hands perched set ready to play

The storms brew darkness its overhead

Bolts of lights flashed roaring thunder

She quietly waited anticipating the time

The maestro had not raised arms

The timing fell on absolute terms

A war of might and wills

The energy to live or surrender

The eagle soared sending her hope

lights pushed through darkness forebodings

Calmly she entered the battle field

Knowing winning is always assured

Earthly or Heavenly choices be won

The Earthly winnings her families prayers

And heaven’s gates the entrance home

The melody she plays is her song

Baroque or Brahms or Souza or Messiah

She smiles as she leaves the gates of hell

 

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Cancer Awareness

The diary she keeps is important

Someone will read and cry one day

What she writes will touch her mother

Perhaps it will reach her brother

Keeping thoughts happy and positive

Yet she wants to cry and wilt

What she writes effects many others

But, she wants to write her fears and tears

She is frightened of what maybe

Beyond this place this seat of serenity

Legs crossed, reading for help, hoping~

Perhaps a Bible quote to get her past

The hellish droughts of loneliness and heart

Who is brave for such a young warrior

Who will smile for her this day?

The nurse, the doctor, the chaplain or priest

But what about her she’ll leave

What about the plans she made

What about this life we live

what about our desires and dreams

What about daddy and Uncle Ben

And will I see them again?

I know The Bible promises

But really, what if, what if, what if?

Really? What if this is all a dream?

 

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The Labyrinth

Dark is the night and the walls tall

shadows cast here and here

The air is still yet chilly cold

The man with the flashlight must go

The path is uncertain

The entrance is dark

So many ways and which is best?

Ancient it seems, perhaps ghosts

The gray of the walls, sinister, no doubt’

Quiet, no sounds echoing

Sounds of nothingness all around

The man and a flashlight, but for what reason?

Turn around man, have you lost your noggin?

This is no place to be alone walking

Who are you tricking the maze of misfortunes

Go back before it’s too late

 

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Our Walls

The silences deadly and no one in sight

Just a bare path the forge by yourself

Walls of concrete; walls of steel

Walls surrounding me wherever I stood

Looking up the walls beyond my sight

Surrounded by concrete hammering in

And nowhere to turn accepting the walls

What was i to do but look and stare

No strength to forge the slippery sides

No where to punch a hole in its side

And here I was not being free

The encasement surrounded my fears with me

Sitting there collapsing in hopelessness

The walls so large only Goliath could pierce

So there I stayed days on end

Growing hungry for food and water

I wanted more, and not these walls

Contemplating and asking how to get out

Meditated for days on end

Weary and famished my heart almost failed

Then one day a bird sang above

Blue feathers, The Bluebird of happiness came

He stayed there singing for such a time

Speaking bird talk that seems to rhyme

And the little critter sang hope to me

And in its song I started to see

I put the walls around myself

Doing the things I’d not cared about

Trapped by so many things of life

Made drastic decisions to free myself

And now when I see men encased

I sing like the bluebird and wait till their able

To hear a tune that sets them free

breaking the cement prisons that be

Singing a lesson for captives that wilt

Break the walls of slavery and get out!

Do what you want without the chains

Sing like a Lark free as the bird

The walls are always there my friend

It’s up to you to bring them down

The battle rests in your mind

Taking action to change the heavy pains

And free yourself from incarceration

By doing everything with appreciation

And dance under a full moon

Sing an aria out of tune

Make a fool of yourself sometimes

Because laughing tears ~ the walls crumble down

 

 

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The Gold Door

Strutting slowly she moves with grace

Into gold hues of Autumns embrace

Prepared for the door of illumination

Destined she knows something with anticipation

With each step brown leaves fall

Her gown’s train decorated with acorns

The summer vestments she shed yore

Into the light! The slumber calls

And she will rest with winter

Until Spring awakens the sleeping beauty

 

 

 

Unknown

Story Book Houses

The house on the corner resembles a church

The family died leaving their monument

We wondered if it was filled with ghosts

I loved that old manor when I was a kid

Stopping friends from throwing stones

Imaginations of a parallel world inside

And I a writer, that abbey beckoned me

So there in the gardens I sat feeling it

The voices from within started chatting

Listening to their woes and joys, I wrote

 

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Decisions

Standing quietly still trying to discern which way to go
The red clay road travelled was meandered with assurance
But now ~ so it seems ~ the future felt terribly vague
You see ~ the path changed because of life and death
All alone she stood on the portage trail pondering
Was she a ghost having trekked this journey before?
Or who was she in this existence called a woman’s life
There were so many questions before she set foot
However the fog rolls in behind the place of odyssey
And a decision must be made on the quest for identity

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

*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 or Bonnie Jennings with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

End of Summer 2016 Poetry

The majority of poems posted on this post are from a poetry site on FB called ‘A Poet’s Haven’ hosted by Alan Boyles. 

I hope you will enjoy!

 

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Remembering Wales

The aromas of luxurious greens adorned the ruin

And wandering up the stairs had intense feelings

Chills and goosebumps and Erector Pelli presented

The closer the emerging, the more intuition feelings

Here I’d been, in this place along ~ long time ago

The whispers of distant voices and conversations

Remembered laughter and thought of the dancing

Beer, wine and silver goblets, and sheer elegance

Gentleman in kilts, and fair maids with bosoms

Cajoling till dawn, Oh, the legends ~ long gone

And now Butter Cups adorn the stairs leading up

To a place once reserved for men of Highlanders

And, The charitable Sisters of Dawn, tended by day

Oh, but that was ancient centuries now long forsaken

Here I walk, three hundred years past such history

Visiting ghosts, and wondering could we have passed

Each other again, some later time and place, so aghast

Venturing another lifetime, could they’ve too ~

Will we meet again, at this ruin on a hill?

