The Harbinger

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

Image from A Poet’s Haven

 

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Welcome my feathered mystical avian friend

You’ve come to natter with me anew ~ once again

You say there is a specter, a ghost condemned

Left a spawn that I sympathetically was misreading

There’s a shadow dangling within my dreams

It presently means ~ Do not sleep ~ For the time

Is near

K♧





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  •     ©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

The Glory of Solomon’s God

 

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Behold the artistry of God’s seasons of living

Majestic colors to thoroughly assimilate His gift

Each colorful leaf strokes the faith of believing 

That something grander exists and kissed

Those who are able to see

The masterpiece by God ~ left for you and me

K♧


©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights reserved

Once Upon an Era

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once upon an era

 

an ancient flight of stairs stood hidden, housing thicket tinamous.

 

prehistoric birds of flight embedded homes within the stones 

 

unearthing a civilization somewhere in mexico

 

inhabiting calendar stones and relishing being alone

 

until one day came a humankind reveling in, adoring the eras and thrones

 

leaving the thicket tinamous to find new tombstones

 

thus the ancient stairs of rock delightfully homed the ancient birds that took to flight

K♧





 ©October 2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved


Image from A Poet’s Haven hosted by Alan Boyles

A Poetry Challenge entry

Ambling

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Ambling

Ambling thoughtfully; analyzing this habitation
Arrived at an entrance of burnished timbers
It challenged me to set my feet onto its foundation
Staying put, contemplating the door of imagination.

Cautiously without making reckless steps 
Patiently progressed one step at a time
Over the doorsill, though I, perplexed
What seemed lovely, perhaps a trap hexed

Once on the other side, standing to my surprise 
The burnished timbers passed into oblivion
There stood I gazing at amazing huge butterflies
Overhead flying birds singing into their sunrise

Solely hoping for a friendly companion 
Felt unaided and quite isolated
Sauntering slowly, exploring saw a canyon
There fairies frolicking, twinkling, I glanced in

Sprites, pixies, brownies and a fay
Caught my attention, and they looked my way
Surrounding me with their warily gazing and swords raised
There I bowed low, clinging to convey

No danger from me, as I meant no harm
Imparting my terrors of being alone
Unable to find, any of my kind, may you lend me a charm?
You see, the portal closed, and I must transform

Back to the place where I belong

K🃞

©October 2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

Image from FB shared photos

Rachel’s Weeping

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This is an R rated poem. It is violent

 

Rachel’s Weeping

Come out ~ you who’ve hidden under granite

Pocketed billions from weeping Rachel’s lost children

And thrived from rape and destruction of the unborn

Cut from wombs, “not to small to harm the tissues”

The price is high for fetal intact myelin sheaths

And if I could sui you for your sickening deceptions

It would not bring back Rachel’s children

The profits made from a distraught woman

Stealing her money and then selling her baby

Withholding the facts, “Now, sign on the line.”

You are disgusting, a disgrace to mankind

And though I hate you, and dispize your deeds

I’ve received directives to forgive your pathetic ways

And could I reach my infants: Jack and John

Would tell them, I’m sorry, though you’re gone

In someones food, or make-up, or hair products

Sold by corrupted men who’s income have sustained

Unsurmountable from the parts of your brains, 

You who I’ll never see again

 

“A voice is heard in Ramah, mourning and great weeping, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more.” Jeremiah 31:15

 

©2016 October, Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved
Corporations accused of selling fetal body parts 

http://www.ocregister.com/articles/tissue-731858-fetal-research.html

Voices

 

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Voices 

Oh harbingers of earthly perdition

You raise the voice on a cursing mission

Screaming that your ways are only right

Have you no mercy, on children of light?

