A Gentleman Silhouette



Damp leaves fallen everywhere 
Silently he who stands in prayer
Somewhere ~ pondering, “Elsewhere?
Could I have come from?” In despair,
He looks thinking, “is this a nightmare?”
Unrecognizing the odors and the auras
Alone, by the park bench now worn
Etched in wood were cursive initials
Swollen wet wood had but erased them
And there he stands, once debonaire
Only now, merely a ghost carrying an umbrella
The parallel alliance, the romantic bond
Passed into independent realms
Perhaps, time and measurements
Will lock into the same grid
But, until then, he just stands
Silently pondering the else-wheres.
Haunting the bench 
Amidst fallen wet leaves
Stands a gentleman silhouette



BJ K♣️©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved


Image from A Poets Haven

Haven Dreaming



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

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!




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?






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




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




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




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



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




A word arises, “do!”

Sending norepinephrine whirling

Straightway to be

In utter confabulations

A mind unrestful

Held captive by demonic suggestions




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





The Woman




Gracefully twirling and juggling umbrellas

Black gown adorning in the street

Entertaining those watching and for show

But mostly throwing because she wanted




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




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





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





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




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



About Being a  “………?”

Why can’t we understand our presents are different?

My box is not like yours

And yours is foreign to me



The Shaman and The Bird

From Quito they both grew

From nature, from legends

God who heals, man and bird




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


©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved




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.




“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




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




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



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




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?




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


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,


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


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



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




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




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



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




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




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




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.



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…




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






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


as she





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


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




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



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.





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!



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





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.


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.




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




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



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 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




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


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



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.





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




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.


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.



***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





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


The Forest of No Return


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



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



***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.





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



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…



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



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





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.



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






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




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





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


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





Earning the wings that I wear


Earning the wings that I wear, 

Dutiful battles and wars not disbarring, 

The sight of suffering and smell of stench, 

The roads we’ve traveled often forgotten, 

The hunger for home, not resenting, 

The survival fought for mankind, 

My wings though grey with dirt, 

The fight has passed my thirst, 

But we continue forward, 

As soldiers do, 

Commanded by the Lord, 

Until we’re through.


Celtic For The Day. Grasping The Hem of His Garment

Grasping God. To know him is to love him…


St. Patrick’s prayer in Gaelic 


Feverish Dreams

Flying while dreaming
Flying while dreaming

Feverish Dreams


Seeming to sleep, resting quietly, you think.

She’s traveling miles from home, over the mountain tops.

The flying vehicle stops and he said, “Get in.” 

“There’s no, time to waist. So, buckle up.”

He pulls the seatbelt through, then, passed the clouds, and away they flew.


“See!” She pointed, all around about.

“Celestial galaxies everywhere,” she whispered, “not, even, yet imagined.”

There, hidden in space, beyond our thoughts

A veil of stars protecting, the place of her death.


He showed her one heaven.

There were so many.

“This one is yours for now

There will be plenty.”


He took her to rest, as if, he loved her.

“The Lilies, so lovely,” she thanked him kindly.

Holding her weight with his arms,

He kissed her brow and said,

“Its time to take you home.”


At three Am, she sat up in bed.

“Oh, just a dream,” she spoke, “but so real.”

The fever was gone and the headache too,

And the golden man’s memory vaguely haunted her new heavenly view. 

Star Children (TEST) By drboylan.com/starkididqstnr.html


My final Dream 2014. I was awakened by a messenger

It being the end of a another year, thus, I sent out to my god and my angels, a prayer. That is: I need change and a new directional path, and I need it, now. “Post haste,” as daddy use to say. So, having said this to a dear friend, who is also a warrior  on the phone last night, and then, going to sleep soon, thereafter, was awakened, before 3 am. I had a series of nightmares.

Dreaming and entering because we choose to fight our human battles...
Dreaming and entering because we choose to fight our human battles…

There in the middle of the fury of dreams, I found my peace. My sister was with me to help me escape, as she always has, in our lives together.There, in the middle of of the nightmare, being raped and sought after by many men and devilish souls, I panted in fear. But we, my sister and I, locked, bolted and hammered all doors shut. However, I couldn’t escape from their war, except one way. I disconnected. I found within me the place of peace and in that place the outer world fades away and there I am safe from any harm. Though, i can not take anyone with me, I leave my sister warrior behind fighting for me. And, in that place, the hell on Earth and memories of it, dissipate. My sister is left to do the battling alone. She chooses to do this for me. I want to take her with me; however, she may not enter. She must find this place on her own just as every human soul must find it alone. Perhaps she knows about this quiet place amidst the beautiful scenery of anything desired. Maybe she is showing me the way. I don’t know her way, I only know my own.