 

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A Moment

Momentarily, de jevu flashed as erroneously remembered

This castle amongst foliage and humongous lizards

Oddly familiar, the senses anticipate relevance

To a time untamed, yet wildly passionate

Where fair maidens surrendered to kings impassioned

And the jungle seems unexciting after all the eras

And lost was the drunken music, beer, and enibriation

No decadent laughter heard, no reveling “bottoms up!”

Just me standing reverently, at the nevergreen years

Ghosts that linger, and faint voices past

And prayerfully, I turned around in my tracks


 

 

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In 1745, the apothecary

Time stands still, peering at the past

The chemists lived making potions

Between dust and rats

Gadgets like compasses hung

Amidst glass vials and bronze knobs

Keys to hidden compartments

Silver ladles and candelabras

Joseph Black isolates CO2

An odd phenomena of “fixed air.”

The healers of the early ages

The fearful labelled witches

And, often then burned

 


 

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The Bird

Perching on a window seal

With quell and paper imaging

Distracted by a thought

Exploring the unique meanderings

Of an early morning creation

Just sitting at the window

A bird catches my sight

Staring the feathered sparrow

Seems to ask a crumb, I eat

And my writing takes another path

Because a little bird entered my thoughts

The story then changes

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 

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History

Ions pass and people die

But books left behind time and death

The future remembers our ghost that linger

Some will cry reading the pasts recorded

In romance, in texts, in diaries and Bibles

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 


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Each life, a story within a story.

A book with moving pictures

A book who’s ending, we write

Lavender and blue berries in a wooden bowl

Chocolate and cinnamon and aromas galore

Visual images, aromatic delusions, a memory

Perhaps scenery, placed within our energy

Recording the goodness of bounties

Mixed with human kindness

A life desired so simple

So fragrant

synergies

 

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A word arises, “do!”

Sending norepinephrine whirling

Straightway to be

In utter confabulations

A mind unrestful

Held captive by demonic suggestions

 


 

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A mountain stands, so climb

Exhilaration, reaching the summit

Peace, before the descent

Pray, few rocks and cliffs present

The valley has green fresh grass

A lean stream of faith abounds

And God lets an eagle soar

But, the eagle will too, rest in the valley

 


 

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The Woman

 

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Gracefully twirling and juggling umbrellas

Black gown adorning in the street

Entertaining those watching and for show

But mostly throwing because she wanted

 


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Greys

The tall Grey state watching for the right time

Were they asleep and how about the dog

Kneeling and waiting the alien found the time

To snatch the abductee causing all to be blind

 


 

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The Lyricists 

Instead of talking she sang songs

She spoke in riddles and rhymes

A lyricist in the making, she crested

Tunes and rhymes, simply making music

 


 

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Thank you? Hah …

I’m finished, done the game is over

Go home, go away, the dramas a bother

I played for the fun, but instead it staled

Find another player, I quit, I failed.

Now, go away.

 


 

Drowning message

One last quest before she drowns

To tell the truth by sending hounds

Written on waves for one to find

Her mysteries of dying at his hands

 


 

Oops !

I slipped on a banana peal

And landed on my fricking noggin

Then off I sailed to wonder-place

Visiting dead friends and shaking skeletons

And, that banana peal was

My departures from my past life

Into the present state of sunder

It’s Heaven

 


 

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Rem sleep, illusive and vivid, the clouds

Walking on no tightrope but on parasols

And underneath the rain fell, someones tears

But, I was on top of the world, skipping along

Closer to the ground there’s an emotional song

Sung of heartbreaks and loves lost from there

But we who walk on parasols do solemnly agree

There are no fears, no tears, no reasons to cry

So mama, know, I’m skipping on rainbows in the sky

 


 

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Life Force

I meant to have the purest spirit

As to look angelic, and holy

Thus in my life, affording this

And death be eluded by this raven

This raven stands collecting my life

It’s ears hear not my prayers

But that fowl governs life or death

Then, grace may it be aware

Humbly petitioning noble men

Mantaloo, I seek with supplications

Request that this bird flee

Graciously give me rest, I seek

That a Raven refutes Elohim’s designs

On this shall I trust my existence

Sucking the elements of force home

In turn, the Raven, will take flight

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 


 

Excessive People

A runaway wild stallion’s reins, tis difficult steering

But, a person living with excessive runaway behaviors

Far more dangerous than a rebellion

 


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About Being a  “………?”

Why can’t we understand our presents are different?

My box is not like yours

And yours is foreign to me


 

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The Shaman and The Bird

From Quito they both grew

From nature, from legends

God who heals, man and bird

 


 

Confessions

She sat under a tree of prayers and confessions

Pondering “her sins,” and nothing to calm her

Left alone, a long white gown, sits under a tree

She could have, should have, and if she’d known

A pleasant path filled only with passion and songs

But, instead, she confesses the plight of her love

Because she dreams of another, that can’t be had

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©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 


 

Freedom

Old iron steel locks rusted an corroded

imprisoned a soul, once long ago

But, in the cell of the lost and lonely

A green shrub of freedom from slavery

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 


 

Garden Centaurs

Monuments carved along a gardens paths

inshrined Neptune and Posiedons headstones

No longer over seas they rule, but in Earthly walls

To subdue their fury forevermore. and ravages

Facing each other for eternal battles

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 


 

“Hi, I’ve been waiting. You’re here.”

She stands at the French Door

He hesitates, but he eventually enters

He is quite. Eyes catch eyes

He has something secretive to say

She is nervous. She knows something

He must speak, he loves her

But ~ their future is not assured

He must tell her. He will.

 


 

Finished

“You’re just another story. It’s over.”

He says, “Please. Listen. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, I won’t play anymore.

The story’s over. Today is done.

And, tomorrow a new fresh day,”

She pushes him out the door.

“C-ya. Never come back, no more.”