And do you speak from God’s authority

Messages of a path of superiority, a sorority

Are you of certainty, you heard that correctly

Yes, your finger wags and labels indirectly

Demanding that only you are truthfully informed

Yet your heart is dark and seems malformed

Like others, unhealed and with broken trust

Healing from Scheol joining this human thrust

Family, church, smiling covering masks, untruths

So you’ve instructed from our youths

Blatantly innuendos whispered judgments

Condemning saints, labeling them “witches.”

Burning the ego in flames at Salem

Judicial decisions directed by Satan

And the voices will continue to avail him

As long as hatred has place in God’s kingdom

The voices will kill mankind, and it smiles

Mission accomplished, and without a just trial

 

Image from Pinterest

©2016 October, Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Insomnia

 

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Insomnia

Sparkles of Moon beams float within the lights

Watching them dangle and separately connect

Through the window at the hour of midnight

What do you mean, and what, dare you ask?

Have you a message thats lingering until ~

I recognize and know my place on Earth,

Or are you here to delightfully play ~

Within the shadows of stolen nights-day?

My vision follows your uncertain paths

Why are you here, and what is my task?

You’re whispering movements to the north

Henceforth seeing harbingers messages birth

Stories discerned clearly not yet understood

Back and forth, the sparkling dust yield sways

A path to ascend, going this way and that, mistook

How shall I know, this road to travel, I say uninsured

Thenceforth, show yourself and birth this wispy trail

Until then, might I rest my eyes from lack of the details

©2016 October, Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

October Bewitching Prayer

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October Bewitching Prayer 

 

On the table there’s a flame

A candle burns ushering dreams

Closing my eyes in total peace

For the light guides protect our memes

Oh Moon’s light dancing rays of sights

Shadows enchanting leading suffice

Thrice whispering surreal advice

Three paths lay before feet entice

But only one shall I venture sites

Warn me the road to meander

Oh ancients keep me from danger

 

 

©2016 October, Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Daughters 



The mantles, the idols, the men, the sins

Passed to daughters unsuspecting innocence 

If they’d known, they’d refuse the birthdays

Growing up is with truthful mundane ways

Not about princesses or riding the wild winds

But about children, drooling and paying bills 

Often alone without a spouse and facing the dark 

Standing tall with knees shaking and eyes wide 

Learning about faith because that’s only the beans

That causes her to grow in dignity as she greys 

Struggling from freedom gained independence 

Away from her mother and father she grew 

Seeing her daughters making mistakes, she’d made 

But can’t stop them for life has many lessons to gain 


Following Fire

 

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The Messengers threw a fire trail

It halted at my barefooted toes

Sitting on the damp dirt, shoes

To wear upon my bare feet

Once the shoes so perfect

Were placed and bound neatly

The trail of fire light glowed deep

Come this way, it summoned

And what was I to do?

I then followed the path that eve

In the fog of midnight dew

And came to a council

Of fairies dancing 

Within the hollowed trees

And given brew to sip then drink

Forgetting all earthly things

And stories and mysteries

They spoke of so I could hear

Asked me to record the myths

Of fairies and the way

Life in the hollows use to be

Awakening later where no signs

Of fairies, fires or brew

Wondered home lingering

Asking was I dreaming

Or delusional in my sleep

 

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Photo from A Pets Haven on FB hosted by Alan Boyles

Haven Dreaming

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Drifting weightlessly awhile dreaming lucidly seeing