You see, I found this place many years ago. I was 16 years old. I am 62 now. In that place I heard a friendly kind voice. I have heard the voice many times before. It gave me a message. He, the voice was male. He said. “write, from your heart. Write the truth and do not cover it up or make flowery excuses. Just simply write about, what you know, as truth. Don’t skip or jump around your truths, your path, your beginnings. Tell them about the other world. Tell others how to find it when in the middle of storms. Write it all down. This is what you’re called to teach.” 

Now, I really didn’t want to get out of bed. It was warm and comfortable. And, I didn’t want to write about sadness and hardships. No, truthfully, it was before 3 am and I wanted to go back to bed and sleep peacefully.

“Now, get up and start writing what you’ve learned.” He said. This is your beginning of 2015.

I said, “all right, I will write only my truth, but the outer world is so painful.”

He nodded, in agreement, that the outer plane, which hovers Earth, is tortuous, grievous, grey, bleak, often harmful and lastly, painful for many and is not the place called heaven. “Help others and yourself to find this place. You have been there, and know the way. Teach it. It is easier to make jokes. Laughter hides pain and sorrow.It is in pain and sorrow that one becomes purified.” He smiled gently.

And so, I agreed to start writing my notes.

Though, they, my memories, will be discombobulated, they are my experiences. Finding Elysium, finding heaven on Earth, is not impossible. This is my 2015 plan sent by a messenger dressed in beautiful gauze and had a long beard of silver and snow and eyes as alive as the rapids in a northern river… This is what he told me to do. Having written the reasons of why I must tell my journey must say, I do not want to write this. I don’t want to visit my past, I do not want to blame, point fingers, to shame or harm anyone. For these reasons, I am reluctant to tell my story.

This reluctance is because the human race must point a finger at the causes of imperfections and tainted unlovely lives. Truthfully, the blame is circular. It never ends, but will find it’s origin in the story of the fall of mankind in The Garden of Eden. And, this is the truth, even if, you declare, it’s not your truth, it is. The fall of man was the beginning of pain and torture for the human/hybrid species. We were made in the image of god. We were created by fallen angels (The Nephilim) and god made a new way for us. Mankind excepted the dragons of fire, and there is no other argument. Done! There in the garden is found the reasons why mankind will never reach Narnia, Elysium, or Heaven, on his own.

I am not writing about the redemption story, though it is important. It only serves to receive the blame. If a reason why is to be asked, then, cast a blame on Eden with an imperfect finger of human judgement. The finger that’s pointing doesn’t recognize its own blemishes, sins and mistakes. It only see’s flaws in the “fruits” of others. How many times have I heard or read, “we can’t judge, but we can be fruit inspectors.” So, this statement stands alone, and is why, we will not reach Narnia.

Now, I’m dragging my feet. I don’t want to begin with my story. I’m afraid. The fears are from this Earth and have nothing to do with god, but mankind is harsh. Mankind is a ferocious judge. But on the other hand, who cares? Do I? Yes, bottom line, I care what others think or believe of me. I care about my reputation and the legend of my family. I care to uphold their name and honor. I care about them. I said, blaming is circular and goes back to The Garden of Eden, and it does. So, the sins of my ancestors continues and my children will point their finger at me, and tell of my sins and imperfections. But, I would be the first to admit, that I have failed horribly, as a mother. I have not loved unconditionally. I have put myself before my children, yet, I believe that I would die for them.

But, dying is much easier than living for them, isn’t it? After all, dying is escaping the tortures of living day in and day out. Excepting nighttime, thunder, lightening, hail, ice and temperatures too hot or too cold, are much harder, than taking the last breath into freedom. Wouldn’t you say? Perhaps, I am, blaming The Fall in The Garden of Eden, as well. But, this life is filled with spots, stains and imperfections are all around us.