 


 

The Circle of Life

In the vacuum of her femininity

From her vestibule induces pheromone ambushes

There lost in a sea of love and need

The swallowed stamen waves a flag

As the stigma grows, from the tree

Of life

 


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Norepinephrine

That flashlight stays on ninety-nine percent of the time

Norepinephrine makes the mind wild to take flight

However, entering dark places, needs light for sure

The enemy is best caught when unseen and obscure

Quieting the mind, using silent breathes to watch

Hiding, lurking somewhere standing in the dark

 


 

The Door

Doors baring, but without certainty nor warning

Perhaps a dismal picture or maybe a red thrown

Where two distracted by any since of remorse

Two who lane in a castle once, there’s an exit door

A lodging whence knights dined and maid’s bare

Breasts under corsets, bulging adipose this away

Bellowing beer breath and banter on testosterone

Sweating, sweltering nights, away from home

Once was a door, no guilt nor shame

 


 

Vagueness

Summer played out but there was no heat

Delighted, we were, of the blessed relief

Payed not attention to the news

Drinking lemonade midday at noon

No sweltering, no complaining. Music

Only blissful elegant romantic swoons

And the TV news played on bemoaned

The trumpet called, some heads buried

Preoccupied with love, lust and fretful worry

Yet ashes are knee deep, and smoke lingers

Vultures circle as men tarry, and Fall arrives

Men wonder aimlessly, missing a brother

Prepare for Winter, Spring is a long way

On deaf ears, the harbingers speak of dismay

 


 

The Ballerina

Thinking deeply, traveling somewhere else

The ballerina sat meditating on steps and bows

Portraying a swan, or perhaps Cinderella

An elegant young woman, as fair as a dove

Just simply envisioning the nights performance

Seeing the ballet, creating an enormous

Love for music and delights of poetic dance


 

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The Witching Tree

We came upon a witching tree

Passing through the earie woods

Where it’s said, “You’ll not return.”

Advised, not go there, “Just know better!”

We had to enter anyway, just because

Upon the witching tree stood we, two

Hackling banters like crows, she was

Shivering we paralyzed, like daddy said

Then Brown Nellie our old cow came

And ate the hay from the witches head

And all that was left from Nellies treat

A stump of rotten wood, a fall leaves that shed

 


 

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Imaging Life on a Rocking Horse

She rode Little Red, taming a mustang

Women and horses have a fling

It starts young the knowing ahead

Toddler girls must tame Big Red

 


 

I prepared a table for you

Even in the presence of your enemy

Perhaps the bread and the wine will

Grow our friendship once again

And we can begin again?

 


 

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The Red Laced Dress

She wore a red laced dress

Cherry Red, to be for certain

And seen running through the streets

Barefoot, white, fair and so afraid

Her face bore terror and escape

From who she was running, dunno.

Perhaps a rapist, perhaps The Count

Perhaps she was running from herself


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Welcome to my home so quaint

In the forest of animal saints

Sweeping up my dirt floor

Tidying up for the inviting door

But, please come in and sit awhile

I’ll put the kettle, oh just move that pile

Lets talk of rhymes and poetry of old

We’ll talk of pirates and men who hold

The most pleasant dreams in our lives

And we shall smile into the night

 


 

The Portrait

The portrait girl came alive

The museum relics under manifolds

He painted her wrong, she’s distrurbed

He captured the dark side

And for this she is pissed

She must change things

Especially her image

 


 

God Sees

Twas such a pitiful sad expression

On the fair maiden in question

Her beauty stretched beyond most

But how she saw herself, jost  (to jost, hide behind)

Did not see her beauty but

Saw a clown who wore frowns

Tears fell upon her dainty cheeks

If only she could see what God sees


 

Self Love

 

Poetry, she is a poetic masterpiece

A beauty with talent, she is, as the men say,

“Divine.”

And, she knows this about herself, as you see

Selfies and self portraits are commonly place

She captures her loveliness,

And she’s sure of that

 


 

I am not your property

And you aren’t mine

You are yourself

And I am me

Together in life

We allow each to be free

I am not your possession

And you are not mine

You are God’s

And that is all

We are gifts

We do not rule

We do not have our way

We share even at the end of a day


 

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The Day My Mother Died

Felling disjointed and disassociated 

Trying to put my pieces together

Let’s see, this one goes here

And that one there

Oh, my

Such hard work getting pieces to fit

Ever days a battle of my wits

Sometimes I want to give in

The pieces of my puzzle

Will the last piece end?

My life


 

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Good Night Poetry to Jacob

Standing on a platform

Somewhere between awake and sleep

Jacob spreads his arms, as if, to leap

Taking the plunge to somewhere else

Refreshing the body, refueling self

And over the treetops Jacob flies

The air so pleasant as he passes by

And up and away to The Milky Way

Zooming pass stars into outer space

The boy can fly using utter grace

And you can too, if you spread your wings

Onto that platform, ready? One two three

And off you go to where your dreams go

Up over Mars and flitting ti and fro

And soon, it’s time to come back home

Carefully landing and your travels unknown

Now your reading for living the human way

And when night time comes

Say goodbye to day

And lift your wings

Taking you to play

Where you yearn and often pray

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

 


 

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Lord Earl Grey

‘Twnings, Earl Grey’  is such the man

Sipping tea on Sunday afternoons with him

He’s dressed in Twill and wearing a red riding coat

He takes time for a scone and an elegant English chat

While taking off his houndstooth cap, he sits primly

Across from where she sat demurely

“What are you reading, this rainy day?” He asks

She answers, “Oh, Emily Bronte, a little play. Just that.”

“Well, carry on… I’ll bid you goodbye.” He nods

“Oh, please come again, tomorrows alright.”

She sips the single drop left in her cup

And closes the pages slowly non-abrupt

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 


 

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Creeping Door

That heavy wooden door opened itself!

A light shown on the stone stepping path

It seemed harmless, but really don’t know

Should I enter, or should I say ‘no.”