Floating through halls of granite having huge columns 

Touching cold stone walls filled with ancient lights

Knew momentarily, I was transported somewhere else

I studied the writings and carved pictures on the walls

Reading a story of humans caught within an earthen warp

But, here a palatial ruin, not foreboding, and oddly grand

Felt pleasure and comfort, felt familiarly, as if, I was home

The temple held temples, spirits ~ awaiting souls

A ride through the cosmos in order to find their own

And meanwhile awaiting the catalyst who transports

Watched myself drifting in this palatial mausoleum space

Recognizing old ~ old character beings, I’ve known

In another place for certain; however, this was our womb

Until the time of birthing thus taking flight combusting into life

Here we gathered, quietly awaiting, until our mother said

And this cold monumental temple is our place

I recognized the carvings and the silent grace

And one day, will return and unite with my family

A peaceful dream experienced, finding my haven 

©2016 Bonnie jennings All Rights Reserved

Tomorrows My Birthday: To My Unborn

To My Unborn

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An empty swing

Tomorrows my birthday and sadly I don’t know yours
I often wondered what happened to my little dears
Those two who were called, “fetal tissues,” not lives
And in ignorance succumbed to the abortionist knife
Were you placed in a burial ground or burned?
Were you put in the evening trash? Or could you
Have gone to a tissue bank, sold for big bucks
Without my knowing much. And that was 
Forty years ago, and the excitement of 
Women’s rights were celebrated, but you
My darlings, how sad I’ve become reflecting
Thinking of who you were and where you are
And I named you and gave you thoughts and gifts
One a poet songwriter coming from my genes
The other a pilot like his fathers dreams
And at Christmas, I set a place for you
In my heart, you’ll always be
And one is John and the other David
Oh perhaps you were Lillie or Sarah
But, I’ll never know you in this life
Please forgive my careless insights
For I followed the news of freedom for women
But regretfully never thought for myself nor
Thought of your lives at all, until forty years
Past your deaths and my mistake…
May God bless you in heaven
And please forgive my ignorance

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Perhaps one day, until then, I’ll always wonder

*** My poem was prompted because Bill Maher said callous jokes on TV last night about fetal tissues. I haven’t stopped crying. If I could hate or curse him I would, but instead, will stand up for the unborn. My poem:

©2016 October Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved. But please share as the lives of the unborn are sold for their fetal tissues and it’s a huge monetary gain for the abortionists.

Please meet: Brianna Marie Wells, A Fellow Poetess

 

Good Morning from CST USA! This morning it is my pleasure to present to my readers another poetess. I’ve had the wonderful opportunity to read her poetry and to write on poetry challenges with her on FB at ‘The Poet’s Haven’ hosted by Alan Boles. 

Please meet and read about Brianna Marie Wells who has written a little bio about herself and has included a poem that she wrote called: ‘Was It Worth It?’

Brianna has included her email address should anyone want to contact her about her poetry. 

Thank you Brianna for allowing me to present you and your poem today and without any more interruption, ladies and gentlemen here’s Brianna!

 

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Brianna Marie Wells




Hello, my name is Brianna Marie Wells.
I am the youngest child in my small family. I live in Santa Clara, CA, where I have lived for the majority of my life. I studied Culinary Arts and Management in high school and I am now a full-time Kitchen Manager at a bakery in Cupertino, CA. Right now I divide my time between poetry, sleep, and work. 

The reasons I started writing poetry, well…. I’ve always felt stifled. That if I didn’t go along and agree with someone, then I was a failure for some reason. I began writing so that I could express myself more freely, where my thoughts didn’t have to be so organized and that was okay. I didn’t have a lot of friends to share my thoughts with, or at least none that i felt confident enough in that I could share with them. I needed a place for some darker thoughts as well, and to work through things on my own. I started writing poetry so that I could hide the real me, but still say what I needed to say. Not a lot of people can handle me. But maybe, just maybe, I did it so I could handle myself, so that I could see what makes up my mind, so I leave some sort of mark. In a world where everything tries to steal who you are and make you downtrodden, I can express myself freely in my poetry. I feel the call to write the most when I feel very strongly about something. Anything. It could be anything from something in the news to something in my more personal life. When i put that pen to paper the words just begin to flow….


Was It Worth It?
Was it worth it,
When you dashed my heart bit by bit
Was it worth anything,
When you played me and stole my dreams
Was it worth your time,
To stab me in the back and pretend its fine
Was it worth my pride,
To make me feel unworthy by your side
Was it worth my soul,
As I try to bring back the pieces to a whole
Was it worth the day
When you took advantage of me anyway
Was it worth the fuss,
Of ever managing to earn my trust
Was it worth the score,
Of letting me know that I’ve been burned once more
Was it worth my hate,
To make me suffer and deteriorate.
 