No one escapes. It is here, at this point in my story, that I must be say, there are some who strongly declare, this doesn’t pertain to me. I am flawless. I do no wrong. I have a perfect past and a white picket fence, now, that surrounds my life. I would say to you, then, you already live in Narnia or Elysium and this story isn’t about you. My suggestion is to go on with your life, as it is, and don’t peer inside mine as the dragons assigned to me might become your own. Or perhaps, you’ve never actually met your demons. Because if you’re a member of the human race, then, at birth you had entities leading you away from The Garden. And, if you haven’t met the devils or been led far from the gates of The Garden, then, continue onward. Proceed on your path of doorknob hanging. Do not wander far away from the handle. But, hang on for your dear life and be thankful that you, know better. Or do you, I ask.. But on the other hand ~ playing The Devil’s Advocate ~ must tell you, find your war. Overcome it. Learn everything god wants you to know, so that, you will become a mighty valiant warrior. And having boldly said this, know that warriors die in many battles. Only to rise, again and again. Learning, along the way, the mistakes of war and the casualties of other’s lives, that we may have damaged, aware or not, these mistakes must be reconciled before continuing on in our wonderful journey called living. In some small way, if not, huge, our unintentional  mistakes, completed along our way, may have destroyed someone else. In rectifying our mishaps, we become stronger and the next crisis, war or battle, which will come again, guaranteed, we will be stronger, more courageous than ever were before… And, then, perhaps, another warrior will be encouraged, while healing, from a battle of their own, and there on that battlefield we can lend our grace because grace was generously handed to us…

This is a good lesson, and I know god chooses the weak, to make them strong. He chooses the lame, deaf and dumb to confound the wise, he uses fearful men to make giant soldier’s, He uses our human frailties to make us his own. So, those who hang onto the doorknob of heaven, may I challenge you to jump into the fight. It is the fight, war, battle for your previous generations and those who succeed you throughout eternity.

Now, after skirting and dancing around my own story, I will to begin…. My heart races. Here I must deep breath and begin… Some of you might be asking me, what gives you the rights to say these things? The answer will be found in my story. Another question maybe, do you think of yourself better than the rest of us? And, truthfully, I tell you no, I don’t. Next question, then why should I read on? This is your decision, but I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.

The only answer right now, that I will reveal is the fact that I have been in solitary confinement at an early age. Later, I stayed, 2 more times in a place of complete aloneness for 6 weeks, more than once, and lesser times later. Now, That I’ve shared this part of my life, please, stay with my story, as I explain why and what came from those experiences.

I was reluctant to be born. The year and date: October 9, 1952, New Orleans, La, USA.In fact, I begged not to come. I recognized these thoughts were on my sons face as he entered the world December 12, 1983. He, too, didn’t want to enter this plane called Earth. My daughter, she too came May 23, 1980. She is another mighty knight.

Bonnie 2014 The face of a warrior
Bonnie 2014
The face of a warrior

Writing the beginning and knowing what is to come, is difficult, so at this point, I must rest, and gather my thoughts. Thank you for staying with me up to this point and reading. I do welcome any thoughts, questions and kind comments… Also, please note, I wrote this hastily. I wrote as the messenger told me to do. So, having said this, I realize there are grammatical errors, spelling mistakes, and other flaws. Please, feel free to contact me and let me know.. Thank you and have a happy, safe, peaceful, healthy and prosperous New Year 2015. May God reside with all…

A Cold Day In Summer 2011

The Coldest Day In SummerThe Day My Mother Died
The Day My Mother Died 


She had wisdom; yet, I am wise.

sometimes the witches clashed

not to our surprise


Mother, daughter, lives and the time

We believed a mishap

Reality knew all that’s sublime


Lessons learned and some not

All underneath us

Lost, not forgot


Mother and daughter

Time gone

Springs cleansed the white water


It will take us both home.


My mother always said, “It is not money that is the root of all evil. No, it is the lack of money that is the evil.”

I believe her now. 



My Dream

The dream:

The path that I followed in the desert dissipated under my feet. Then, three old friends joined my side. Their names:

Faith, Hope and Love. 
They said, “we will escort you. Do not fear. God is with you in the forest deep and dark. Every man must go alone. You must trust.”

An entity named Trust,  took the lead. I began the journey, following it.