There are friendly patterns in the stones

The steps are free from cobwebs and bones

So, maybe I’ll enter as it seems friendly enough

And stepping passed the threshold the door slammed shut

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 


Ya’ll

Y is for you, you, you and you

A is for you, you, you and you

L is for listen up hear

L is for the LOUDER I’ll speak Ya’ll

So get ready should you escape from me

 

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Confusion

A single red rose left for a thoughtful reason

Interpreting the message, so uncertain

Red is for love, should she read it this way?

But, one single rose left where he played

Furthermore, he didn’t say goodbye

He slipped out the door,

When she turned her back

What does this mean?

Clearly confused

He said he was divorced

Perhaps he’s lying and the rose, his remorse

 


 

LOVE

L is for my love for thee

O is for the only baby I see

V is for the voracity of love to give

E is for my extraordinary evidence you live

Thank you, God

 


 

Yes!  No  😦

Could he be writing about me?

He said something I say, could he be?

Yes, surely, it’s all about me!

But, reading her poem and then I clearly see

Perhaps it isn’t that he’s writing about ms…


 

The Calico Cat

Standing was an old apartment building

The concrete and slab simply dilapidated

Old exposed rods, rusted and bent

The coat of old paint tarnished and damp

The wooden shudders sat crooked in the sill

But one happy site seen as the wind blew

Salmon Lace fell so dainty and gently pure

Ant The Calico Kitty sat adorning the room

 


 

 

Ghostly Giants

He was sleeping soundly

When awakened by an index finger that said, “come this way.”

Immediately transported, to a dusty rathe somewhere back in time

Being left alone, the guide left him standing on this path

When the Earth shook and started trembling while dust blew in his eyes

And he, remembering this place, twas a hunting place years before noon

And he shot and killed more than once an elephants families father

And from the dark distance he heard the thuds, the thundering of giant hooves

And then realizing his fate, because karma a bitch, have humbly said prayers

The kluging donging humongous thuds were on top of him

When suddenly he was screaming in fear and knew what the elephant feared

He prayed for mercy, and asked for forgiveness and bitterly wept that night

And when he opened his eyes and heart, he found himself inside his bed

 


 

Choices

Earth. The lights on the horizon where The Sun arises

But, there she flitted in waters and sky with many surprises

It was a delightful place, and she wanted only to stay

But, the call of The Sun and the warmth, she desired to stray

Back home, where her family lives, back home where troubles be

But then again, to venture there, would cost freedom, this she could see

Thus a question stood before her, and she yearned, for two places

Between The Sun and The Moon.

 


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Seashore Home

Fresh salty air at the seashore

A cottage on the beach quaintly

Invited passerby’s and welcomed visitors

How fragrant The Hibiscus and Jasmine

Adorning the homey entrance where the

Butterflies flitted everyday just passed noon

 


 

Piano Banging

There she sat because she must

Taking piano lessons is hard work

And daddy and mommy insist she play

So banging on the keys is

Therapeutic and releases the having to’s…



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The Capsizing in The Squall

Capsizing, the vessel and cargo mostly lost at sea

Still flying an American flag could still be seen

The storm was not perfect by any means

Men fell overboard and were lost, you see.

A merchant vessel of Marines, their things

Later washed to shore with no human beings

A sad day for any Love of God, bare witness

Contemplating the bravery these men had

Yesterday, so perfect, the day of the storm

By afternoon, men met its raging fury

And all thats left, after the waves

A vessel capsized to shore

Laying sideways

In small waves

No men

Found

But

A

Flag



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The Stones

From over the stones shining golden rays from the East

The Sun peeped through the ancient monuments

A sacred place where some gathered to worship gods

T’was long ago, the times of Druids and kings

The Solstice would come marking the seasons

The public knew by the shadows like on curtains

And when the time of summer or early fall began

The shadows laid prints on stones measuring them

Festivals celebrating Earthen bounties and treasures

A time of magic and a time they wondered

A time of beauty beyond cathedral windows

Not made by hands of men but by those of God

 

©2016 BonnieJennings.All Rights Reserved


 

Little Witch

Enchanting young author who told bewitching tales

Sat crossed legged in front of her book of spells

Carefully sprinkling fairy dust, between covers

As each page turned she so delicately

Put the magic on all who read

The cats come alive

The toad croaks

Magically

as she

spoke

 


 

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The Magic Tunnel

In the togths of the Grenberby

Hidden from sights of the ogmims

A land of wonder, minuscule pleasures

Lives the Loras and the bimblebergs

Green moss gangles from Birth Barsh

And the twithers feed off the valgus

Tis a plattif of seraphs and bees

In the togths of Grenberby

 

©2016 BJ All Rights Reserved



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The Sprites

Royal blue, turquoise, yellow and brown

Pink florals, green ivy, and Dandelions

Pages with cursive filled with swiggly-swags

Sheer magic, delightful wonder, and words

Butterflies, crickets, shells, clouds and sky

And poetry inscribed charmingly so glace’

Keep The Sprites forevermore, never dies

Within the pages kept by butterflies

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 


 

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Climbing The Mountain

While climbing the mountain, I met

An angel who seemed a ghost

Surprised my beliefs and  my assumptions

Of angels, ghosts, and supernatural phenomena

And I was climbing the lofty mountain

The air was clean and fresh

The lights were bright and promising

After leaving The Valley of Distress

Asking myself, pondering query’s, questioned, “Now?”

Because ~ there while in the valley

Couldn’t you have taken my soul?

Because climbing the mountain is pleasant

Away from the Valley of Despair

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved



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Lost

She is Autumn’s child who’s lost in Winter

The path she arrived is covered in snow

Her red brilliant hair alerts the Cardinals

Who tells the owls who will get her home

They know the brush and undercover

The thickets, the strath, bent brush and

Fall. And ~

Traveling with the fowl

She won’t be alone.

 
 

 


 

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Utterly Wicked Clowns

Your eyes seem to twinkle

You smile big and large

Why do you hide behind a face

That scary and hard? What is

Your pleasure, do you find fun

scaring the hell out of children

Or are you just simply on the run?