-Brianna Marie Wells 
©2016 Brianna Marie Wells. All Rights Reserved


Thank you for visiting and reading Brianna’s poem and bio. I hope that you’ve enjoyed what you’ve read.
Again Brianna’s email address is


A Poet’s Haven can be found at this link below with Brianna’s poems as well as many other great poets. 

Poetess Synda Payne Burton: Recognizing Synda’s Artistry

Good morning!

Today, I want to introduce to you a fellow poetess by the name of Synda Payne Burton. It was on a FB poetry writing group A Poet’s Haven that I became familiar with Synda and her poetry. We kind of played the poetry game of writing off each other a couple of times. 

Synda, I must tell you and others this little tidbit, and I didn’t know this until I read your bio, that you are a registered nurse and so am I. Perhaps that is our connection? Synda is a tender, intuitive poetic writer. 

So, now I give to all of you, Synda…. Thank you for allowing me the pleasure of having you as my guest this morning. 

 

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Synda
 
 

Hi! My name is Synda (pronounced Sin-duh…not a nick name) Payne Burton..

How does one introduce themselves, in a paragraph…I have in the past, as a child writing a letter in a classroom, but that was only to become someone’s pen pal. I have thence become an adult and have written resumes for job opportunities. In short, I am a retired registered nurse/certified nurse midwife. I have been married for 44 years. I have three grown daughters and 8 grandchildren. I have live in Fishers, Indiana  for the past 14 years. My husband and I are originally from Kansas, where we worked most of our adult life. 

 

 
 

While I was going to school and even into my adult life…poetry or writing it, was never my thing…I loved other forms of creative art. Perhaps it was because I really never understood it. We read poetry in literature class and often I wondered what the poet was saying…I now, believe I know. I started writing poetry or little jingles for my morning posts on Facebook in 2009…it was what I called passing time while I drank my coffee and waited for my granddaughter to arrive. It eventually grew into verses of ABAB poetry. My inspiration at times comes from photos…what I see and feel…or if something strikes a nerve…a word…an incident. Many of my photos come from a dear friend that is a photographer, her name is Ruby Karmann. Poetry, now has become a morning routine…I drink my coffee…listen to the morning news and write at least one…sometimes as many as three poems. Then, there are days, I don’t write anything. And that is how I came to write….

 
 


 
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Photograph by Ruby Karnann

Synda’s Poem:

Just…

One…picture can paint a thousand words…
But words describe… what one cannot see…
Which at times are not captured…left unheard…
Untold…to those that are blind or are absentee…

A…photo at times does not captivate…feelings…
Those innermost thoughts that are within one’s mind…
Nor can a writer describe your physical image, in being…
One has to see a person…to be well defined…

A snapshot can only grasp a mere moment…in time…
To enamor…or accomplish what was intended to enchant…
As a second or two later may be too late in the next frame…to chime,
That perfect pitch…tone in color…to clinch the beauty for it to chant…

While a picture can paint a thousand words for a writer to write…one has to be there to get the total picture…to witness the true beauty that is often just visualized only in a painting…

~Synda Payne Burton

With Ruby Tuesday Creations/Photography

 ©2016 Synda Payne Burton. All Rights Reserved. 

 


 

 

I hope you have enjoyed reading Synda’s bio, her poetry, and have experienced her artistry, as well. To find Synda on FB you might visit her at Alan Boles’ poetry page called: A Poet’s Haven

@  https://www.facebook.com/groups/313544755508623/



Thank you Synda for sharing with us, yourself. 

 

 

Thank all of you for visiting this blog today and may you create poetry or art or whatever your creative outlet is today and forever…Happy blogging!