The forest was dark and deep and the trees, like all forests, have dead trees that are equally as important which was shown to me. Vastness and the growth gathered together become one place called The Forest. Some trees are young, green and full with several shades of green and some are old and rotten. They serve as homes for the rabbits and raccoons. However, together the enormous group of all types of trees are synergistic and without the totality of the different types: old and young, light green and dark and thick and thin, the forest would not be complete. It seemed they all have a role. None are common, even though, some appear handsome, some grand and some quite irrelevant, all make for what I defined, as Eden. Despite their outward appearance, in totality, they represent the whole called the forest. In The Forest are life lessons.


This is when, I decide to wander into the jungle of trees, so dense. The trees and the thickets called me by name. They knew me. Whispering wisdoms and truths, I can’t resist their call nor the hypnotic beauty they have. I must wander inside. To some who live in the desert, the forest seems mysteriously evil and frightening. But I find it breathtaking, alluring and magnetic. I belong here inside this lushness and greenery. This has always been my home, my roots, my beginning. Again, I am a child that has returned to my origins. Simply, there is no other choice. The heat of the years in the desert caused me to wilt. The forest of lush green life will restore my soul.

The temperature dropped as the shade of the canopy of trees welcomed me back. The coolness of shadows and the humidity embraced my body. Comfortable now, as the parched desert took a toll on my skin. My face shown, in the cool spring water in which I peered, as leather. The sun did what it was suppose to do and cooked the human quest from me. The heat was the “refining fire” that The Bible, explains. Frailty and a withered reflection reflects from the gentle waving cool waters of the spring. I look at myself, in it’s mirror. 


The tropical birds flew by my head!  “Oh my!”
I forgot about them and their array of colors. Greens to match the forest, oranges to show god’s revelations and blues to give inspiration. Smiling at the gift of colors, I moved forward through the limbs and undergrowth.

I came upon ~

The monkeys who did not trust me. So, they watched everything I did; my movements, my glances, my pausing and my nodding of hello to them. They, suspicious of my intentions, good or bad, would find out my purpose. This fact, I knew as they were the guardians of food and accommodation  I greeted them honestly with a nod, “hello, I mean no harm.”
They let me pass, for now. However, they did not offer me food. They ate the fruit which their many bodies protected. “Food will come later, maybe,” so, I hoped. I was hungry.

The flying creatures of the forest flitted contently from flower to flower, from creek to the water falls splash. Amazed, I stood watching. Delighting, in the beauty and coolness, which those in the desert, so feared. Bending down by the water’s edge, I cupped my hands and drank the fresh cool water. To my surprise, I drank with another animal. It shared. This was the rule of the forest. The rules were not written or displayed. But, the rules were understood within the heart of everything that lived. And, if the rules were not abided by, then, the creature was expelled to the desert with  “the humans.

The humans, I dare say with trembling fear, captured, enslaved, ate and killed them for sport. The humans were considered, the “demons.” The humans are to be feared. And I, a human, in their forest, recognized the fact, I am an intruder. But, they will allow me passage, for a while. I will have to prove my integrity as a creature of God’s. I knew this truth. 

Then ~

Needing a rest, I sat at the edge of a tree’s roots. Before falling soundly into a coma of sleep, I noticed the multi-colored green moss. It was damp, cold and sprung to new life. Small and delicate, the tiny leaves of multi greens invited me to observe it’s world. I looked harder, further, and magnified the mosses world in my imaginations. I saw another place, another home for strange odd life which was microscopic to human vision, but in the forest, I could see the tiny world as alive as my own. “Fascinating.” Much different than my own, but also, dynamic, I saw and watched their world. They moved in a simple method, But it was their own way. There doings was purposeful. They seemed happy, as far as I could tell… After all… I’m not the judge or giver of life.

Submerging then into a deep sleep ~ 

I’m aware though tired and almost comatosed, a man stands by my side as I sleep. He is familiar. He is a quiet male entity or being. Next to my lying body, he stands with dowsing sticks. I awaken and watch. His sticks circled around and around, then, rested pointing west. With a look to the west, his eyes said, “get up child,” then he pointed and said,. “this way is best.”

This time, I chose not to rebel. The last time I said, “No,” I was his teenage daughter. This time, I will listen. Though he a man of few words, he will show me the right direction. We will not make the same mistake. See, I learned that lesson. I take my nap sack and head west. The father image pointed to the direction that was best for my journey. He said, “you will be safe if you sojourn that way.