I mean, what’s your game?

I see it in your eyes. You’re

Sinister yet seem to say hello.

You play two games, and one

iIn’t amusing, and really telling

You truthfully, neither is the other.

Please go away, why not try

To make them laugh

Now go away

Before I hit you with this bat!



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The Scapegoat

She waits, she is the victim

This is her job ~ so she sits

The tides come and go

The sun rises and sets

She has her role

The abuser hates her

But he has his job to do, as well

They play their parts

Surely as The full Moon arrives

The games will start

 

 


 

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Remembering Childhood

Visioning on the ledge overlooking Wonderland

Her imaginations, unplanned arose in dreamland

A sky so blue sailed, as if, on The Mediterranean

She could almost be Wendy soaring freehand

With Peter’s voice once again back in Neverland

And those were the days remembering childhood

 


 

****More than 400 women disguised themselves as men and fought in the Union and Confederate armies during the Civil War.

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Rebel was her name in 1843

Long dark hair she wore braided in a bun

She roamed graveyards looking for her gun

She died on the battlefield, they thought she was a man

She fought for The South, her home, their lives

She fought not understanding why. The future

Was to set men free, but it was about money!

For God sake, carpetbaggers just stealing thieves!

They took, they stole, destroyed the way of life

And Rebel was getting even with that Union tribe

She never rested, after dying, as she tromped their graves.

It was about glory, about justice on The Southerners side.


 

 

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The Fair

Parasols and pinwheels of colorful rings

Walking the main street at a county fair

The lights bright with reds, whites and blues

The ferris wheel in other brilliant colorful hues

The smell of popcorn and corndogs permeate

They heighten the senses with the colorful hype

My heart beats fast when I hear people scream

In sheer delight, their fright gives me such a thrill

On the boardwalk, at midnight on Montego Bay

 


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To Be

Transformation, shape-shifting, becoming an owl

She had advanced DNA for making a change

Eyes and mind come together to make image

Belief that she can creates the pattern

And simple will lifts her into flight

She can shape-shift

She is an owl in disguise

 

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Man being God

Created beautiful; however, she is a machine

Made at nineteen within green collagen amines
Born caesarean within fluid of compound proteins
Merging quickly from the shell of a Pinto Bean hull
Though she acted like a Mexican Jumping Bean birthing
Grey plastic skin and human breath convened in her
Dawning a skirt of crinoline looking as a closet queen
Her weaponry: Nicotine, thiamine, and mescaline
Like a spider she spins a labyrinth of fibrous webs
Her energy is alluring like that of Mary Magdalene
She uses the active matrix screen to capture any prey
There is nothing about her that is serene, just spot keen
She is man’s invention ~ playing God ~ how unforeseen
She is obscene, a beautiful tartarine, smoke screen
And lastly ~ she is impossible to destroy.

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved


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She is a spy

Wearing pearls that speak of innocence

And extremely educated diligent citizen

Wearing cocktail black and a hat to hide

A face diversified, she’s been worldwide

Her eyes that watch and see, matched with

Her keen sense of intuitive deductions and myths

How polished and demure she appears

A graduate of the finest finishing school of cavaliers

And she sips like a lady from the china tea cup

However, underneath is a stealth spy dressed up

To play he game of cat and mouse and await

The counter spy who articulates secrets of misappropriate

Coming from her home ~ The Department of State

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved


 

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The Path

Whistling with the birds at sunrise

Walking a wooden path on a hillside

The rays of sunlight came to greet me

And the birds twitted amongst the trees

The squirrels frolicked across the planks

And I meandered the painting of God’s picture

Expecting only brilliance at the end

A country fairground in the meadow

A carousel of horses going round

And pink cotton-candy to eat

And music from a pipe organ

Skaters dancing to the beat

And then I return at evening

The sun reflects similarly

And I follow the path homeward

And thank God for the diversity

Of imagination

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved


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Little Sleuth

Something was going on up on the hill in the fog

T’was late in the country on a cool fall Friday night

From a damp cold ditch, there watching ~ those men

Knew there was something going on up that hill

They shuffled around ~ sort of aimlessly

Taking hats off and putting them on ~ crazily

Meandering, scratching heads, not talking, you see

Somethings going on up that hill ~ this I believe

Ole’ Norman looks like he’s praying by himself

Claude looks like a detective taking measurements

Calvin whispers to John and Don, somethings odd, to me

Then before daylight, they wander off in other directions to see

And, I hear my mother call from a distance and I must go

But, I’ll be back, later today to find some answers, I hope

What went on ~ on the hill ~ On a cool fall Friday night ~

In the dark ~  hiding in the fog

Thank you Free images at Pixabay

©2016 All Rights Reserved @Bonnie Jennings


 

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Call it forth and believe that it will

Make a stance and hold there until

Now call it forth, speaking as such

Pathiel angel my will will touch

The atom of existence, direct me

Trust I hold to the highest degree

There’s nothing new under the sun

Believe that it will, give full attention

Light your candles, light your soul

Use all might to succeed your goal

Now manifest just as my vision

Now thank God, who gave you ~

The provision.

***Pathiel, angel of manifestation. 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

 


 

My Daddy’s Arms

How secure the baby feels being coddled in his daddy’s arms

When he cuddles as a ball, he feels no harm at all

And when he hears father’s heart beat, only goodness exists

And in his body is strength as he protects with his wrists

It is goodness to enter the world, being protected by the daddy world.

 


 

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Cancer

Blonde long hair deliberately covered her face

The reasons she hides her face will surprise you

And behind a tree she hides her thin frail body

Shamefulness and mortal fears she hides again

Hiding hiding she hides from you, because of cancer

 


 

Kitty 

The clear glass protects the bird

The bird has no fear, but should

The cat knows, temporarily it waits

Oh little bird, fly far away

Teasing the cat, you are bate

Adrenaline will get you, little bird

Fly away while you can bird

There is no timing the cat


 

 

The Crosses (Not 6)

Engraved, found on the barrel t’was a brass cross

A brass cross on a stake bare the emblem of Christ

Garlic in two vials, Holy Oil and pearlized bullets

One white candle with an adorning wooden cross

A brass charm cross and a bronze crucifix in the box

And crosses strewn throughout the assassin’s case

All in The Name of Christ, will you imagine that?