Then, my next snore occurs. ~

There are several dimensions in the forest.
This is only two; shown me.
The ability to sleep and travel at the same time is possible. In the forest the hidden mysteries are revealed. Truths are given if asked. But, truths are experienced by walking through the forest. To know: is to journey here and face fear and beauty as a warrior princess. He says, “you can do it. Faith is with you. You must follow, Trust and Belief. They will accompany you, even if you return to the desert.”

My understanding that my father image reaffirms, which I already know in my heart,
This is what I know:

It is also known that I may return to the desert at any time. The choice is mine. Not, any another’s.
No one, makes another do anything. 
There is no one to blame, there is no control, that I don’t allow.
Choices for good are granted  with heavenly abodes.
Choices for destruction are exiled to the desert.
Some wander more than forty years.
Forty years is the averaged time to learn life’s hardest lessons.
There are familiar lessons passed down for generations.
Those lessons last many years. They are the difficult ones.
They end when the last student acknowledges the familiar lesson and what was learned by mistakes made.
Apologize humbly for all wrong choices.
Be a peacemaker.  
He or she leads the familiar lineage back into Eden. 
This is our mission if we choose.

Before, I leave Eden, a monkey comes with fruit in it’s hand and offers this to me. He says, mind to mind, telepathically, “here you will need this for your pilgrimage. Eden will be here when you want to return.”

I frantically reply, “Oh, I don’t want to go anywhere else. I want to stay here. Please. Father, Daddy, I am frightened to return to the parched land and dessert. Please, let me stay.

My father image and the monkey stand together and with kind humility and honesty point the way  to my right path. They say, "no, it’s not time. There is more knowledge to gain, more lessons for greater appreciation, more spiritual insight to achieve, You will return one day  Until then, we are with you where ever you choose. “

They faded into the morning’s light peeking into my bedroom window. The sun’s light greeted me with, “hello..




Author Notes
Just another very real dream. Please, understand, this dream was symbolic and humans are not “demons.” This is not to be read literally. It is written from the animal kingdom. 
There are parts of my dream that become relevant and clearer as I write and meditate on the symbolic meaning.  

Thank you for reading. 

Thank you Deloralock at fanart review for your picture which shows the precious animals in the forest.

My Supernatural Diary

My dear friend’s father passed forward last Sunday evening.
And, I knew him, but not real well. However, We were more than acquaintances
It is the dynamics of our two families made this so.

However, I knew the 97-year-old men had been fond of me throughout the 45 years, to be exact. So, saying all this let’s you know he cared about me and for this reason he visited me the night he died. And, it wasn’t a dream.

Soundly I slept. Deep deep in sleep when suddenly the bedroom shook and something also grabbed and forcefully shook my right arm.
The animals, 3 to be exact, sleep with me. One is a mighty watchdog and the big one is a huge watch dog. Neither one of them were startled or even flinched at the sound of KABOOM and the shaking of my arm. Neither dogs nor cat were slightly ruffled or disturbed, just me. On the second arm shaking, being firm and impressive,  I arose from my slumber. From out of my bed, barely dressed, I walked down the dark hall into the den where one dim light was on. I looked around for to see what was so urgent.  Nothing was there, by sight. But, the intense feelings and commanding,  demanding energy was bigger than life. Non audibly, but internally it loudly said, “hi, I’m passing through. I’m in a hurry. I’ve got lots to do. But, I wanted to let you know that I am ( free, though not his word, but impression) going, traveling,  moving about quickly.  He was excited, boisterous,  not sad, not in pains, but moving as though he was attending an event or happening and had little time (earth time, not heavenly) to prepare. He was still on earth time so, he had lots to do. He left quickly and in less dramatics than his coming. He exited through the corner of the room.

Last night, a few days after this event, there came one more visible event. While sitting on my sofa doing my computer notes for work a brilliant light caught my eye in another corner. I jumped as I thought the ceiling was catching fire with a silent blast. I quickly looked tbat way again giving all my attention to that area. There was absolute nothing there. GM was a dynamic man who was bigger than life. When he entered a room in his youthful days, you couldn’t miss him. He was a highly successful man and quite an artist. He always took center stage because this was his nature. Apparently,  in the next life he has kept his bigger than life persona.

Well, this is my story of GM.


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