Never heard any words from Christ to carry weaponry

Only heard him say ~ pray the angels set you free

Again men misconstrue the battles of The Cross

The war is spiritual and not with bloody swords

Never heard of using guns when fighting evil

Only heard Christ say ~ Pick up your armor daily

And take the sword of the spirit to pray safety on each day.

 


 

****Archangel Zadkiel~ Brings emotional healing, and forgiveness making way for Prosperity in Abundance, and the manifestation of your authentic purpose.

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Spotted standing on the lush green and purple strath

A tall being dressed in white calling me onto the path

He held out his hand with a smile on his face

My instincts told me to trust him while on n the way

My hand, he held it was so warm and kind

He felt like my father or someone I’ve known

Smiling gently so kind and loving he appeared

I followed him to a place of forgiving and mirrors

In that place in green thickets and trees

The lilacs and Lavender grow sumptuously

He placed a crown made of floral herbs

We laughed and danced twirling there on foot

He showed me a vision of all my tears

And the people I’d blamed throughout the years

Never accusing, but presenting my truths

Then he asked, “Do you want abundance?”

“Of course!” I screamed. And then he said ~

“Prosperity and having your widest dreams?”

“Yes!” I yelled joyfully. Then he said intently,

“To have healing, joy and prosperity, you must ~

Forgive you see. By forgiving others sets you free.

And for those others, you open their doors

And windows too ~ of prosperity, wealth, health

And love.” And then he smiled and looked in my

Eyes. “The challenge is not easy, but can be done.

Take up your weapons of love and tolerance

Choose to forgive any unpleasantness, and

Know you’re not the only one involved. It’s not

Easy, but there is no other way.” Silently thought.

“What is your name,” I asked of his being?

“I’m the archangel Zadkiel, and your friend.

I bring healing, forgiveness, health, wealth

And prosperity to those who choose the better road

~ You see?”

 


 

 

The Spiral Staircase

I opened a door where I stood

Looking down on a spiral staircase

The floors were wood laden with spiders

Mold on the walls going down down down

The door behind me closed and locked

Unable to twist the knob either way

There I stood and only oneway down

The floor creaked with my first step

Then i took another step slowly

I moved. Holding the walls

With my hands, breathing in

The air smelled of dank dewy dirt

My fingers blackened by mold and dust

The frail hand rest fell off the wall.

Where was I going? I don’t know

But, there was no place to run

Proceeding down the spiral stairs

Praying the floor didn’t collapse

Came to the bottom after 3 turns

Stood to look around. An there I saw ~

A new world somewhere back in time.

 


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***Dumah – angel of silence. Quiet the enemy

 

Hello Dumah, Angel of earth’s silence

Quiet the airways so much gibberish

Men threaten men, men threaten animals

Our world is deprival of love

So it seems and some call

Voices in the form of poetry

Some in the lyrics of songs

Some see the light of dawn

Some see the war before us

But, Dumah you can silence men

You can do this for safety

Oh, our Dumah quiet accusations please

So that we shall see the break of day

The daughters of Eve are lovely

And he just wants one, so?

Questioning God, why?

His desires are so~

Strong as the

East wind

A fouce

Hard

To

control


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The Ghost Ship

T’was a eve of The Samhain on October thirty-one.

The mates and cooks were bellowing loudly

“Thar’s no brew that we can enjoy.”

The First-mate wan’t entertained

By the rally of this ghastly crew

The Captain sat alone port-side

Trying to wrestle up some stew

The ship had sailed for many moons

The years had come and gone

No one knew the day nor hour

No one knew it was dawn

Lingering on a vessel

That sank on Samhain ~

Seventeen thirty-one

 


 

The cat knows where it’s at

Soaking, all the words of wisdom

The Tabby, not just any cat

He’d rather nap on old pages

Sensing the elements of The Bible


 

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The Forest of No Return

Gaelic

Owerby a peth of plaistane sclam

Tarrow througates Steenhyve syne tredden yersel

“Yont aa Aiberdeen argled athoot baig’nets

T’was ballats baudly sunge spunkie

Sprachlos space-wife spae spates

Yon time in 1962

Overthere a path of flagstone climbed

Linger passages Stonehaven (been since time) trodden yourself

Before all Aberdeen argued without bayonets

Once was ballads boldly sung (full of spirit)

Clambered fortune tellers professing floods

Yonder time in 1962

 


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White Feather Answers

She petitioned the universe a prayer

Sent while lamenting the deaths despaired

And after a time, there came an answer

Sitting quietly, gently as a white feather

And peace rested within her soul

The answer so simply did unfold


 

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***Cancer awareness Black and white images

 

There seemed a lonely road before her

A bench of reflections and pondering

And she visited that bench during winter

Then walked that road of fear and dread

No one held her hand as she stood wobbly

At the door of uncertainty and starred at ~

The fate before her, perhaps one of ceasing

And what of her children and her dog and ~

What of the life she dreamed of? But, nothing

Really mattered now, she must pass the test ~

That threshold alone. Would she die or live ~

This is the door of uncertainty. The cancer drug

Is horrible, it’s poisoning the rest of her bones.

So she waits sitting on the bench just thinking ~

As she walks that lonely road again and again

Until she, God and fate determine her destiny

So she walks the mortal road alone.

 

 

 

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The Bench in The Woods ~ 🌳

There alone sat the bench nestling in the woods

Inviting those who contemplate their curious lives

Complexities or fragments of minuscule times

And placed in a box bound to separate each line

The bench that sits alone in the green forest stirs

The images of drawers kept separately with care

When the time recalls to open a such a special box

Contemplating, just awhile sitting silently alone there

Carefully remove that box to study and compare

And once the “ah-hah” reveals the likened two

Delicately put the box away, with all the clues

And thank the bench that sits alone in the woods

Oh when I return, the bench will still be awaiting ⏳

And I’ll sit examining my memories that need stating

And again will visit the next day if must, to close the box

And finish my repairs… ☀️

 

©2016 Bonnie G Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 

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Picture black and white of a bridge…

For a Good Purpose Cancer

Like poetry the stone bridge jumped the water

A slow meandering crew met a silent pond

Where Lilly pads grow and goldfish hover

In the heat of mid-simmer just dangling along

Sweltering humidity and the air so thick and still

No birds sang, but crickets heard kwerping

Rubbing their knees in the warmth of trees

But taking my pad of paper and stylets

Drew the sumptuous foliage in the park

With ivy on the trees and red rocks displayed

But, drawing it in black and white

For reasons well purposed.

For those with cancer

Find health in the future

The best of health to all of you.

May the pharmaceuticals allow us the cure…

 

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The Suave Man ~

This man so handsome and well-dressed

Has eyes that pierce and lips that lust

His hair suave with auburn waves

He makes me wilt, he sees my soul

Where has he been? He seems world traveled

His nose so long and regal, what is his last name?

Surely, he’s not like any man I’ve met?

Do you know him? My heart is upside down.

When he talks his words are buttery smooth

Like fine wine, his kisses are divine

He likes my breasts, I’m tempted, I must admit

Oh, he’s a gentleman and sings melodies

That swoon me and I want to give

All of myself, he’s so damnable sharp

But, I just noticed he has devils on hisself.

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Thank you Pixabay for your image

 

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Gathering  ~ 

And she was venturing in the forest

Going to fetch the fungi and moss

The girl searched the strathy floor

In the mystic Highlands of Scotland

Alone searching, seeking for notions

Prayerfully seeking wise advise

And there she sought wise Barbiel

The Angel of October, and asked ~

Where do the toadstools grow here

Amid the dankness of the leaves?

It is in October they prosper trees

Barbiel took his dousing rod to lead

Come this way girl, don’t meander

I’ll teach you of autumn’s alchemy

And some other things, he spoke

He pointed to the medicinal fungi

Found under  the wet decayed log

He held up an yellow October leaf

Saying, just wait until it turns orange

And on their path of only mystics

Who wander into a forest dark

Finding Fagus BeechTree standing alone

He cracked the triangular nut offering

She ate the sweet fruits he gave her

Filling her basket with the kernels

They slowly continued onward

Old Barbiel taught as they passed

And she spent the day learning

From the tall burly angel telling

When will I see you again?

“I’m afraid, not until next October.”

I’ll be here on the first next year!

And saying goodbyes He departed.

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights reserved


 

 

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Come from the fires cleansed and purified, free from discrimination and chaff

Azbogah Angel of judgement, cause the accuser to cease harassment

Sending honesty, clarity, truth and favor on the behalf

May the purification last but a moment, so humbly asked

Ayil, archer of Sagittarius, who leads the Eastern sky the morning of the day that I was born

Though I perceive and I know, bring single-mindedness into focus

There will be no doubts, and all will know, turn their case, inside-out

And the angel over pricipalities and high places, Most honored Cerviel, I ask

Bring down the kingdoms of lies and corruptions of they who reign in governments

Oh thwart their plans and fight on my behalf, Oh mighty angel above

And send forth your armies Angel Chayyliel, powerful angel of might.

Please stand at the gate of their mouths, snd scatter their horses in dark.

Please, stand and defend the weak, and slam the gates on my foes.

 

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She is a good witch

If there is such a witch

God ordained and sealed with His kiss

Calling fire to purify and cleanse from lies

Though the tales be tightly bound

The fire will burn and break its strength

And that which remains is the core of truth

And shame falls on the ones who tied the knot

 


 

 

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Men

What are men?

They are far from being women, well many.

And they who horse around with other men

Do it most everyday

Being a wife of a man who acts like a child

Is like sleeping with a son unless the man has

Times of being a sensitive adult

Tenderhearted who cries

When watching Old Yeller die

And crying with his boys

Holding his daughters hand

Taking her to the ball

A man who dances while cleaning

Like a woman doing chores

A man who notices the stars

He points out Pleiades and Mars

Cooks Spaghetti on Saturday nights

Enjoys wine at family dinners

Sings songs like an opera singer

Imitates Fred and Ginger

So tender are his eyes

A sparkle of romantic charm

Never forcing his disposition

Never forcing his beliefs on all

A believer in something fantastic

Loves animals and plants

Tolerant of the feelings of women

Tolerant of different mankind

He enjoys making chocolate

He enjoys friends who are nice

Stays in the boundaries of laws

Teaches good boundaries to others

Respects the word, “no.”

Smiles on his knee as a knight

Offers his coat when chilly

Loves a she’s always a bride

Doesn’t fart at the dinner table

Has manners and cuts with a knife.

Uses the linen tablecloth

Chews food with his mouth closed

Writes poetry because he’s driven

Sings songs to the light of the moon

Has the spirit of a gypsy

Loves because you’re the only one

Gets up on Sunday mornings

Classical Baroque music

Alabama Sunday night

No religiosity or legalisms

Just a good well round man

Who believes in God discreetly

Worships quietly reverent in heart

Walks like God’s son

Never points fingers or shouts

Never manipulates to get his way

Golfs when he wants

plays a piano like Jerry Lee lewis

Can be wild but brings it home

And goes to play with his friends

Maybe over the weekend

And lets me stay home to write

Gives me space to do my thing

 

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Hofniel

Standing over Gethsemane, right hand bearing my sword

It was then, I called upon Hofniel, The mighty Fighter of the children of God

Asking, Hofniel will you defend him, the child in query? I asked.

And old Hofniel asked, “Which way, to the glory of battle, fare friend?”

Bowing at the warring angel, whose strength ferocious

He thus tapped me on my shoulders saying, rise my faithful partner

Do not falter in fear of dragons, but rather trust in childish faith

And, yes, I will come to your battle, and lead you into the light

 

©2016. Bonnie Jennings. All Right’s Reserved

 


 

 

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Christian Witches

Oh Asteraoth Angel who thwarts power you are beseeched in my need

Calling upon your mighty strength

Cause those in power to falter and yield

To the cause of God’s and the blessed child indeed

And they who hold the swords of laws

Who stand gaurding the vaults of man’s sorrows

Who are ambivalent to the pleas of justice

Who believe they own the worlds economy

They who’ve stepped on the heads of children

Piercing swords, causing massive bleeding

To uphold their plans to thwart the poor

To uphold the evils their index fingers lure

The hungry, the impoverished, the yearning souls

Into their webs of weaving horrors

And causing devilish harm onto the child

Who God set on high for the sake of His love

The bravery of the spies of His human army

They who serve despite the threats

Who risk their lives to uphold Rights

They who choose death though faltering mights

Unknown to most because, they must

Inbred within the desire to serve

A truth, a right, and an honest life

Hoping to bring heaven on the earth

Perhaps before the time designated by God

Nevertheless, fighting for men in need

Supermen, whistleblowers, and righteous beings

Sanctified before coming here to do their deeds

And I pray a covering on their heads

Protection from angels and God’s friends

Causing the devils to hide their heads

Shaming kings by using utter dread

And to them my prayers, like a curse, is heard

By MY GOD in Heaven and hostly seers

To fight the fight for the soldiers of bravery

To free them from the threats of slavery

And I ask of Asteraoth Angel who thwarts power,

To hold your shield high for their valor

And lead them as a warrior with purple hearts

Into the place of peace and rest

Thanking those who are so brave

To risk all, being hated, unpopular, and feels often small…

May the peace of The Lord guide you and protect you forever and ever ~ life eternal

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved


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The Watchers from Reptiles

Ariel, “Lion of God;” Angel of Protection, I sought defense

From The Watchers who seek his life

They who tell tall-tales

Those who honestly, lie

They who hide in high places

Whose eyes I see in my prayers

The watchfulness of his enemies

They are the ones to whom men fear

Men who hide in politics

Men who work in towers

Women who are, as watchers

Women who shed no tears

But know, I see your child

Who plays, as if, there’s no bleakness

Who plays with The IVY League

Who hasn’t seen the grief you’ve bled

On the innocent law abiding heads

Who are braver than the young of watchers

Who hide in Ivory Towers

And in prayer, I see your slit corneas

I see the evil behind your clean face

I call on the forces of God’s angels

To smite you while you chase

The innocent of God’s beloved

The child of my womb

For the prayers of mothers are strong

To defeat the enemy within

Hiding in high places

Cowards behind reptile skin

For you are evil demons

Devils who’ve not fallen from grace

Protected by laws most accommodating

Of reptiles who run our lands

But, I see you lurking in shadows

You, who don’t know grace

Come out, for The Day of Judgment

Awaits your lies and disgrace

Who deceived the child of God’s

Who placed you in your place

Yet, truthfully we know you hold the cards

It is because  of dishonest works

You are pitiful on The Day of Judgment

May you cry int the presence of The Lord

And, I will not raise my fist

I will withhold my curses

There will be no needs

To seek vengeance in your case

The Grand Jury will try your case

The angels will encircle your pride

And cleanse you from your filth

And replace your dirty rags

Oh, Ariel, “Lion of God;” Angel of Protection, I sought defense

And you came to be by our sides.

 


 

Thank you Free images at Pixabay

Thank you free images from Google 

©2016 All Rights Reserved @Bonnie Jennings

 

*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 or Bonnie Jennings with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

 

Thank you for visiting and reading

 

 

 

 

The Path

 

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The Path

Whistling with the birds at sunrise

Walking a wooden path on a hillside

The rays of sunlight came to greet me

And the birds twitted amongst the trees

The squirrels frolicked across the planks

And I meandered the painting of God’s picture

Expecting only brilliance at the end

A country fairground in the meadow

A carousel of horses going round

And pink cotton-candy to eat

And music from a pipe organ

Skaters dancing to the beat

And then I return at evening

The sun reflects similarly

And I follow the path homeward

And thank God for the diversity

Of imagination

 

 

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Man being God

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Thank you Pixabay for the image

Man being God

Created beautiful; however, she is a machine

Made at nineteen within green collagen amines
Born caesarean within fluid of compound proteins
Merging quickly from the shell of a Pinto Bean hull
Though she acted like a Mexican Jumping Bean birthing
Grey plastic skin and human breath convened in her
Dawning a skirt of crinoline looking as a closet queen
Her weaponry: Nicotine, thiamine, and mescaline
Like a spider she spins a labyrinth of fibrous webs
Her energy is alluring like that of Mary Magdalene
She uses the active matrix screen to capture any prey
There is nothing about her that is serene, just spot keen
She is man’s invention ~ playing God ~ how unforeseen
She is obscene, a beautiful tartarine, smoke screen
And lastly ~ she is impossible to destroy.

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

 

She’s a Spy

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She is a spy

Wearing pearls that speak of innocence 

And extremely educated diligent citizen

Wearing cocktail black and a hat to hide 

A face diversified, she’s been worldwide

Her eyes that watch and see, matched with 

Her keen sense of intuitive deductions and myths

How polished and demure she appears

A graduate of the finest finishing school of cavaliers

And she sips like a lady from the china tea cup

However, underneath is a stealth spy dressed up

To play he game of cat and mouse and await

The counter spy who articulates secrets of misappropriate

Coming from her home ~ The Department of State 

 

 

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved