Never Argue Your Point, Simply BE Your Point

 

img_0235

 

I was almost drawn into an argument

And it was pointless

Narrow mindedness and tunnel vision

Steal from others the light

That is, if it is allowed that chance

 

The best warfare

Walk away and leave them yelling 

No one can win where ears are hard as stones

No one wins when brains are in-prisoned 

 

Leave and get far away

Trust the Spirit of Truth is always working

Even on yourself

 

There are some battles that belong to timing

Some of those battles belong to the right voice

Lessons learned take lifetimes

 

And we are not God

So ~

Walk away

 

The Art of Writing Query Letters for Writers; Chatting

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My official copyright and number for my novel…. I received it yesterday and I filed for it in June of 2016.

What I realize now, and will be of interest to you if your also writing a novel or books of poetry, is this fact. They, the copyright officials, go through every word and sentence that you’ve written to make certain that you didn’t plagiarize anyone else. So when you apply for a copyright, they will ask if you have quoted anyone or used any sources other than your own. In my case, I used The Bible, The Gnostic Gospels, The Book of Enoch, and Simon and Garfunkel lyrics (one line). So, I had to include any sources and cite them.

Now, please understand, this process takes time, but it is inexpensive. My novel is roughly 140,000 words give or take a couple of thousand on either side. It costs $35.00. Not bad. I think a poem is around $7.00 and If you love some of your work and want t keep it your work, then please, go ahead and file for a copyright.

For example, and I will use my dear friend Susan Joyner-Stumpf as an example.

Lets say, Susan has her own copyright all over her work, but if she hasn’t officially filed for the rights, then I (and I wouldn’t do this), could copy and paste her work onto my own work and submit it to the copyright officers and Susan would have to sue me. That would take more money than the $7.00’s for her poem, had she just simply filed with the official copyright office.

I urge you to file your best and most favorite work. Keep it safe because there are thieves unfortunately. Save yourself a heartache. Copyright your favorite work…

Recently, I saw that a fellow poet, had taken my words and used them. The words were twisted a little, but I knew, that was my work. I got mad, I got upset, I tried to be flattered, and then I dropped it. There was nothing that I could’ve done at that point. Once it’s on the internet, it’s published (yes thats right) and going to court over a little poem is useless…

There is also the poor mans copyright we’ve spoken of before on here and that is to print out your written work and mail it to yourself. It will have an official time and date stamped on the envelope and for heaven’s sake, do not open the envelope. A judge will do that in a courtroom should you have to take your written work to court and file for plagiarism against someone… However, should your house burn down, like mine did, and you have not placed your poor mans copyrights in a safe somewhere else, guess what? Yep, thats right…. You have no official stamp or retrievable work… Gone…

By the way, students search the net for work they can turn in as there own… They perhaps are the major culprits of thievery of un-copyrighted poetry and short stories… Yep… They’re trying to pass college English with an unsuspecting writer’s work….

Well, I hope you have a great day no matter where you are in our great world… 

The Art of Writing Query Letters for Writers; Chatting,,, The link on FB below:

https://www.facebook.com/The-Art-of-Writing-Query-Letters-for-Writers-Chatting-1803609986545421/?hc_ref=PAGES_TIMELINE&fref=nf

 

Paper Rater has a free site to check your work. It also has a plagiarizer within the program. So, you can test your own work to see if you’ve plagiarized. It’s interesting also to check your older material that you put on the internet. The plagiarizer should bring up the original written work and perhaps a date and name… So, check your work to see if your published on the WWW…. 

Link: https://www.paperrater.com/plagiarism_checker

And now… drum roll please… 

 

An Excerpt from my novel… The Introduction and Chapter One… 

The Lives of Fairy Godmothers,

Angels, and Witches 

(The intro and chapter one excerpt)

by BoJenn

THE LIVES OF FAIRY GODMOTHERS, ANGELS AND WITCHES

All rights reserved. Published by BookBaby

© 2015 BoJenn Books, LLC

All photos copyright © 2015 BoJenn Books, LLC

or as credited, individually, on photographs herein contained. All illustrations and paintings by Bonnie Jennings; Tyler, TX,

some inspired by Itzchak Tarkay, Yugoslavian/Israeli artist, 1935-2012

This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material or artwork herein

is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form

First Printing: December, 2015

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

First Edition: December, 2015

ISBN # 978-x-xx-xxxxxx-x

Printed by BookBaby

Pennsauken, NJ 08110

Design and Production by MASON Communications

Edited by Sarah Harricharan, Johnson City, TN; Elysia Warne Elrod, Tyler, TX;

and Ky E.S. Mason; Shreveport, LA

Look for “The Lives of Fairy Godmothers, Angels and Witches” on Facebook!


The Introduction

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“A scream was heard that summer day. Four-year-old Catherine’s screams echoed into

the mystical wind. She told the wind to find Thomas. Bellowing into the breeze, her

little heart begged, with vigorous might. The current carried her voice. It never ceased,

until one day, I heard it. The zephyr had carried the message in search of Thomas. It

had traveled lifetimes, into where memories dwell. In the dark space of matter, it moved,

seeking the answer to the child’s petition. It did not stop, until it found accountability.

It had echoed, in and out of woven petitions, spirits and prayers, asking, “Have you

seen, the child, Thomas?”



I’m so excited and would love for you to continue reading through chapter one on the link below in the correct formatting created by

Ky E.S. Mason; Shreveport, LA

MASON Communications

The link:

lives-v8-81-page-i-to-page-30-single-pages

Or you may read it below.

Introduction“A scream was heard that summer day. Four-year-old Catherine’s screams echoed into the mystical wind. She told the wind to find Thomas. Bellowing into the breeze, her little heart begged, with vigorous might. The current carried her voice. It never ceased, until one day, I heard it. The zephyr had carried the message in search of Thomas. It had traveled lifetimes, into where memories dwell. In the dark space of matter, it moved, seeking the answer to the child’s petition. It did not stop, until it found accountability. It had echoed, in and out of woven petitions, spirits and prayers, asking, “Have you seen, the child, Thomas?”

Even as an older woman, Catherine could not stop the determination of the inquiring storm – to find the answer to her childhood question. The mission of the wind was to solve that petition. A request by prayer was sent that day, long ago; and then I came riding in on the wind.

Tadhg Harding enters the story, wearing a warm angelic smile and kilt. Tadhg recited the letter for Catherine. “Eleanor wrote it,” he added.

Catherine delightfully accepted the magic of an answered prayer. “At last!”

Tadhg welcomes you to journey inside this story about a woman named Elizabeth Catherine Dubois: “Everyone needs help – the supernatural kind – right?” Well, this tale is about when, where, why and how angels, or fairy godmothers, answer prayers.

Welcome! Thank you for stopping by for a cup of orange and cinnamon tea. Please, enjoy yourself

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as you settle in to a cozy chair and hear a story about the magic of love, the dignity of grace bestowed from God, and the power of deliverance from oppressive spirits on an older woman who was once her parents’ little fairy princess.

Like so many older humans, Cat Dubois almost lost her happiness to ill-fated happenstances which couldn’t be avoided. The only difference between Cat and others who seem to dissipate by death in the vagueness of their pain and sorrow? The young girl cried out a prayer that found a way to God’s ears and heart.

So, He responded; He sent Eleanor, who came riding in the wind.

This story is about the struggle of life and the resolutions that come to Cat many, many years later; but nonetheless, answers come, just in time, in a magical way.

So, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Tadhg Harding, and I’m the keeper of stories and poetry. That is the meaning of Tadhg, and this is what I do. I am both the story teller and an active participant in this tale, and I am also related to Eleanor, an oh-so integral character in this story. We are related by spiritual order and virtue. We travel through time, space and the world together. Come in, let us draw near. There is nothing to fear; this tale is an active adventure.

Humans, at times, question the fairness of a loving god. Life can feel like a test of human endurance. Why are some people fortunate or “blessed,” while others ache with despair and tragedy? Why is the innocence in children’s beautiful faces often lost within hardships, over a lifetime? Why are some untouched by horrors and deep valleys of sorrow and hatred? Lastly, why are some on a non-ending roller coaster of frights and thrills?

In order to understand and appreciate goodness, the darkness must be known, as it’s been taught many times before this story. Behold, the light of God shall shine upon the paths of danger, for our own good, and lead us, instead, to the way of enlightenment for our spirit’s development.

We shall lie down in those green pastures, and there our souls will be restored. We will one day act like God.

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“Could it be in a different dimension or lifetime?”which, of course, is an age-old debate pontificated in sanctuaries and bars across a world of speculators from the righteous to the sinners. And, should we choose to accept the calling to a higher self, our assignment, or our journey into the syllabus He has prepared for each of us individually, must be eventually travelled. If so, it surely is then that we shall be like Him, and see Him, in the splendor of His love; because in human living, love, mercy and grace are the traits of the Father who has come down from the lights and resides in our souls.

Unique, are we. Good and evil will be known, but few will defeat dragons in one’s lifetime. ”Dragons are real,” many will say, but I ask you, “Are they real today?” Are not dragons, real or imagined, just our conduits to godliness? For within the very best of us, and the very least of us masterpieces, lie imprisoned spirits which are trapped by the flesh of mankind, or Adam. Adam was from the dirt of this planet Earth. Adam nor his seed will not live forever. But the Spirit of God will survive forever; spirit is infinity. We are not.

Then, there is the soul – the ego. The dual nature which longs for the earth or the “Adamic” nature. It begins innocently, then falls into God’s grace. The quest – our mission or lesson – is to defeat the opponent, the enemy of ourselves, our egos. So, this story is about defeating the challenger of God using the voices of the accuser. It is the strong one of this earth who whispers to the accepting Adamic humans all the reasons that failure is the final destiny.

The devil within is conquered metaphorically in isolated forests; deep-flooding valleys; on rocky hillsides; in snake-filled pits; in vast oceans where a single lifeboat drifts eternally; in lonely, locked cells; in cold hospital rooms; in the loss of a child or loved one; in burning towers; crashing planes; bombshelled cities; in an orphaned child; in unwed mothers; in life-changing events; until kingdom comes. The devil is appointed an unending reserve of trials.

The test’s purpose is to stretch ego and character into a form of divine inspiration. Sometimes it works and never fails. Perhaps, it is not determined in one lifetime, but in many. The soul determines the result for the lap. The soul steers the course. It develops; and graduation of a lesson occurs as we

iii

become more and more like God.

Our story begins now. It is the story of a woman’s journey from innocence, to enslavement, and then to freedom, within a lifetime. You might share the sorrow and pain of her battles, and relate to her innocence during childhood, which is magically experienced by Cat. Seemingly, you might experience and share her rejection from the fellowship of those with whom she grew up. You might feel her hurt, her loneliness, her isolation; and know her addictions as your own. And, just when you think there is no hope for her – or maybe even you – you may find yourself cheering because there is magic and goodness in a dark world. There are fairy godmothers, angels, and guides who do help us just when we need them the most.

I welcome you into the story of Elizabeth Catherine Dubois.

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Chapter 1

Now, Elizabeth Catherine Dubois, or “Cat”, as she prefers, lives in a lonely house in the Appalachian Mountains, in a place known as Glory Town. She is young; growing up is upon her.

As you sip your tea, I will tell you all about it. Hers is a tale of loss, troubles, enchantments, delights and the magic of God’s angels, fairy godmothers and other divine interveners. These divine creatures – angels, guardians, fairy godmothers, or your choice of moniker for those who carry goodness on their wings – came to Glory Town for the sole purpose of restoring Cat Dubois.

Now, Glory Town is nestled between two old mountains in The Appalachians, the picture-perfect quaint village of 11,000 residents, which is not quite as perfectly round a number as 12,000, but purposely maintained at approximately 11,000. Furthermore, the municipality is never allowed a population exceeding 12,000. This was written in the foundations of Glory Town’s “secret codes” and governed by the town’s three founders.

These three are: David Finks, whose wife is Hannah Finks, with whom they have three sons, Warwick, Winston and Chad. Next in the hierarchy is Robert Fletcher-Snutgrass, with his wife, Jessica, and their four children: eldest daughter, Emily; middle son, Taylor; Claire, the next girl; and then, baby, Suzanne. The third family led by a founding father of Glory Town are the Thornton- Henchmens with their tribe: patriarch, Theodore or “Teddy”, for short, and Selma, his wife, and Hector, Molly and Thorpe Thornton-Henchmen.

Also of notable importance are the Reverend Davis (Daniel Davis’s father) and the preacher’s wife, Rebecca Palmer Davis. Other families, though less impressive, include: The Bartons – Henry, Ruth and their 3 daughters, Priscilla, Patsy and Daphne; the Johnsons – Larry, the town mechanic,

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his wife Mary, and daughter Tammy; then are the Millers and their two infamous sons – Dillinger and Cooper. Finally, the immigrants from France and England are the Dubois family, comprising Philippe and Catherine Harrington-Dubois, and their daughter, Elizabeth Catherine, around whom this story revolves.

“Joy to the world! The Lord has come.” The crowning attraction of Glory Town is its famous claim as THE Christmas town most photographed and visited by tourist families with the delighted eyes of imaginative children and their parents, who still wonder, like children themselves, at the warmth of the holy season. Glory Town enlivens their memories like a picturesque scene on a vintage postcard, assuredly giving Christmas lovers warm fuzzies.

When approaching Glory Town from either mountain’s winding road, it appears like a Norman Rockwell painting that everyone wants, but only a few truly experience in a lifetime.

White snow, white picket fences, gently billowing smoke from the home fireplaces burning warm, and sidewalks, along which passersby smile endearingly while wishing all “Merry Christmas!” signal the revelry. Carolers beckon from the sanctuary, donning red choir robes and halo-white satin collars, heralding the music of pleasant voices in perfect a cappella, lifting up Gregorian hymns as the gothic organ opens with Bach’s “Passacaglia in C Minor”.

The Carolers, in a procession of holiday finery, continue their serenade to the corners in front of Victorian homes prominently, proudly, situated within what area, over many Christmases past, would become the town’s spiritual epicenter.

“Hark! The herald angels sing, ‘Glory to the newborn king…’”. Everyone in Glory Town is expected to play roles demonstrating angelic behaviors at all times – and especially when guests are afoot. This whole town is a “Christian town”, hastening one back, in a heartbeat, to a Charles Dickens setting. Good behavior as far as one can see has been dreamed of, desired by, and lusted after, by those who have ever read or heard of the charm found only here, only now, this magical time of year.

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The reputation of this little whistle-stop snowballed, bigger with every winter. Glowing reviews, and enough money to publish and mail pamphlets far and wide, made the traditions of these townspeople turn into the regular place of pilgrimage it is today. When visiting Glory Town, no tourist expects anything less than perfection. Who wouldn’t want to make this place home?

The improvements of puritanical whitewashing for the holiday productions begins each summer, with “summer” rehearsals starting directly after New Year’s. These practice runs include all residents – young and old – and require them to play their parts so well they’re second nature. By August, all the families congregate and begin re-teaching manners they’ve been teaching exactly as written and executed in the1800s. The women sew new costumes each year. They rehearse with their children so everyone is in step: how to act, how to talk and how to dress as if they still lived in the 1800s.

Making money by entertaining tourists has always been a major source of income for the town. Aside from that revenue, each business is small – and there aren’t many – and their bottom lines are nil to nothing. They like it this way; that’s why the law exists that the town will grow no larger. No corporate world exists here – in yesteryear. Everyone depends on the gratuities offered; they come in all year long, now that even the tourists have been courted to remember tithing so the traditions can continue. Little other real employment is available in Glory Town.

The acting, the manner of dress and everything else has become such a way of life that sometimes neighbors have to remind each other what is real and what are now magnificently drummed up vocations. “‘Come,’ they tell the tourists. ‘Pa-rum-pa-pum-pum.’”

It has become so confusing that some townsfolk, especially the older ones, just stay in their assigned role all year, shifting from season to season, talking in a dialect privy to Glory Town from nearly two hundred years ago. As they grew into their roles, they became them…except for some of the women who serve on the community boards. They dress in their finest “other” attire most of the time.

The locals take tremendous pride in the natural beauty of their town; and that goes right with

3

giving thanks that they are governed by strict Biblical standards. The town is theirs – God seems to have made it and them just the way they are. Surely, it is a blessing for their piety, the elders say. And, though they welcome the tourists who marvel at their magical village, they are happy when the visitors depart. They certainly appreciate the economical gratuities. They benefit from the applause of the audiences they entertain; however they do wallow in the esteem. Glory Town is exclusive to their chosen few.

The tourists are the ones who now provide all the necessary income to maintain the town’s old architecture, the roads and the restorations to every utility, but the natives are very, very fussy about who comes to live, who seeks to stay, who stays too long after the stockings come down from the mantles. The visitors make them uncomfortable – way over their comfort level.

In the old days, they had strong persuasive men who determined when it was time that someone should leave Glory Town as soon after Christmas as possible. They would escort the interloper to the city limits, tip their hats and say, “Never show your face here again. Ya, understand?” But a few things had to change, as reticent as these Glory Town people are. They know who feeds them, and, now, people want to come visit throughout the year. So riding people out of town on a rail, so to speak, had to go. And with it went their smiles, now grown shallow, their Christmas greetings super- ficial, but their acting rivals the best of Broadway. The more charming the experience they provide the marveling visitors, the better the pay. “Oh, little town of Bethlehem how still we see thee lie…”

The steeple of the old wooden white-framed church is first seen when driving down from the mountain roads. It seems to welcome all from the winding path. But looks are deceiving, and the whitewashed paint is just that – whitewashed. And the winding path, it’s the most winding in the minds of those who live in Glory Town.

If anyone comes to visit outside the season of giving, the townsfolk know who they are, where they came from, what their intentions are…and when they should leave. The gossip trail is fierce; if one knows something new, they all do.

Of course, everyone attends church, and since there is only one church building in Glory Town,

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the Catholics have the evenings, the Baptists take the 10:00 AM every Sunday, while the Methodists have the 11:10 AM slot, and the Episcopalians secure the earliest services at 8:00 AM sharp, ending promptly forty-five minutes later. The Presbyterians are at 9:00 AM, and the Pentecostals, which include the Assemblies of God and so forth, occupy most of Sunday afternoons.

Church bells ring throughout the day, calling each congregation to their appointed time of wor- ship. The church bells sound rich and deep, reverberating with man’s spirit and soul, ringing to the heavens to be one with his Maker.

However, when fellowship time comes, they congregate all denominations together, eating, singing, dancing and any socializing hoopla at the time. Otherwise, there wouldn’t be many fellows to the ship.

Mountain clogging and square dancing are two celebrated happenings that many in Glory Town excitedly gather for during the fall and spring months. Their fiddlers and steel guitarists are some of the finest in the country. There is a young vocalist competition, and a clog dancer contest, which also includes a beauty event.

These festivals bring in neighboring county folks. A good healthy county competition is exhilarating, and the town is always hoping for new talent who can bring celebrity status to the area, as well as keep the faithful tourists geared up for another visit. After all, the nearby state of Tennessee has quite a reputation for talented artists. Glory Town wants to reap some of that glory, too.

Glory Town has one hotel with eleven rooms which, during Christmas, never has any vacancies; and the two private bed and breakfast facilities tend to be booked up an entire year, or even two, in advance.

Hotel residents are rarely invited to the church social functions any time of year. During the holiday season, the hotel’s guests are provided an open kitchen and usually celebrate together because the town closes on Christmas Eve at 3:00 PM sharp. There isn’t a movie theater, or any

5

other venue for entertainment. The tourists resort to entertaining themselves, and they accept that for all the “unbelievable” goodness showered upon them the next day.

The grocery store is a small market that transitions to an open-air fresh fruit and goat-swapping center during summer. Nearby are ruby and diamond mines that have shovels and sifters for rent in summer, too, but it doesn’t take many people on staff to run them, so, again, the job market for Glory Town is slim to none. The coal mines employ about 42 of the working class of Glory Town. Logging is protected, but where it is allowed some of the men of the town work in that capacity. There is a double-sided clinic that tends to people on one side, while a country veterinarian utilizes the other. If the regular doctor is incapacitated, the country vet works both sides. That vet has delivered babies of every breed and stitched up minor lacerations on both humans and animals. But, all victims of major incidents are flown by helicopter to the nearest open emergency room.

The roads leading to and within Glory Town are treacherous during winter. Many people coming or going lose their lives trying to drive up or down the two-lane mountain roads. For safety’s sake, most of the grocery shopping is done in monthly installments, especially during the winters, and particularly if the individual lives on Downy Mountain Ridge Road leading into Glory Town. This road is where Cat Dubois lives.

The majority of the residents were all born in Glory Town – almost every single family has been a part of this whole scenario since its founding, except the doctor and the veterinarian. But, eighty- some-odd years ago there had been just one other outsider who came to live among them – Cat’s late uncle, her mother’s oldest brother.

François Nicolle, who visited the town frequently in the years that followed Black Tuesday, was eventually, and, surprisingly, by the old ways, allowed to purchase the manor and land on Downy Mountain Ridge – mostly because he was unintrusive; he was isolative; and he came with significant wealth. Uncle François had immigrated from Rouen, France where he had honed his skills in the agricultural art of growing the finest tobacco. He had brought those skills to the fertile soil of Virginia and grew a fortune in the most unlikely time of prosperity between the Great War and the

6

Great Depression. Along with his wealth built in years when most are mere boys, Nicolle was almost idolized as “the” man’s man. He introduced the lush-hungry males of the town to tobacco and Bordeaux. With his keen mind for scientific advancements and business, and at only about twenty- three years old, the young industrialist offered to to help build the economy of Glory Town if he was allowed purchase of the estate. By all historical accounts, François had been the only newcomer who had ever been allowed to stay.

When François met his untimely death in 1939, Cat’s mother and father came to assume responsibility for the manor, and began employing locals seeking work. The Depression lingered longer there in Glory Town. So, for the next fifty-one years, it became their home. After the death of her mother and father, twenty-five years gone now, Cat has lived there alone. She is 61, and her story must be told.

“Since I, Tadhg, am the keeper of poetry, I know many poems for many occasions. Right now, I have one written for Cat Dubois. It was written for her to ease and lend strength for the journey she experiences.” Tadhg smiles warmly, “Perhaps her journey is one that has a familiar ring to you?”

Though, I’m as parched as the desert, and my skin is brown and wrinkled by the scorching sun, you have never left me.

I have known you are my friend and will never let me wither. If the night had no light from the moon, if the ocean’s waves consumed the shores, and if I had no friends, you would always be by my side.

You would lead me with your sweet tender voice, you would send angels to hold my hand. You would place the eternal light before my feet and I will not fall nor fail.

While I sleep, your angels will sing lullabies and say, ‘Sleep. child. sleep’.

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What makes Cat’s story unique is her gift. You see, Cat has faith, and it has made all the difference. Faith is her gift, and it will be put to the test to see if it is real, and to strengthen the measure given her for later use.

Before we can start this story in earnest, I must tell you some things beforehand:

First, the hard part. You must understand the reason’s behind Cat’s wilting, and angry spirit, for she was not always that way. You see, after many years of trying to be a good Christian like her mother and father, trying to live her life in their footsteps from the shadows of all they had done economically and spiritually for Glory Town, Cat shook her arms facing the sky and screamed up at the ears of God, as if He were there. Filled with rejections caused by believing those “good” people of Glory Town who claimed to be God’s children, Cat finally threw in her towel and lived in the singleness of her own mind.

Community, sisterly love and congregating with them was, well, truly, out of the question. She vowed to cut every relationship and denounce all spiritual ties with “those idiots” of her scorn. The last accusations against her, had been the final straw. “Calling me ‘a witch’, how dare they!” Cat rebuked their slurs as if God listened anymore. Her scowl said it all; and from then on, she no longer congregated with anyone in Glory Town unless it was absolutely necessary.

Cat cried into the brandy snifter.

She sat alone reminiscing about people and her vanishing past while lounging on the 19th century velvet olive-green couch in the manor’s library. Holding the brandy snifter in her right hand, she swirled the amber liquid at the bottom of the crystal glass. The movement was hypnotizing.

She watched it twirl for an hour or more, while memories played like a movie in her waking dreams all afternoon. She saw deeply, examining the past. The candles on the fireplace mantle flickered as the light faded in the room. The tears that befell her glass turned to droplets of self- discovery. As she cried, she saw something. A face! It frightened her for a moment, drawing a gasp. Somehow she had transcended; the year was 1999, and Catherine’s age, 45. This was

8

not a young woman’s overactive imagination.

She stared at her brandy. There, in the glass, a face appeared again. It was a boy, looking at her from within the mirror of the liquor. He had sandy hair and his skin was fair with sunburned pink cheeks. In less than a second, the boy’s image disappeared.

Cat jumped back momentarily, then back again, eying deeper yet into the liquid, trying to see the anomaly. As quickly as she imagined the image she saw, nothing but brandy looked back at her. She looked behind her, thinking the boy would be standing there. How did he get there? “Who is he?” A chill passed through her. The air was thick, and the room smelled of sea water on a hot summer’s day, but it was freezing outside.

“I’ve had too much brandy,” she muttered to herself. She thought about that, and set the snifter down for the night on the table beside her.

She remained on the couch, thinking. After a while, forgetting the boy’s face, she dismissed the foolish delusion, She flashed back to the beginning of her anger – frustration – rages, regarding these “good, kind” people of Glory Town.

Ruminating, her mind ran away from the pain, way back in time. She saw herself – perhaps, she was four or five, maybe; she couldn’t remember. But the time was when she met her best friend, Daniel Davis, who was slightly older than she; and, it was a haunting memory, a mystery she would never forget.

Daniel was the minister’s son. From kindergarten until teenage years they were bosom buddies. He was a handsome boy who grew into a gorgeous young man. Always shy around others, young Cat was the one that made him laugh. Daniel trusted her.

It was if she had always known him – even before they met. Confidences and secrets were hidden in their hearts. Their families wanted them to marry when they were older. From Cat’s sweet smile anyone could tell she wanted nothing more than this, but, in her heart, she knew it would never happen.

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With all the hopes surrounding them, she went along with the idea that their marriage event would occur, anyway. She knew that Daniel loved her, but the dark secrets he’d shared when they were teenagers, made such wishes impossible.

He loved to cook and garden. He worked around the house and never wanted to go hunting with the men. He had strong shoulders because he chopped wood for the townsfolk. At the high school dances, he performed the latest moves like they were second nature. So, he was popular, too – every girl’s best friend, sweet, kind and intellectual, and mindful of the teachings of the elders. But, he litened to the forbidden radio to hear the latest news about world events and fashion. He snuck away from his father’s hellfire and brimstone messages to learn all he could of the outside world.

That which compelled him to quest far beyond the oak-lined alleys of Glory Town, was as second nature to him as dancing. Daniel loved men. Glory Town would never allow him to live there, if they knew. And, he didn’t want to live a lie.

Cat loved him unconditionally and would hide his secret forever, but she knew she would never be his wife no matter how hard anyone, and she, wished. It was easy to visualize her entire life with Daniel, but she would have to settle for being his best friend. There would be no romance or physical penetration when two souls meet, embrace and unite as one. She knew this would never happen. It made her sad; she wanted what lovers have; she wanted matrimony – with him. She loved him and adored him more than can fill a heart and mind and soul. But because she loved him so, she was willing to sacrifice that precious union, the whole man and wife magic, that blessed sacrament. He was Daniel; he was hers and she was his; it was just a different kind of wonderful than anyone could know.

Daniel revered Cat’s willingness to sacrifice her future for him, honoring his dark secret. But, he couldn’t bear allowing her to live a life with him devoid of physical engagement. He would hold her heart, but there would be no joining of their two spirits. There would be no conjugations; there could be no true marriage. As much as he, too, prayed he could compensate with the purest of love, Daniel could not ask Cat to throw so much of herself away, for him.

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Cat DuBois was just too special. It was he who bragged about her extraordinary gifts to
everyone – her gift of healing animals, her gift of of healing all living creatures. He stood in amazement every time they were together. She could heal people of so many ills, if they would just let her. The blessing of healing she manifested from within her were far too precious not to scream it from the mountaintops. He told everyone.

Assuredly, that is how jealousy took root in a family, and then spread like a forest fire in a drought. Because Cat had these gifts, amidst her shining star character and brilliance, she upstaged the pillars of the town, the respected elders and queens of the clans of Glory Town.

One family in particular began lambasting Cat at every turn, The Bartons’ three daughters, Priscilla, Patsy and Daphne, were this community’s beauties beyond compare. They also won the majority of scholastic awards – but, of course, their mother, Ruth, taught at their school.

Patsy was Cat’s age, and she desperately tried to provoke Cat into any competition that presented itself. But there was one area she had to dismiss. Patsy couldn’t carry a tune in choir practice, and Cat had perfect pitch. But Cat was never allowed a solo. Mrs. Barton made certain of it. The girls’ mother graded Cat on a curve Mozart couldn’t master – all because she thought Daniel would be a better match for Daphne.

Every time the Barton women could make a negative slur about Cat, they dug a slanderous ditch for her. Silently, they listened and gritted their teeth at Daniel’s accolades of Cat; they wanted to believe he was delusional. Like sour grapes, they imagined if he married this little insignificant girlfriend, Cat Dubois, he would one day discover that she was just like all the other dreadfully boring women of the town.

Surely Daniel was making a mistake! Clearly he was bewitched by this common girl and could not see Priscilla, Patsy or Daphne because of the enchantment with which the little trollop Cat blinded him.

The pressure grew on Daniel to ask for Cat’s hand in marriage. The entire town – except Ruth and

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her three girls – wanted to know, “When?” Were they going to have their wedding ceremony as soon as high school was finished? “When is the big day?”

Constantly pushing their agendas, engagement ideas and wedding plans upon him, Daniel finally broke under the strain and screamed the truth at his father, the Reverend Davis. One fine afternoon, he admitted his secret truth. He had to be honest. He confessed under emotional duress, but it was still the truth. “Father, I am gay! Don’t you see it? I’ve been this way for a long time.”

Those words changed his life forever – just as he’d thought. Daniel was expunged from Glory Town by his own father and mother. He was given a knapsack of food, water in a thermos, and allowed to keep only the clothes on his back.

He traveled on foot up the winding road, making the curve out of town on Downy Park Ridge Road. His younger siblings watched him leave until he was out of sight. They were unsure of the reason why he had to go; their parents and everyone who saw stood silent; but, they all knew something bad had happened.

“Mama. Mama, where is Daniel going?”, they pleaded, crying and pulling on her flowered cotton dress. One held onto her dirty apron. Daniel’s home, the day before his announcement, was now a place in his past.

One confession changed his world – that first sentence was all it took. It changed his mother’s and father’s lives, and those of his siblings; it changed Cat’s life.

The sky became grayer. The light of day dimmed to darkness. The brilliance of some special charm in that town lost its shimmer; no, it was gone altogether. An artist left and took all the colors with him. Enchantment with the hope a new young couple would bring such delightful children to sing in their choir – what was to be a slice of the magical life of Glory Town was erased in an instant – all because Daniel didn’t fit the mold. The pretty picture they had painted in their minds didn’t match God’s unique creation – the young man who had just hiked out of Glory Town.

Mrs. Davis stood looking down the street that Daniel walked on his way up the hill. The road

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looked long and lonesome. She thought to herself with caution, “Daniel soon will pass the Dubois estate.” In fact, her husband had yelled at him as he walked, “Better not go that way.” His demeaning tone rang loudly inside Daniel’s head, but Daniel had to go that way. He must. Still, even louder, his father screamed, “Don’t you think the Dubois family will want you to stop. Go on! You’re not my son anymore. Nobody wants you.”

Daniel’s mother stood like a lone tree in the desert. Her husband had scurried their other children inside. She was alone. Was she embarrassed or sad? Perhaps, a little of both but she knew she wanted her Daniel back. Would she ever see him again?

Word traveled before Daniel even made the first curve in the road. Some gossiped that his mother was so ashamed she couldn’t even move. Cat later knew that his mother was just broken-hearted. She knew that his mother would never heal; she knew that she, herself, wouldn’t.

The sun was blazing hot ‘though it would soon be dark. Sweat began to trickle down his head. Daniel was afraid, but free, at the same time. No longer would he have to live a lie though his immediate thoughts were, “Where will I go? Where will I sleep tonight?” He pressed onward.

Finally, going inside to look out the kitchen window, Mrs. Davis strained to see her last glimpse of her son. Her finger tips pressed the window trying to pull herself closer. She wanted to run after him.

“If you go after him, then you might as well pack your bags. You better not even think about it.”, Rev. Davis barked. After gruffly preaching this to her, she stayed motionless at the window. He hit the wall beside her, putting a hole in it, then he marched upstairs and slammed the door. The good Reverend never spoke to his wife again, unless he had to. She didn’t care. She hated him for this. She almost hated his God that he preached about on Sundays.

As Daniel passed the Dubois manor, he did stop – only to say goodbye. He hoped he could just see Cat one more time. Pausing in front of her home, he wished only for a hug and then a wave, “Goodbye.”

But news had already traveled to her parents; even as Cat tried to gain permission to take the car

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to drive him to the next town, her father refused.

“Papa, please! It’s not right and you know it!”

“Catherine, you go to your room right now!” her father said angrily, his French accent making the words sound so much more foreign.

“You loved him this morning! Now? Now, you hate him? How dare you! You call yourself a Christian? You’re not Christlike at all! I despise you!”

Cat ran to the top of the stairs. There on the table next to the banister, she caught a glimpse of a roll of money – money on top of her mother’s purse.

Cat grabbed the cash and ran the rest of the way up to her room. She hurried to the window and looked out, waiting until Daniel walked by.

“Daniel? Here!” She called out, throwing the money down below so he would be able to catch it. She watched as it blew away from the manor, and she waved goodbye, knowing her father would be going outside any minute to chase him away. Warm tears passed her soft, pink cheeks. “Bye, Daniel,” she hollered. “I love you! I’ll love you forever.”

Daniel waved back and blew her a kiss before he scrambled to pick up the money he could in a hurry. He stared back, seeing Cat’s mother looking out the front living room window. She gave a wave, too – a fragile, weak kind of wave.

Mrs. Dubois prayed as he turned and walked away. “Oh, Lord, please protect him. Send your angels to comfort him. Keep him safe. Please. Thank you.” Then, she went upstairs. She went straight to Cat, putting her arms around her tightly. Together, they cried.

“What will happen to him, Mama?” Cat asked, wiping the tears on her face.

“I don’t know, Cat, honey, but we will pray that God will be with him.”, Mrs. Dubois said.

Cat bit her lip. “Mama, may I please give him a ride to the next town? Please? Just let me sneak the car out this once?”

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“No, Catherine, your father will kill us both.” Mrs. Dubois said, sadly. “I’m sorry.”

“Mama?” Cat began, tentatively. “I took money from your wallet. $25.00. I gave it to Daniel.”

“I know. I left it there on purpose. You’ve a great heart, Elizabeth Catherine Dubois. I’m glad you did that for him; it was the least we could do for that sweet young man. I know how much he means to you.” They held each other as they watched Daniel walk up the road until he was no longer visible.

“Mama, will I ever see him again?” Cat asked.

“I don’t know,” Mrs. Dubois said, softly. “I don’t know.”

She hesitated before leaving the room, putting a hand into her apron pocket. She had a second thought. She changed her mind. Without looking at Cat, she placed the keys to the old Impala on the dresser, tucking a credit card beneath it. Under her breath she whispered, “Be careful. Pay for two nights at a hotel. Your father can be tempered. I’ll tell him it was a donation to a worthy cause. A tax write-off. Now, go quietly while I distract him.”

Cat quietly slipped outside and jumped into the car parked down the drive to the side of the house.

Mrs Dubois distracted Mr. Dubois with the suggestion of summer night’s passion, “My, it’s hot tonight. Come upstairs with me. I have something for you. A gift.” She smiled and winked. She curled her index finger to and fro. “Come on. I’ll meet you upstairs.” Mrs. Dubois turned on the bath water for two.

The sound of rushing water would distract his hearing. He wouldn’t be able to hear the car’s engine as Cat started it up, nor would the Impala’s headlights reflect in the large victorian bathroom.

Her distraction worked, for Mr. Dubois couldn’t get there fast enough. For the moment it seemed as if he forgot about Daniel’s drama and gladly he accepted the invitation.

“Turn on some music dear…”, she taunted.

Cat started up the old car and crept down Downy Ridge Drive as if going slowly might make less noise. She spotted Daniel walking on the side of the road. It was past dusk, and she could vaguely

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make out his shadowy figure. Honking and pulling to the side of the narrow curvy mountain’s small shoulder, she called out to him. “It’s me, Cat. Get in.”

The silence was thick. There were few words expressed, but finally Daniel spoke, “All men must go through an initiation into manhood.” He was silent for a second. “Cat, don’t stop this. Boys need to have this time. Any of them who don’t will later wish they had. It’s our rite of passage. The Indian braves do it. This is the right time and the right thing to do.”

Cat wanted to believe him. She drove him twenty-five miles to the next town stopping at a small motel. “Mother told me to pay for a night or two.”

“Tell your mother, “Thank you. I love her. And, will you tell my mother the same?”

“Daniel?”, through her tears she nodded, “Yes.”, to his requests. “Daniel, I can’t let you go. I can go with you.”

“No, Cat; I will be fine. I know someone not too far away. He said I could stay with him until I find work. I will be okay.”

“Promise? Swear it.”, she begged.

“Yes, I must do this. I have to grow up, Cat. It’s my time to sink or swim. I must become a man, now.”

“Swim, Daniel, swim.” Sobbing, he turns her away. “Get the car home before your father knows. I don’t want him to take it out on you two.”

“Okay.” Sniffling, Cat hugs him one more time.

He points the direction out of the parking lot. “Do you know how to get home? It’s dark on the mountain roads. Be careful. Promise?’

“Yes. Daniel. Daniel, I already miss you.”
“I’ll keep in touch. I swear.” He held the door open as she got into the car.

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As he closed the door, he said softly, “Now, you must go. I love you always.”

Pulling out of the motel parking lot she found the mountain road that would take her home. Cat thought about him every mile of the way. Through her sobs and tears, she wondered how he would survive.

Upon her return, she found that her parents were fast asleep. Cat slipped upstairs toward her bedroom, silently replacing the gifts her mother had lent her.

The women thought the father never knew she had taken the car. But, when she pulled back into the driveway, he was listening. He sighed relief, and said his thank you’s to God. A tear formed in his eye. He never let on he knew, and they didn’t ask.

Cat wrote in her journal that night, trying to understand the day. Even though her daddy was tough and often cool, he thought the world of Daniel, like the rest of the family. But, after Daniel left that summer, her daddy would hug her, for no reason. He never said anything. He just hugged her.

It rained for one whole month in Glory Town. Perhaps the town was secretly crying about Daniels departure, or maybe it was the angels crying.

As for Mrs. Davis, the days of her sobbing were over, but she would never smile again. She stared down that road, and waited. She just waited…and waited…and waited. She had a feeling she would never see her boy again, her precious Daniel.

She questioned the rules voiced through the insensitive humans who surrounded her. How was it possible that a loving God was so cruel? How could it be that they worshipped an unloving deity that allowed no mercy or grey areas to exist, especially, in Glory Town where things were supposed to be based on God’s love? Black was black; and white was white; and there would never be any shades of grey there.

To to the neigbors (supposedly, all her friends) who judged her son so harshly, God was an almighty father who tolerated nothing but perfection from his lambs. No spots or wrinkles, just pristine, whitewashed picket fences, and houses that complemented each other with matching shades

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of paint, and children who walked and talked the Holy Scriptures without pleasurable smiles. They sang Christmas carols all year – songs that now meant nothing to her; they were simply empty, dead words—just like her feelings.

Cat saw Mrs. Davis’ endless watching to see if her son would walk again down their lane again – day after day, one year to the next. Cat wanted to reach out and touch her, to tell her how she felt. After all, they understood and accepted Daniel exactly as he is. But, Cat stayed her distance; she did not intrude.

Cat did pray, however. She asked God to help Daniel’s mother, “We are two women who know painful sadness: for Daniel who took the rainbows with him, for the unicorns also departed with their smiles.” Cat laughed at her silly humor, but she felt like all this about Daniel was just that – ridiculous. Besides, anything that brought a magical feeling did disappear out of their lives when Daniel left.

Meanness grew from the seed of uncompassionate judgement and resentment, planted the day they exiled Daniel. That seed grew with more cultivation than ever in their grounds of high expectations. Trying to live up to all the “Thou shalls, and the Thou shall nots” had turned out to be a very hard lesson that kept getting more difficult with every day.

If there was any grey area, it was gossiping. Somehow one could gossip without sinning too badly. “After all, who is perfect?”, they justified. The gossip queens found protection under the Almighty’s great wings of grace. Apparently, gossiping was very forgivable, for them. It was letting off the steam from their boiling pot of perfectionisms.

They loved to gossip about two things: Cat and Daniel. And, of course, Reverend Davis. Not one of the townspeope ever visited Mrs. Davis – not even once.

Daniel’s mother seemed to wither away. After Daniel left, she had very little to say to anyone, including her husband. Mrs. Dubois always warmly smiled, and patted her hand, once, to show support. It was a kind gesture, but Mrs. Davis needed more. She hurt so badly that she questioned

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God’s existence.

All the scriptures regarding pain and suffering were, simply, not much comfort. The scriptures were used to convict her son, not to love him. Wasn’t their God supposed to be a God of love? This is what she had always believed. Perhaps, she was wrong about “His” character. A hateful God she would not, she could not, follow.

Mrs. Davis desperately wanted to talk with Cat, but her husband’s strict rules – to stay away from the Dubois family – kept her from paying a visit to the manor house. She was so fearful of what others would say; and more afraid of her minister husband. He might hit her. He would definitely berate her, although never publicly. But, she had borne his harsh blames and accusations that she was the reason Daniel grew up to be queer. He growled, rebuking the mother of their child, “Had you not coddled him so often and treated him like a girl, this never would have happened.”, and “God, help you woman!”. Of course, he blamed his wife for all of it: Daniel’s homosexuality; the fact that he wasn’t a real man in his father’s definition, or that of his community; and that he had to leave his home. It was all her fault!

And so, Mrs. Davis changed. She avoided the congregation, and she isolated herself in their lonely prison of a home. The only hope for a glimpse of godly mercy would be that Cat Dubois would hear and answer her prayers: that some how Cat would make a way to find her and tell her about her son, her Daniel.

“Please, hear me, Cat. Please, come and tell me about my son.”, she prayed repeatedly.

Then one day, a diagnosis was confirmed by her doctor. Mrs. Davis was dying. Parasitic cancer was rapidly growing. She called their maid, Ernestine, to send word that she needed to talk with Cat Dubois.

The maid knew, at once, that this had to be a clandestine operation. She would have to go to Cat’s house and ask her to come. Oh, she wasn’t afraid of Cat, but she feared for her own reputation just like everyone else in Glory Town. Anyone seen talking or visiting Cat Dubois was ostracized. But,

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she would do it. She had to think quickly. How could she sneak Cat inside the minister’s home where the ill woman waited? Ernestine was resourceful – she went as quickly as she could to consult the other maids of Glory Town on the sad situation.

Now, those who worked as domestic housekeepers in the town were all black women, and were forever under the ever-watchful eyes of the influential Glory Town hobnobs; but, when it came to the dying, well, the dying get their last request, no matter what; and the maids knew how to serve those needs best. So, these women used that trust and liberty to work together to pull off the plan.

It was an elaborate and grand scheme of orchestration by these Christian women, so prejudicially considered as subservients by most everyone in Glory Town. They would accomplish what no one else, so far, had managed or even tried to do in consideration of Mrs. Davis. These women were going to help Cat Dubois meet with that one woman in Glory Town who desperately needed to see and hear from her.

“Knock-knock” on the Dubois’ huge wooden front door was the first stage of their plan.

Ernestine sent Grace to visit Cat. Grace was the daughter of Beulah, Ms. Dubois’ cook, when Cat was a baby girl. They had never met, so Cat didn’t recognize Grace when she appeared at the front door; but, once she introduced herself, Cat was all ears. She knew it had to be very important for this woman to call on her out of the blue.

Cat eagerly agreed with their plan to go to Mrs. Davis’ bedside. The ladies had a signal, and a clear-cut order of what was to happen to protect all involved. Cat was a phone call away, and she promised to be ready when they said, “Come.”

At last, the call came. “Go to her, now.”

Cat was ready.

First step: Grace drove behind her, so Cat could park her easily-identified Jeep a few blocks away, hidden from prying eyes. From there, Grace picked her up and sped to the Davis’ home, making sure she was just under the speed limit. She dropped Cat off at the back door.

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Second: While the drive, drop-off, visit, and pick-up was in process, some of the other women in their black congregation were putting finishing touches on pies in different flavors: cherry, blueberry, apple pie and even a chocolate one, taking care to add fresh whipped cream, and brewing freshly ground Columbian coffee, too.

While those women were readying the refreshments, a few others were sent scurrying around town, inviting all the ministers they could find, from all the denominations and congregations, for an important, though impromptu, morning chat and prayer breakfast.

Along their route, they would even ask some of the local “nosies” who loitered around the church, “volunteering” (mostly, of course, so they could be the first ones to know who had died, who was planning a wedding, who was spending too much time in the preacher’s office). The domestic brigade had to keep them busy, too.

All this was planned and executed in less than 24 hours.

Justine, a part-time maid, had agreed to stay with the ill woman in her home, and to wait for Miss Dubois at the back door. It was all moving like clockwork. Justine waved Cat inside, “Come on! Quick now!”

As soon as Cat got in the back door, she moved quickly to Daniel’s mother’s room. She would have maybe two hours for them to talk – if Daniel’s mother could last that long, not becoming too weak from being anxious, and then the visit with her “guest”.

Justine set coffee on the bedside table for Cat.

“Thank you, Justine,” Cat said, gratefully. “That wasn’t necessary.” She knelt down on the floor next to Daniel’s mother. “Hello, Mrs. Davis. I’m here. I’m right here.”

After parking her car down the street, Grace followed Cat, entering the Davis home to make sure all was safe. She graciously backed out of the room, leaving the two secret friends alone. She joined Justine in keeping watch for anyone suspicious, waiting and ready to whisk Cat away and back to her Jeep.

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They took their positions, Justine was at the front window of the house; Grace stood guard at the back. Other than the postman who was extra friendly with Justine that day, there were no hitches. It was a plan made from heaven, for now.

Cat whispered again, “Hello, Mrs. Davis? It’s me, Cat.”

Faintly, Mrs. Davis breathed, “Oh, Catherine, how I’ve longed and prayed for this day. The heartbroken woman could hardly contain her tears. The words were hard enough to say because of the toll of the disease, but the heavy flow of deep weeping, alone, would have stopped her flow of conversation if she had not been determined to talk with Cat Dubois. Her last hope to Daniel, she would muster up the strength to talk and listen.

“Tell me everything you know about Daniel. Please.” Her voice quivered, and she tried to look up at Cat.

Weak as she was, Mrs. Davis had to hear every word.

She called her Catherine. Mrs. Davis had always been more formal than most; she was, after all a preacher’s wife; and she was kind when addressing anyone around town, but this young woman was due some real honoring. At the very least she would call her by her given name. Catherine had en- dured as much pain over her relationship with Daniel as she, his mother, had. She wept as Cat began.

“But, first,” Mrs. Davis softly interrupted. “Before you say anything, I want to tell you how much I appreciate you. I wish I had been bolder after Daniel left. I wanted to come to your home. I wanted to, but…” Her voice trailed off, and, as her eyes look down in such despair, she cried harder. Her voice became shrill; her pain was more than even Cat had imagined.

“I am ashamed, for not standing up to the bitter, hateful gossiping, and for not standing up to the Reverend. I cannot even refer to him as my husband anymore.”, she said, finally.

“It’s alright. I know.” Cat smiled at her and squeezed her frail hand gently in a pact that their two minds thought so much the same. They both loved Daniel; and they both knew the hate they had endured for so long now; they knew the mindset of those who brandished the antiquated laws of

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Glory Town like razor-sharp daggers.

Cat was delighted to share everything she knew of Daniel in his mother’s final moments. She continued to hold her hand. In an unusual way, it was like holding Daniel’s hand; it gave her strength. So, Cat held back any sad or frightening thoughts about him.

She told his mother how Daniel had become a man. She didn’t tell him he was a drifter or a gypsy. She just spoke of the best of his life.

“Most of all, he told me to tell you how much he loves you, and his father.” Cat thought about lying to her. Lying would make it easy for the frail woman to pass on, but, Cat wouldn’t lie. She knew all lies eventually catch up in one’s life, or beyond. She did, however, sugarcoat the good reports.

“He forgives me?”, Mrs. Davis asked.

“Yes, yes, he never thought you were to blame and he hoped you were alright.”

“Please, tell him that I love him. Please. I’m so sorry.” The tears were coming again. “Why do I have to leave before seeing him, I don’t know why?”

Her tremendous sadness was tough for Cat. She stretched over a bit to gently hug the grieving mother. Within minutes, Mrs. Davis closed her eyes and went to sleep.

Cat kissed her forehead. It was time to leave; she had been there more than an hour. She slipped out of the bedroom, and Grace hurried her to the Jeep.

“Goodbye, Miss Dubois.”, Grace said as she turned to leave.

“Thank you for your help. I needed that as much as she did.” Cat gently shut the car door. Even though Glory Town was so small, Grace and Cat’s path likely wouldn’t cross for a long time, if ever. She paused to think how grateful she was for Grace’s safe passage for her, for the courageous and ingenious thinking of all the women who helped. They, too, could be judgmental in their own ways, at times, but they recognized that Mrs. Davis needed closure about Daniel, and they did exactly what their Lord through Ernestine had asked them to do, without a second thought.

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That evening Daniel’s mother drifted into a coma from which she never awakened. Her funeral was on a bright sunny day.

Cat made her way to the church, and sat in the back. She went for Daniel’s sake. She went for the sake of his devoted mother, Mrs. Rebecca Palmer-Davis. She also attended the graveside ceremony, standing a good distance from the others, but not too far from the “colored ladies” as she respectfully thought of them so much moreso than before, and certainly moreso than the other white folks. It was late summer or early fall, and the year was 1980.

As it was, Reverend Davis suddenly died of a heart attack less than two months later.

Cat knew he died of heartbreak, too, drinking himself into the grave by self-medicating from the pain of it all. Daniel’s leaving, combined with his wife’s sad and painful death, finally overwhelmed him. It was more than he could bear. He was buried on a cold rainy day in the first part of winter.

Daniel did not attend either of his parents’ funerals. Had he known of his mother’s illness, he would have jumped over the moon and fought off dragons to be near her in her last days.

But, he wouldn’t hear of their deaths until later, when a couple from Glory Town happened to be where he was moonlighting as a bartender in a strip joint three counties away.

They came for fun. Just to sin a little. You know, get away from Glory Town. As they sipped their drinks and talked to Daniel as if he was their best friend, and as if nothing had happened, they told him, nonchalantly, that his mother died in late summer and his father, two months later.

They drank and laughed their night of escape away from Glory Town, and Daniel pretended to laugh with them. Secretly, inside, he ached. He thought of both of parents. Nothing was settled in this lifetime; nothing was forgiven; nothing was better, but worse, with the news that came as if the drunk couple told him about having a tooth extracted – nothing more.

Daniel dried the last high ball glass for the night, and locked the door to the bar. He went back to his hole in the wall. He drank a scotch by himself, wishing that life had been less painful. He asked hard questions to a God that seemed removed from him: “Are we merely puppets for you to pull our

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strings? Is there no happiness or love on this god forsaken planet? Why? What is this all about? Am I a horrible person? Perhaps you should kill me! Let me die! I don’t want to be here. Mama! I love you! Father, if I could, I would hate you, but God won’t let me. See, I know about God’s love! I learned that! But, not from you. I learned it from my mother. Thank you, Mama. I love you!”

That night, on his flea-ridden cot, Daniel held his gun cocked. Several times, he place the barrel to his head. He didn’t do it. He just fell sound asleep.

In his deep slumber, he had a dream. It was vivid in every way; and, in it, a strange woman came to him and sat there with him all night. He asked her, “Who are you? And, what are you doing here?”

She answered, “I’m here because someone prayed for you.” The woman spoke with an old English accent.

“Who?” He looks at the woman in his dream. She’s wearing an old green velvet dress.

“Someone who loves you very much – Catherine. You call her Cat. She prays for you every night. When you see her, tell her that, one day, I will visit her.”

The strange dream never left Daniel. And, he did deliver the message to Cat the next time he saw her. Although the dream was vague, and all the time in the world could have passed, he would never forget the old English woman who got him through that night, the old woman dressed in a green velvet dress.

A more traumatic blow befell Cat, within a year after Daniel’s mother and father died.

A winter more bitter than the last took both her parents. They had been to a neighboring town to pick up supplies to hunker down in preparation for an ice storm headed their way, but the storm was moving fast.

They called as they were leaving the store and Cat plead with them to stay at the motel just nine miles away but on the lowland before hitting the winding mountain path, but they insisted on coming

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home to be at home, safe with their daughter.

Like many others before them, her father saw the ice on the curve before the bridge and slowed, but once they hit the suspension, the ice was black as the night and he lost control. They were gone in an instant.

Catherine would so sadly become the heir of The Dubois Manor in Glory Town.

Daniel traveled back to Glory Town when he heard of the Dubois’ deaths. It was the winter of 1981. He walked to the old manor. There he stayed with Cat for a week. No one knew he’d visited, except perhaps one man – a suspicious watcher – who wasn’t sure it was Daniel, but knew that someone was up there with her; and, being nosey enough, assumed it must have been him.

Daniel didn’t attend the double funeral. In fact, he never set foot in the perimeter of Glory Town. The Dubois Manor was as close as he would come.

And, the curious watcher didn’t make a big deal out of his assumptions either. Maybe it was just out of respect for Mr. and Mrs. Dubois, because if he had made even one comment, it would have become like a tidal wave in Glory Town. The townspeople had nothing better to do, and gossiping about Cat had been their favorite pastime for years now. She was the mysterious woman who never married, but was still gorgeous, despite the degradation and misery they caused with glaring eyes and whispers. And, she bore unusual healing talents, and the strangest crystal blue eyes. They said her eyes could capture souls, so they faced their fears of her with rumors and jeering laughter and cruel gossiping.

This was one of the reasons Cat stayed away from them as much as possible. Cat knew this about herself, that her eyes were like crystals – that she could mesmerize people, sometimes. She used this on occasion – for her eyes could throw invisible daggers of sinister emotion. Once in a while, when things were just too out of hand, when she really needed, she used her visual knives to intimidate the gossip queens.

When Daniel arrived at the manor, Cat made a warm cozy bed for him and prepared fine meals.

26

Two more times after her parents’ funeral, Daniel came to stay with her. He became complacent about life – a vagrant; and he eventually moved closer to Glory Town, living on the streets of a nearby town. He had not found his self-worth…yet.

The next year, mid-winter, and with shoes so worn he was almost barefooted, he came wandering to Cat’s back door. He didn’t want to be seen, but he would chop wood and stay in the warmth of her kindness. She ministered to his broken heart. He would never stay longer than a week, although she always offered him a home for life, if he so wanted.

But Daniel would visit the Manor, and then leave again. Perhaps, it was the sadness of never being able to see his mother or father ever again that was just too painful to be near Glory Town for long.

One day, Daniel walked away wearing new shoes, purchased by Cat at the town market. He had a little money in his pocket and refused any further handouts from Cat. But, he always did what he could for her, in return for her generosity. He had pride, after all.

He chopped her wood, so she would have plenty for winter. He fixed her barn doors, and the garage door, as well. He painted the trim of the manor’s windows. The weeds were pulled out of the flower beds.

On the fifth day, he gathered his few belongings in his leather shoulder bag. Cat watched him pack through the crack in the door of his bedroom. It was time. She knew he was going, just like he said. He fixed everything in five days. She went downstairs and made a fresh pot of coffee.

He stood tall at her kitchen threshold, without speaking.

Breaking the silence Cat said, “You don’t have to go. This is your home. That is your room. I need your help. I can’t run this place by myself; you see that. We both need each other.”

He smiled. “Thank you. It’s good to know I have a place that is mine. But, right now, there is a world I have to explore.” He paused, “And you, Cat, you need to find someone. A man who will love you and take care of you. You and I love each other. But, it’s not the love you deserve. Find a man to

27

love you. There is a whole world outside of this place.” He smiled tenderly. His eyes told her this was the way it was going to be.

“You’re a beautiful woman. To wait for me is wasting your life. I can’t love you the way you should be loved.”

“I see.”, she replied. Though, she didn’t see at all. She handed him $200.00. “This is your payment for fixing everything.”

“No, I stayed here. I owe you.” Daniel handed her the money back.

“No, Daniel, this time, I insist. This is for the wood you chopped; for fixing the fences, the barn door, the garage door and the painting. I couldn’t have done this. I know this isn’t enough, but please; it’s all I can afford now.” She wasn’t going to let him walk away this time without making her best effort to pay him.

“Cat, I can’t. You gave me food, water, a bath, a bed, meals, wine and, best of all, the love of a lifelong friendship. So, no, no, I cannot accept. It’s my gift to you.”

“Oh, yes, you will. I insist.” Cat puts the money in his shirt pocket. “There. And, there it will stay.”

They looked into each other’s eyes. “It’s time,” he said. “The weather is cool and crisp, and the sun is brilliant.” Daniel’s face bore a manly expression. He had grown up. He was a man. He passed the test – the right of passage; he knew what he was doing, Cat didn’t have to worry any longer.

Daniel was an honest gypsy. He went from town to town fixing things, staying at farmhouses or in barns in exchange for a bed, food and a bath; and, he was known as far as he could walk for repairing broken fences the right way – the old way, where they last for years even through many harsh winters. Sometimes the fences looked beyond repair, but Daniel could mend or rebuild even those if he was allowed.

As he leaned down and picked up his satchel, and started toward the door, Cat had to ask, “What about love Daniel? You never mention love or a special person. Do you have a special someone?”

28

“No. No one special person.” The sun caught his eye as he had moved into the light from the window. He shewn like an angel – iridescent, glowing with an internal peace. She closed her eyes for a moment, wishing he just wouldn’t go.

He took the opportunity to slip the $200.00 on the counter as he opened the door, walked down the steps, and proceeded on the walkway toward the front yard.

Cat chased him. “Daniel, please. Please, don’t go.” Softly, she begged.

“I have to Cat. It’s time. And, oh, yes, I almost forgot to tell you.” He looked into her eyes and said, “One day you will have a visitor.” He predicted Cat’s future, knowing, without a doubt, it would come to pass. “The visit will be very important to you.”

Cat thought he was talking about a man. A man she would, one day, fall in love with. “That doesn’t interest me”, she firmly stated.

His eyes caught hers for a solitary moment before she could look away in belligerence. It was as if they told each other a story. A story they knew so well. It was a lifetime in a glance. “But, not this lifetime”, so she thought. “Could it be another place in time?” “No”, she reasoned. “No such thing.”

“Until you send word that you have met your visitor, I love you; I have to go. You are going to be fine.” He turned the corner to the front of the house, and stepped onto the road wearing his new leather shoes.

A car was coming and he put his thumb out to hitch a ride. The car stopped for him. Daniel looked one more time at her as he got in, and he waved goodbye.

She waved back until the car disappeared around the mountain curve, and the majestic stand of red cedars was all that looked back at her. She wondered if she would ever see him again. “Would he always be a gypsy? Will he be safe? God help him, please.” Cat always kept the night oil burning for him. She hoped he would return. For now, Daniel was gone, once again. Maybe forever.

She wiped the tears off her cheeks many times that afternoon.

29

 

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Bojenn



Chapter Two

Thank you for reading and I hope you will want to continue on the journeys with Cat Dubois. 

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Dedication

The main character, Elizabeth Catherine Dubois, is warmly dedicated to:

My father, Jim, who taught me the wonder of the heavens and the stars;

My mother, Babe, who showed us life’s magic;

Carol, my sister, who is a warrior queen;

Elysia, my daughter, who gives God’s love;

Joel, my son, who renders grace;

and, to Jacob, my grandson, who is God’s gift.

Most importantly, this book is dedicated to my God, who is patient with me

K♧

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.

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

More Summer Poetry 2016

Writing on FB @ The Poets Haven with Alan Boles

 

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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 quill 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 notion

Thinking about Emily Dickinson

 

 

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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

 

 

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Each life is a story written within a story.

A book with moving pictures 

A book who’s ending, we write

 

 

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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 a demon whispering suggestions

 

 

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Reverence

 

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 clean stream of faith abounds

And God lets an eagle soar

But, the eagle too, will rest in the valley

 

 

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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 returns my life
And exits south thus taking flight

 


*** Mantaloo my creation for the name of a demigod***


 

 

Thank you for taking your precious time to read my poems. May you walk in God’s grace and light….

 

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K♣️©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

I ask God’s Angels to Help

I ask God’s angels to help me… Thank you angels, in advance…

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Knowing some of their names and specialties is beneficial.

Ariel – “lion of God;” angel of protection, please help me from those who seek to injure, purger, pursuit me of raise the laws, injury, perjury or death towards me. Please, be with me. Thank you

Asteraoth – name of an angel who thwarts power., I ask you to stop any powers who are against me, in Yeshua’s name, Thank you

Ayil – angel of the zodiac sign Sagittarius, who is the leader of my rising sign. You who were in the East, guide me in perceptions and honesty. Yes, there is an angel over the zodiac signs…

Azbogah – name of the high ranking angel of judgment., cause all judgements against me to cease. In Jesus name, thank you.

Azriel – name for the angel of destruction, please remove any self destruction or any destruction from others, in Jesus name. Thank you.

Balthioul – angel with the power to thwart distress, cause any anxieties or worries I hold to leave in Jesus name. Thank you

Barakiel, please open my heart to good blessings. Take away my fears of being blessed or any lack of self worth that stymies my heaven presents. Thank you in Jesus name.

Barrattiel – angel of support, please come to hold me up. Thank you, in Jesus name.

Barbiel – angel of October, and my birth guide me. Thank you, in Jesus name.

Barman – angel of intelligence, please lend me more, than I can contain. Make me more quick-witted, than any enemy. Also, please help me with any forgetfulness. Thank you, in Jesus name

Baruchiel – angel with power over strife, give me power over problems. Thank you, in Jesus name

Bath Kol – female angel of divine prophecy. Pour upon me, your gift, that I might know of futures. In Jesus name

Briathos – name of an angel who thwarts demons, stop all demons assigned against me. In Jesus name. Thank you

Camael – angel name that means “he who sees God;” chief angel of powers, help me to see with divine eyes. Thank you in Jesus name

Cassie – angel of Saturn, help me to send Saturn away from me and towards my enemies. Many thanks in Jesus name. (Saturn is the planet of hard lessons)

Cerviel – angel ruler of the principalities, take down those in high places over me… Make them fail and fall in Jesus name. Thank you.

Chayyliel – angel whose name means “army;” a powerful angel, please stand in for me and be my army against those who seek to harm me. In Jesus name. Thank you.

Diniel – angel who protects infants, protect the children in question. In Jesus name, Thank you

Duma – angel prince of dreams, send me good dreams. Thank you, in Jesus name

Dumah – angel of silence. Quiet the enemy in Jesus name. Thank you

Eae – angel who thwarts demons., stop her demons and mine in Jesus name. Thank you.

Elyon – ministering angel who brought the plague of hail upon Egypt, please take away the attacks on me. In Jesus name.

Emmanuel – angel whose name means “God with us.” Thank you for being with me.

Gabriel – archangel whose name means “man or hero of God.” Please make me this in Jesus name. Thank you.

Gadiel Please release me from all my negative energy and thoughts that prevent my blessings. Release me from conscious or unconscious blocks to blessings. Show me the way. Thank you in Jesus name.

Gamaliel you are the greatest giver. You love to give miracles. Please look at me and see that I’m worthy to be honored with your miracles. Please and thank you in Jesus name

Gzrel – angel who revokes any evil decree against another in heaven, please revoke any weapons formed against us. Thank you, in Jesus name.

Hamaliel – angel who rules the order of virtues, please help me and others… In Jesus name. Thank you

Harahel – angel who oversees libraries., please confuse my enemies, with records kept. Thank you in Jesus name (Remember in The Psalms, David asks this)

Hasdiel – angel of benevolance., I ask for kindness in the name of Jesus. Thank you

Heman – angel leader of the heavenly choir, whose name means “trust.” Please give me trust and faith in Jesus name. Thank you

Hermesiel – angel who leads one of the heavenly choirs, help me/us to sing again. Thank you, in Jesus name

Hofniel – ruling angel of the bene elohim; name means “fighter of God.” Please war on my behalf. Thank you, in Jesus name

Iofiel – archangel whose name means “beauty of God.” Please send to me your supernatural beauty in Jesus name, thank you

Jehudiel – archangel who rules the movements of the celestial spheres. Please move for me, on my behalf. Thank you in jesus name

Jeremiel – archangel whose name means “mercy of God.” Please in Jesus name, Thank you, We need grace and mercy

Kabshiel – angel of grace and favor…. Thank you in Jesus name

Miniel – angel invoked to induce love. Thank you, in Jesus name

Nathanael – angel ruling over hidden things, fire and vengeance., please in Jesus name, We need your help. Thank you

Pathiel please open my/our gates of manifestation. My wish list is:   *****  for any prosperity. Thank you, in Jesus name (yes, prosperity is a good thing)

Pesagniyah – angel who ushers prayers of grief to heaven. I am sad about …. list your sadness and griefs.  Please, help me/us. Thank you, in Jesus name

Purah – angel of forgetfulness. Bring clarity to my mind. In Jesus name. Thank you

 


 

 

Razed with the wisdom of the universe, please fill me with the wisdom that I need to prosper abundantly. Thank you, in Jesus name.

Sarakiel – angel who rules the ministering angels. Send your angels to comfort me. Thank you, in Jesus name

Sophia – angel whose name means “wisdom.” Please Sophia come. In Jesus name and thank you

Umabel – angel of physics and astronomy. Please give me insight. Thank you in Jesus name

Yehudiah, the benevolent angel of death. Please be kind at my death and the deaths of all my love ones. Thank you in Jesus name

Yerachmiel – an archangel who rules earth. Show me where to gain prosperity honestly through ?… Be specific to your hearts desire…  Thank you in Jesus name

Zachariel – angel governor of Jupiter. Oh please abundantly bless me/us financially, in health, in creativity, in ideas, joy, singing, writing, drawing and in family. Thank you, in Jesus name… Thank you Jupiter represents abundance and joy, and blessings of great overflowing.

Zaphkiel – archangel whose name means “knowledge of God.” Please bless me/us greatly in Jesus name. Thank you

Zazriel – angel whose name means “strength of God.” Please grant me strength. Thank you, in jesus name.

Zehanpuryu – high ranking angel whose name means “one who sets free.” Please set me free from the bondage of  ?   Please direct me to ?  In Jesus name, thank you

Zophiel – angel whose name means “God’s spy.” Please go before me and give me the scoop/intuition… Thank you, in Jesus name…

Zuriel – angel ruler of the principalities whose name means “my rock is God.”

Be my rear guard, and surround me at all times and my family. In Jesus name. Thank you…

 

 

And, these are just a few names and ranks of angels…

Names can be found in The Gnostic Gospels

The Book of Enoch and other writings

Also see these sites with their links:

http://www.angelsghosts.com/angel_names

http://www.angelsghosts.com/angel_names

http://dwhitefeathers.blogspot.com/p/blog-page_99.html

 

Imaginative Children, Are They Future Authors? Does your child change Medusa?

 

From Pinterest Images

Imaginative Children, Are They Future Authors?

So, it’s been said, regarding the odds of becoming a famous writer that, “4 out of 5 people, want to write a New York Times best seller, book.” Clearly, the odds of becoming a famous author are stacked against every writer. It maybe easier to win the many lotteries, which have a winner every day, somewhere.

Looking at the traits of many writers when younger, we will find a child who had/has/have an incredible imagination.

To watch for a potential child writer, one should notice and observe traits.  The traits vary, and these traits, I’ve listed, are certainly not (all) the characteristics of (all) young writers. But, these are a sampling or examples of some observations a parent may see in their youngster or youngsters.

Does the child change the story/stories that a parent reads them? Do they have another ending? And to add about this trait, it may occur at very young age. Perhaps, even before, age 2 or 3 and on up. It depends on how early the child was exposed to books and stories.

Does your child love stories? Do they open a book (often) without prompting by a parent? “Here, please, read this to me.” And, “No, that’s not how it ends, mommy/daddy!” They clearly change the setting, plot and characters…

Does your 7, 8 or 9 year old love to write poems and do they keep a diary or journal?

Has anyone accused your child of “not telling the truth?” Or, have they been accused of “lying?” Many times a young writer will suffer punishment for being creative. The parent may not understand, nor their teacher. Perhaps, the person who will/or has recognized this gift, in a child is someone who is also gifted… After all, as it’s said, “It takes one to know one.” Non creative people often become frustrated with the creative child. The parent or teacher is unable to understand the trait, they simply don’t resonate with a child who is unlike their self or themselves … They can’t.

On to the characteristics: Does your child make up better endings of stories, or more violent scenes, or change any part of their world that is unsatisfactory, as well as stories? Does your child perhaps change Medusa? I laugh at this statement, because this is what I did when I was a child. I made my mother change the snakes to dragons or horses, and my mother, always obliged me… She was a creator, as well.

Does your child pretend a lot? Do they have imaginary friends? Do they talk to themselves? Can they entertain themselves with fantasy for long periods of time? Are they as happy to be with themselves, rather than, being with friends?

Do they want to know historical facts? Are they obsessed with hearing other stories over and over again? Do they have foresight? Are they intuitive?

Do they live in a dream world? Do they daydream? Has the teacher at school gotten on your child for, “Not paying attention?” Perhaps, your child is partially listening, but is making the explanation better or more interesting… ?

Has your child been treated for a psychiatric disorder? Did they put your child on medications to clear up delusions, hallucinations or mental illness? Does your child have nightmares? Do they see things at night or day? Do they think the boogie-man is truly under their beds?

Now, please understand, there are mental disorders that do need to be treated. However, a consideration for imagination vs psychiatric diagnosis, must be clarified. Asking and verifying, are these behaviors an active imagination or symptoms of a psychiatric illness? (is absolutely necessary)

If your child is surely not suffering from psychosis or a mental illness, then it maybe a good idea to have your child placed in a group of young writers, poets, lyricists and artists. Often artists do suffer from some sadness like other non creative people do, but creativity plus sadness often is interpreted as mental illness. (Very sad face). The equation is not 1 + 1 = 2 …  It is merely 1, you have a creative child and 2, the child is depressed (like many uncreative humans). Too often, the 1 + 1 = 2 means a psych diagnosis, medications and a label that follows a child the rest of their lives. (very sad face, again).

Children will need to have this gift of imagination developed by the right person. It is a parental responsibility to help cultivate an imaginative child and to teach the child when to turn the fantasy off and when to create… After all, an imaginative child will create ALL THE TIME… that’s their gift, just like a vocalist or an artist of pictures …  Writers create worlds, kingdoms, magical places and wonderful stories if we nurture them, understand them, and assist them. For an example, if you forbade a writer or creator from mentally creating, they would not/could not stop imagining. It is as natural as a natural born vocalist. Writers are intuitive manifest-ors. They will need positive instruction and direction from someone who is also creative. They will need direction from a positive influence.

I don’t know about becoming a famous author, screenwriter, lyricists or poet, but I do know, from being a creative child, they will thrive in a protective, supportive environment and who knows what anyones future might be… Except the little author… Oh, they can create their world… It’s as far as their imaginations can venture…

Happy writing little ones…

 

Please feel free to write your experiences or your child’s character traits of being a writer… I would love to know yours…

Winter Fairies and Return To The Forest

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Welcome To Winter Fairies and Return To The Forest

My poetry is dedicated to my family respectively:  Jim, Babe, Carol, Elysia and Joel.

Also, I want to thank all of my poetry friends that I’ve made on FB. The list is so long of my FB friends and I just want to let them know that they are so appreciated…

Now, just a little note to you the readers. This is a long poetry story. It has to be lenghty as it tells a story about love that’s become volatile. Love ,that is abusive and perhaps dangerous, is Beauties struggle and “Beauty ” is a metaphor regarding the lives of domestic violence victims.

I’m most proud of Fairy Beauty who declares her win over The Evil Sh’man. I love her words to the audience, to herself and to him. She comes through as the ultimate victor in the case of domestic warfare.

Thank you for stopping by and reading the allegorical poems of Winter Fairies.

Oh and by the way, the word fairy or faerie have two different spellings and meanings. A fairy is good and kind and represents innocence while faeries are mischievous at times and are practical jokers and create havoc in their environment.
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WINTER FAIRES

Evil Sh’man Speaks:

Part 1

Hey! Come back here you Elfin Faerie!

Stop giggling, skipping and dancing, right now!

Caught again this time…

Feel the gripping of my grasp?

Delight, fright?

You Elfin mischief maker.

This time you’ll pay the price.

Last time… You’ve plucked my “C” chord.

Making sure of that…

Ha! You laugh, tease, taunt and twirl,

but now meshed between fingers of steel.

Escape not.

The last laugh; mine.

Little green Faerie neither sex surely known.

Doesn’t matter now

For between my fingers, thou art.

So, wiggly. So smart!

My eyes will not close!

The night approaches. Willing not thou clever plan.

I sleep not!

Fighting sleep.

Sword drawn at my side.

Think Thou smart, do’est though?

Think ye shall wait?

Time your best ally?

Big green eyes look so sad.

Concerned for souls, are you?

Eyelashes ever so sweet and dimples warming pink cheeks.

What’s this?

One big tear begging release?

Ahhh…Turn Away! …

Beguiling charm!

Eternal soul sucking fascination of Beauty’s green eyes.

Devilish harm…

AYE, Look away!!!

No gaze at she!!!

The promise of your love I shall not see.

Turn away!

The trigger’s trap catches not; me.

I DO NOT SEE!

 

Then Beauty Takes Her Leave as The Evil SH’man Sleeps:

Part 2

Black night comes,

alone and cold.

Smart beauty sleeps warmed

By hands that fold.

In quietness the present enemy waits.

Beauty taunts not.

She need not…

For time be her friend.

Coldness aligns her side

And loneliness sang lullabies to her;

“sleep child sleep.”

SSH…Shh…

The fight grows small.

Sleeps on the horizon; it calls.

Hearing distance voices my eyes rest.

The hills and a mountain melody lays sleeps fog.

I answer…

Can you hear it, as well?

He snores…

“Gently gently, sleep.”

Beauty crawls from fingers once tight.

Careful, careful…

Not to awaken the captures soul…

She’s played before..

However it’d grown old.

She plays well.

A champion for sure.

Quietly quietly,

“SSH”…says She….

“Awaken not my game.”

“Comes tomorrow a fair shame is he.”

“Foe rest; later your dare…”

“Truth? Ha!”

“Thought you had me?”

“You foolish sh’man.”

“Look! Who has who.”

“Thought you’d won?”

“Ha!!!”

“Surely thought?

I’d not get away?”

Ah…Before Daylight shines…

“One last game..It affords me so…”

Whispers stories in midnight sleep.

You’ll think strange, “God’s” voice for certain.

Magical messages, images, songs and words;

“God’s!, not His at all…”

Ah Hah!!

“Goody, goody for me.”

“One more time before nights end

Can bully jab my soul.”

“NOT!” Then; Beauty declares her win…

Her long fairy fingers reach for the harp.

The soul of her game?

To pluck his “F” sharp…

“Bold challenges,” said Beauty,

“HIS love I detest,

but, as He has made it,

I surrender my quest.”


 

Beauty, The King of Clubs, enter’s another battle with The King of Diamonds or The Evil Sh’man. One more round taking place in the courtroom of divorce.

 

Poem 2

The King’s Duel

 

The Final Question?

Can the deep insightful King of Clubs
raise the final victory
over the overachieving
game playing
often clever
king of Diamonds?

Swords raised
not a final nod.
Eyes glaring steel blue and hazel green
facial lines fixed
not even a twitch.

Slowly woven like the Earth to the Moon
moving like a dance
made a circlular pattern
on the floors of onyx black

The King of Diamonds
so sure of himself
believed no fight
from the Club herself,

But the Club held dear
the truth in her heart
The Lord Almighty
was there
from the start.

Round and round
so slowly they moved.
The Diamond King’s lips
snarled a smirk
as he spit tw’ord ‘er shoes.

And the King of Clubs
shot darts of fire
her eyes told,
“He’za liar!”

The one eyed King
dazzled with diamonds galore

But, The King of Clubs
kept her mind
on the chore.

Over and around
the blades slowly moved
then picked up the pace
without any shoes…

Cling, clang, ding and gwong
the blades met
rangling a song

“All shiny and strong,
the song of a Savior,
That life is a gift
given by Him
and though expect treasure
we don’t always win…”

And so,
The Kings welded
their swords in the air
cutting their skins
and toppling their hair.

No whining
nor whimpering came from the two
but fierce wellbred bickering
whipped whistled twang pue.

The blades never ceased
the clang of the strikes,
faster and harder
beaten the life

Of one Diamond King
and the other a Club
but The Savior stepped in
to straightened their thuds.

Now, it came to pass
that The Diamond King
tipped his hat,
and gave up his crown,
and that; was that.

And The King of Clubs
Surrendered her heart
at a cross
on a hill~
decidedly smart.

For the hill is where
all kings will bow
made not of fools…
but of heroes,
Those, i am’s, of Thou art.

 

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Poem 3

Fairy Beauty was captured because she was on a quest to find the perfect person to love her. And, because of her innocence, kindness and inability to defend herself, she is captured by a man, who is not for her ultimate good well-being. On the road of searching for a god-like man, she was captured by a sociopathic man….

 

In the poem, the man in the forest she meets, is a god-like man whom she created in her mind. It was a man similar to what she felt her father was and perhaps he is her biological father on her god-like quest for a great man to love and marry her.

So now, for poem 3:

The Forest Man

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Like a drug; I’m compelled.
An index finger points the way.
The path covered in vagueness.
Only trust leads my day.

The forest is my storybook.
Few paths I’ve known.
Some are smooth and uneventful.
Some are treacherously bare.

Once a lesson completes.
And a short respite occurs.
The forest fairies find me.
And, another adventure is assured.

My feet are weary from twists and stones.
Tripping along the way.
But nonetheless, the spirits find me.
And again, I’ve nothing to say,

Excuses are lame.
Whining creates more.
So, quietly I proceed.
Wandering, the magic roads of lore.

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Passing through the brush.
Carrying my satchel of prayers.
Perhaps I’ll pass a man.
A man who relinquishes terrors.

And I’ll look for him in the forest.
There, pray he shall find me.
Illuminate, our eyes will sparkle.
Then, my spirit shall be set free.

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Beauty does escape the evil sh’man; however, the road home is often filled with in trepidation as she is always looking over her shoulder watching and waiting for the reappearance of her captor. Her fears are at times delusional as she struggles with being tormented and falling back into his hands or similar hands. She knows that she is vulnerable because of her naivety.

 

Poem 4:

Escaping and Returning to The Forest

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Cold, cold, cold the morning; cold.
Coffee warms my hands.
Unraveling memories; seeming dull
Still night dreams, do unfold.

Whispering…
Low clouds covered the forest
Eyes that see not before us.

But, follow the pale path
Neath the weary feet.
See it! There! Underneath!

SHH!..silence!

Wet leaves covered the way.
Then look closely if you may.

Sprinkled sparkling faerie dust
Shimmers neath the leaves.
And, if you follow the shining lights
Those sights shall take the lead.

Following the strath of twigs and weeds …
Growing near the path
The wetness of the leafy stuff
Still bares the night time mask…

Here, there, turns and twists
Mark a path which won’t resist.
All night long seeking an end.
Running, skipping and stumbling on shin.

Searched, knocked, and sought
Only not to find
Any faerie myths…
Oh, how my heart…
Does pine.

I tired of your game,
Oh, Faerie
Running your path night long.
Then decided I,
Best to wander home.

And, vaguely remembering sanity
Since safety departed me,
Calling from the woods
It growled ferociously.

Sad and disturbed
Missed you again!
And, lowering my face,
Bares a fools return.

Hey, Look yonder!!!
There! My Mims!
To be greeted by their love!

The open arms of my kin.

My family who loves me dearly,

And they who prayed me  home

That night.

Even despite myself. ,
Yes…

Even despite myself.

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Special thanks to my Late mother, Babe, my Skipper B, my Dear sister Carol, my daughter Elysia and my son Joel. They “who safely, yea, safely prayed me home that night.”


 

Beauty is still on her journey with the help of her family to find sanity so she continues to seek refuge at home once again. She is still running from the shadows, the bumps and bangs in the middle of the night or day. She shakes from fear whether real or imagined.

 

Poem 5:

Trying to Find Home

 

“Awe,” the radiance; so bright.
Then, follow it, with all might.
The road course shall lead by day
Rocks, turns, stickers and curves
Climb anyway…

~~~

My prejudiced thoughts;
Lofty visions of you.
Fiery images deflect a golden hue.
Imagined you, bronzed, dazzling, and vein.
We danced; then came the rain.

~~~

Caught too long there.
Idol thoughts; so dear.
Washed away; with my tear.
My arms bound, and mouth sealed.
Woven. Hey! What’s the deal?

~~~

OH, My God! I’ve Been Caught!
The coven’s web intently taut!
The feast I am. His delight.
Oh, fairy friend! By the firelight!
Here I am!

~~~

Now the spiders home virtually unseen,
Vaguely tucks into that corner beam.
But, see the dim light, growing so bright?
A fairy severs the silk, so tight.
And, falling from the web of fright.

~~~

Still arms tangled by silk threads
Pushing out bracing the fall
The spider and the fairy brawl
Wham, Bam, to and fro, from the deathly fight they bow
Looking, whom’s, my fairy friend? Noticing it must be Joe.

~~~~

Underneath the spider
Joe waves thumbs up, You’re alright!
Now run like hell! To the light!
Run away little bait!
For, the fate of the firefly might be too late…

 

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By Bonnie Jennings 1/12/2010

 


 

 

While on the road to recovery of being a doormat personality, Beauty finds a new friend who comes to stay with her during the getting home and settled sate. And, it was then that Faerie Jo (JR’s) entered her life. It is true that Faerie Jo made Beauty laugh again; however, Faerie Jo had some deviant behaviors the Beauty was amused by. He made her laugh though she never experimented with his mischievous suggestions. But, Beauty does thank Faerie Jo for the recovery of smiles, amusement in life and deep hearted laughter she had lost while in the deep woods of fears.

 

Poem 6:

Joe’s Seduction and Return to The Forest

 

 

 

 

 

Joe’s Seduction

 

Innocently spoken

lips of faerie red.

Failure to answer

deliberately unsaid

~

“Come On!

You want to play!

I see in your eyes

And OH,

By the way”

“At the end of the day

You’ve nothing to say?

We’ll see.

Yea?”

~

“Come now

Sing and dance with me.

By the time night comes

We’ll use the key.”

~

“The window thought closed

We’ll not use tonight

For as the sun sets

The door will shine bright.”

~

“And, just as before

When the Moon was full

You danced by the light of the fire.

And your life…not dull.”

~

“So come on Old Foe

I challenge you today

to come to the Forest

But, don’t forget to pray.”

~

Now Joe’s eyes

faerie green-blue

Her hair of red waves fell

Her waist little too.

~

Charming alluring daring

Joe seduced the weakening victim

O so sweet her voice

before Joe actually kicked-em.

~

“I can’t, I won’t !

Now, GO JOE!

far from me!

Out! You Elphin mischief-maker!

There! The window!

Now, LET Me BE !”

~

Pouty lips and bats of faerie lashes

A wink of Joe’s eyes

She extends her hand

“Come now, come nigh,

And do not say, good-bye.”

“My human friend

Please don’t cry.”

~

Joe’s fingers crossed

After her word

“You know you want to come.”

Joe’s clever tenderness heard.

~

Then their eyes met

Joes soul stronger by far

It reached out to point the way

To the forest

By declare.

~

Weeping, sobbing and uttering,

“NO!,

For with you faerie

I SHALL NOT GO!.”

“You LIE, you CHEAT, You’ve NEVER TOLD the truth!

Away from me little demon!

For I a clever sleuth !”

“I found out your tricks

All slippery twists and turns.

You’ll not lead me to the forest

The fires there

Will not burn!”

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Blink blink. Smile smile.

Joe’s gestures summoned otherwise

Lies, cheats, twists and turns?

“You know how you loved it?

O, compromise!”

“Hey, for now,

Why don’t we play?

Remember the time

Remember the day?”

“You chased me,

And I chased you

Around and about

And away we flew.”

“And, I gave you wings

So you could fly.

You wore them one day

And flew sky-high.”

~

Up and away

or top of the trees!

O, how you flew.

Then, crashed down on your knees.

You cried a little

Afraid to smash

But, I caught you.

Do you remember that?

~

By day we flew

through tops of trees.

At night we danced,

Howled while burned the fire

With the breeze.

~

The snow fell

white branches below

cold air on our faces

you didn’t say, no.

~

Confessing your fears,

Don’t make me fly!

Saying, Damn you fairies!

But, we took you so high.

But, once on top of forest trees,

cold air blew

threw majestic hair.

Then, smiles over took you.

You’d no more cares.

~

Remember Foe

The human flew

Above The Earth,

And, safely returned

To the fires hue.

Tasting faerie brew

Though freezing; made warm.

Tasting our food,

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Now, whats the harm?”

~

So, come now,

God of the sky.

Let us dance, cheer and sing

And, please, don’t lie.

~

For flying, your game fare

The faerie sort

A dare!

~

So, stay if you must…

But, winter is coming

and near the first frost.

Kindling our fires

Don’t get lost.

~

The invite is yours.

Extends the Faerie hand

In Spring depart

From kindred land.

~

Think it over,

I’ll return once.

To ask you to play

to ask you to dance.

~

Well,

Quiet are you

Not so sure?

Your soul inside

Embarrassingly pure.

~

Judge others,

And they judge you.

But, in Faerie land

All tiny feet

Wear the same tiny shoe.

~

“So, I’ll leave you this morning

To think for yourself.

I’ll return ONCE more.

~~~

When The Moon shall wane

Then, you should thin,

Follow the elf.

~

But, one more time

I ask you to follow

Before The Moon’s full light is gone.

Then, don’t dilly-dallow.

~

Joe moves to the window

Her faerie finger points up.

Then, her faerie wings take to flight.

But, before leaving from captives sight

~

Joe turns to wink

And salutes goodbye.

 

 

 

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In the year 2011, Beauties mother dies and it is in her memory, that this poem was written. “Babe,” Beauties mother was life’s weaver of magic and good dreams. This poem is about Babe, who helped Beauty so many times. This poem is a thank you to Babe for her constant help in real life and beyond….

 

Poem  7:

Autumn Weaving with Babe,

my weaver of dreams and magic 2011

 

 

 

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Weave in and out skip two colors of dreams

Raise the level of forest green

now circle around the lights magic stream.

 

Yellows and oranges

Parfet and red

perfect strands of marbled threads

~

Dashing there yonder

up over Mars

bringing back a handful Stars

~

Wild horses charge

Black stallions at night

Taming the dragon with beacons of light

~

Casting them into fortune and fame

Causing the wind

Making it bend.


 

Lastly, there are many more in The Winter Fairy series of Poetry, but these are the most significant to the experiences of abuse. This poem is about the road of recovery. Victims have a tendency to repeat damaging relationships. So, in the recovery process, Beauty separates herself from any possibilities of dysfunctional relationships until she can learn to say, “No,” and she can recognize  the “red flags” that charismatic abusers often present. Until that time comes, and maybe it won’t, Beauty rests, heals, and discovers her own needs for self love.

 

Poem 8:

Leaving Adam

 
 
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~

Leaving Adam

 
~
 
 
Eons advance and passed away.
Thought, theory, speculation and opinions, die.
Glancing through lenses, and squinting, at the sky,
Adam, pointing, at the twinkling specs, named the brilliant ballet.
 ~
 
So, following mankind, up the mountain,
And ascending a rocky path; we embarked.
My feet followed his, upward, to where the sky was arched.
His staff pointed, and the heavens, then filled me, as a refreshing fountain.
 ~
 
An advocate of The Father of Man, I desired what he sought,
Thus’ left the home of my family and upheld his zealous quest
Confidently, I abided and affirmed his every request.
Even, wore his belief’s; did just as he taught.
~
 
One day, dared I asked, Adam, the man of science,
How is Eve today?
And, if looks could kill, then Eve is dead, thus’ left us only, to pray.
Deceased, she is. He answered, with a chill of neglectful defiance.
 ~
 
Man of Science, I spoke so boldly.
At the mountain top; we stand
The stars, you named, and held, in your hand,
However, love you murdered, so coldly.
~
 
This day, I choose the mother
Her love, which first found me
Within the warm and welcoming spirit, in there, dwells she.
 And, today, I accept non-other.
~
 
So, progressing and moving towards her;
 Over, the cliff of doubt, rapidly grabbing her hem, I aim.
Because, after carefully, considering your treacherous, pains,
There, in her grace ~ I seek her, safe harbor
~
 
I choose faith, that which, I cannot see. 
 
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©2010 by Bojenn or Bonnie Gay Jennings or Bonnie Jennings
@Bonnie Gay Jennings, or Bonnie Jennings or Boondoggling with Bojenn

*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. All artwork is also the production and creation of Bonnie Jennings.

 

My email: Bonniegjennings@gmail.com

Thank you for reading. I pray you found insight.

God bless you.

Bonnie Jennings or Bojenn

 

 

 

The Watchman

The Watchman

Until time passes and you touch to reach me

I will wait, I will be here

As long as God allows time

Here, standing, watching and waiting for your post

Promising to pray without ceasing

That’s what guardians do

So, that is love

“The Fetus”

The Fetus

“The fetus and/or discarded tissue” is the way, they refer to the child, I never knew.
A fight to protect a grown woman right’s is predominate over the right’s of you.
Big business, clear throat, the governments claims are like talons
They use the media to promote their “caring valors.”
While, in fact, my babies tissue it seems
Was used in cosmetics and that was beyond my wildest dreams
“We’re just experimenting for the good of mankind,”
Their lame excuses sicken me, I suppose, they knew, I was blind.
To the fact that my babies tissues brought monetary and scientific foresight
Is beyond this humans understanding and is societies plight
For what will we be when it comes to mankind?
Throw away babies for the sake of the dying?
Are we so greedy and grab at our demising time left
That we forfeit the right’s of the young, through theft?
There’s no more to say at this moment
Except my heart has broken each Christmas morning
Missing two faces, whose hands are gone
Into someone’s hair treatment and a bottle of pretentious Perignon
—————————————————————————————————-
***There is no picture that I found suitable so one was chosen at random.

Skulls at Choeung Ek

Earning the wings that I wear

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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.

 

July 20th, 2015; We Said Farewell

Jo Jo as His Glove...
Jo Jo as His Glove…


 https://youtu.be/KWvPOJOYqGA


My Little Jo Jo
March 2009-July 20, 2015

Closing eyes shut I see green pasturesSee you run freely
There in the flowers you jump so high
Barking ~ Like laughter
To see you smile
Cherished fond memories
Moments of ~
Off and on, fleeting visions
Running close to me
Reaching out to touch you
Then disappearing from my dreams
Only left with an image
You standing on a hill
Telling me ~
I’ll see you soon
Selfishly you are missed
I hold you here
Confusion about living
Dying and the hands unwind
You whisper to tell me
If you listen you’ll hear me
Just call on me
If you need me then call me
I’m not far from you

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You bequeathed me
When the moon was full
In fall during harvest time
The sun set in the warmth of summers end
Then, we walked on the shore hand in hand
~
Thus you stole my heart
While I wasn’t watching
Under the lights of a starry sky
My body limp and my soul captured
Then, you walked next to me
Into the dark of all the darkest nights
~
Staying with me for six short years
And not a year longer you tarried
Forgetting, we cared not, all others existed
Meshing our love, entwined and bare
Then, walking upon warm moonlit sand promised
~
Assurances have no guarantees of longevity
And often are broken
Rest assured you had my heart
From the uttermost beginning of time
When The Moon’s light inspired us
And the warmth of Summers end was well behind.
~
In time we shall will meet again
When the sparkles on crystal beaches reflect
The love of humankind who meets his best friend
A dog named Jo Jo whom I bequest

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The Healers in Ecuador

I dedicate this poem to someone that I admire beyond words…

To Ingrid Naiman

Ingrid’s blog and link to her, out of this world, knowledge of healing…

http://astrologyofhealing.com/ingrid_path/ingrid_naiman_Hawaii.html

 

The intricate beauty of god's love

The Healers in Ecuador
Ecuador lush greens, and iguanas galore
The smell of the Hibiscus so sweet they implore
The hunches of folk maidens found in books
Adventures in paradise; listening to brooks
Healing the soul from whence it came
Releasing the bondages from deadly games
The essence of breath found in the jungle untamed.
The healers explored vast botany ignored
Within the person the pilgrims restored
Instead of a pharmacy excepting a bribe
Drops from lush plants heal souls that subscribe
And, hope soars as the eagles proclaim,
The Boehme folk maidens brushed them and gently lay claim
Healing for anyone without any shame
Thanking The Earth for royal bounties it shares
Requesting in return to replenish its’ ware

By Bonnie Jennings

 

K♣️

©2015 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

Day 14 Which Equals 5… For Someone Special

Take the mask off please and listen
Take the mask off please and listen

Day 14 which equals 5 because 1 +4 = 5 and 5 means traveling, “on the go,” death and rebirth, and lacking emotions, travels through life by their own rhythm and beat  … Transit people are 5’s.

The story below was about a man with a dreaded disease. And, this disease could be any kind of problem, addictions, angers, or flaws of character, etc… The man’s name was Naaman. And he went and sought, and travelled again and again seeking a cure; however, when he was told what to do (by another unexpected source, not his plans, as he thought it should be the king instead of the disrespected prophet) he went and did what he wanted and was angry. We have our plans, our agendas and we are sometimes rigid with these agendas. “If it’s not our way then take the highway.” The king didn’t tell him as he wanted, but it was another less respectable person, so, Naaman ~ 

 But Naaman went away angry (Naaman is a 5 person)

So he turned and went off in a rage.

Then, someone gets through to Naaman while he was in his fit of rage and anger and he listens. Because he finally listens after being afflicted, after being ill, after being angry with rage, after all the negatives ~ Someone is able to get through to his psyche and Naaman does exactly what he was told to do and he was healed...

And, Gehazi is another story…. and another number example for later…  🙂

The Story:

Naaman Healed of Leprosy: 2 Kings 5

Now Naaman was commander of the army of the king of Aram. He was a great man in the sight of his master and highly regarded, because through him the Lord had given victory to Aram. He was a valiant soldier, but he had leprosy.[a]

Now bands of raiders from Aram had gone out and had taken captive a young girl from Israel, and she served Naaman’s wife. She said to her mistress, “If only my master would see the prophet who is in Samaria! He would cure him of his leprosy.”

Naaman went to his master and told him what the girl from Israel had said. “By all means, go,” the king of Aram replied. “I will send a letter to the king of Israel.” So Naaman left, taking with him ten talents[b] of silver, six thousand shekels[c] of gold and ten sets of clothing. The letter that he took to the king of Israel read: “With this letter I am sending my servant Naaman to you so that you may cure him of his leprosy.”

As soon as the king of Israel read the letter, he tore his robes and said, “Am I God? Can I kill and bring back to life? Why does this fellow send someone to me to be cured of his leprosy? See how he is trying to pick a quarrel with me!”

When Elisha the man of God heard that the king of Israel had torn his robes, he sent him this message: “Why have you torn your robes? Have the man come to me and he will know that there is a prophet in Israel.” So Naaman went with his horses and chariots and stopped at the door of Elisha’s house. 10 Elisha sent a messenger to say to him, “Go, wash yourself seven times in the Jordan, and your flesh will be restored and you will be cleansed.”

11 But Naaman went away angry and said, “I thought that he would surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the Lord his God, wave his hand over the spot and cure me of my leprosy. 12 Are not Abana and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Couldn’t I wash in them and be cleansed?” So he turned and went off in a rage.

13 Naaman’s servants went to him and said, “My father, if the prophet had told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it? How much more, then, when he tells you, ‘Wash and be cleansed’!” 14 So he went down and dipped himself in the Jordan seven times, as the man of God had told him, and his flesh was restored and became clean like that of a young boy.

15 Then Naaman and all his attendants went back to the man of God. He stood before him and said, “Now I know that there is no God in all the world except in Israel. So please accept a gift from your servant.”

16 The prophet answered, “As surely as the Lord lives, whom I serve, I will not accept a thing.” And even though Naaman urged him, he refused.

17 “If you will not,” said Naaman, “please let me, your servant, be given as much earth as a pair of mules can carry, for your servant will never again make burnt offerings and sacrifices to any other god but the Lord. 18 But may the Lord forgive your servant for this one thing: When my master enters the temple of Rimmon to bow down and he is leaning on my arm and I have to bow there also—when I bow down in the temple of Rimmon, may the Lord forgive your servant for this.”

19 “Go in peace,” Elisha said.

After Naaman had traveled some distance, 20 Gehazi, the servant of Elisha the man of God, said to himself, “My master was too easy on Naaman, this Aramean, by not accepting from him what he brought. As surely as the Lord lives, I will run after him and get something from him.”

21 So Gehazi hurried after Naaman. When Naaman saw him running toward him, he got down from the chariot to meet him. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

22 “Everything is all right,” Gehazi answered. “My master sent me to say, ‘Two young men from the company of the prophets have just come to me from the hill country of Ephraim. Please give them a talent[d] of silver and two sets of clothing.’”

23 “By all means, take two talents,” said Naaman. He urged Gehazi to accept them, and then tied up the two talents of silver in two bags, with two sets of clothing. He gave them to two of his servants, and they carried them ahead of Gehazi. 24 When Gehazi came to the hill, he took the things from the servants and put them away in the house. He sent the men away and they left.

25 When he went in and stood before his master, Elisha asked him, “Where have you been, Gehazi?”

“Your servant didn’t go anywhere,” Gehazi answered.

26 But Elisha said to him, “Was not my spirit with you when the man got down from his chariot to meet you? Is this the time to take money or to accept clothes—or olive groves and vineyards, or flocks and herds, or male and female slaves?27 Naaman’s leprosy will cling to you and to your descendants forever.” Then Gehazi went from Elisha’s presence and his skin was leprous—it had become as white as snow.

Day 11 Taken from Ezekiel 47 Talking Symbolism

Ezekiel 47; 1-12 ….

47 The man brought me back to the entrance to the temple, and I saw water coming out from under the threshold of the temple toward the east (for the temple faced east). The water was coming down from under the south side of the temple, south of the altar. He then brought me out through the north gate and led me around the outside to the outer gate facing east, and the water was trickling from the south side.

As the man went eastward with a measuring line in his hand, he measured off a thousand cubits[a] and then led me through water that was ankle-deep. He measured off another thousand cubits and led me through water that was knee-deep. He measured off another thousand and led me through water that was up to the waist. He measured off another thousand, but now it was a river that I could not cross, because the water had risen and was deep enough to swim in—a river that no one could cross. He asked me, “Son of man, do you see this?”

Then he led me back to the bank of the river. When I arrived there, I saw a great number of trees on each side of the river.He said to me, “This water flows toward the eastern region and goes down into the Arabah,[b] where it enters the Dead Sea. When it empties into the sea, the salty water there becomes fresh. Swarms of living creatures will live wherever the river flows. There will be large numbers of fish, because this water flows there and makes the salt water fresh; so where the river flows everything will live. 10 Fishermen will stand along the shore; from En Gedi to En Eglaim there will be places for spreading nets. The fish will be of many kinds—like the fish of the Mediterranean Sea. 11 But the swamps and marshes will not become fresh; they will be left for salt. 12 Fruit trees of all kinds will grow on both banks of the river. Their leaves will not wither, nor will their fruit fail. Every month they will bear fruit, because the water from the sanctuary flows to them. Their fruit will serve for food and their leaves for healing.”

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The entire section is delightfully filled with symbolism. Some of the words that I see which have more than one possible meaning, they are:

man

temple

entrance

water (emotions)

coming from under (why under?)

to the East, from the South of the alter, North gate (directions, why?)

outside facing East

Water was trickling from the South (trickling? Barely coming through)

measuring line in hand (The hand is important)

water ankle deep, knee deep, waste deep, now too deep to cross (no one could cross) (from mild to deep emotions)

led, river (why did God lead him to a river (emotions)? What kind of emotions are rivers?

great number of trees (forest) (Being lost?)

goes down Arabah

Dead Sea (death)

empties to sea (emotions empty)

salty water becomes fresh (tears)

flowing water versus brackish water (living again)

swarms of living at flowing river (Life)

fishermen stand at shore spreading nets (god watches or angels)

swamps and marshes not fresh, but have a population of a kind of living (salty) fruit trees grow here (notice this) BECAUSE WATER FROM THE SANCTUARY FLOWS TO THEM and watch what is produces ~ Their fruit will serve for food and their leaves for healing. (Direction from God)

47 The man brought me back to the entrance to the temple, and I saw water coming out from under the threshold of the temple toward the east (for the temple faced east). The water was coming down from under the south side of the temple, south of the altar. He then brought me out through the north gate and led me around the outside to the outer gate facing east, and the water was trickling from the south side.

As the man went eastward with a measuring line in his hand, he measured off a thousand cubits[a] and then led me through water that was ankle-deep. He measured off another thousand cubits and led me through water that was knee-deep. He measured off another thousand and led me through water that was up to the waist. He measured off another thousand, but now it was a river that I could not cross, because the water had risen and was deep enough to swim in—a river that no one could cross. He asked me, “Son of man, do you see this?”

Then he led me back to the bank of the river. When I arrived there, I saw a great number of trees on each side of the river.He said to me, “This water flows toward the eastern region and goes down into the Arabah,[b] where it enters the Dead Sea. When it empties into the sea, the salty water there becomes fresh. Swarms of living creatures will live wherever the river flows. There will be large numbers of fish, because this water flows there and makes the salt water fresh; so where the river flows everything will live. 10 Fishermen will stand along the shore; from En Gedi to En Eglaim there will be places for spreading nets. The fish will be of many kinds—like the fish of the Mediterranean Sea. 11 But the swamps and marshes will not become fresh; they will be left for salt. 12 Fruit trees of all kinds will grow on both banks of the river. Their leaves will not wither, nor will their fruit fail. Every month they will bear fruit, because the water from the sanctuary flows to them. Their fruit will serve for food and their leaves for healing.”

Do you see that God is in all the water? ankle deep, knee deep, where one can’t pass deep, in salt water, fresh water and notice what he puts on the banks of the water which is marsh and swamps…? Most important…

🙂

Day 10: Authenticity

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“When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” John 8:7

Authenticity ~ Are we? Are we our real selves or do we hide behind labels, titles, beliefs or gods? Real; Am I, or are you? Do you believe that God wants us to be real (our true selves) or something that is described in a book or at church? Belief systems often tell us how we should be or look. Maybe TV, or a televangelist, or an ancient religious texts or thoughts from our grandparents, or something that we have studied and sought to achieve, may have influenced our choices. These avenues of influence that we adapt, but we aren’t necessarily supposed to become, overcome and mask the real you and I. So, the question is: Are we wearing a mask or have we adapted to a mold that is not intended for self?

The reason this scripture was chosen is for the reason of sometimes authenticity costs us discomforts and safety. We risk a secure part of nature that we’ve hidden from our true self behind a mask. It is cozy there and no one will judge us if we look and talk like the pack. We won’t be rejected, or disliked by fellow humans. It costs us something because we loose our authentic self and God sees us lost in another mans designs. Someone may throw a stone at us. This is not comfortable. So, as we work jobs we were not created for, or participate in activities that aren’t like our spirits we loose our authenticity…

Finding our authentic self takes years, but it is possible. It’s who you were made to be… You are unique and created for something greater than expected…. You already know this.

Sophia, Tera Lord and Spirit

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 Sophia, Tera Lord and Spirit A Poem for Elysia

~

In and out, as gentle as a soft rain or summer seashore, is the daughter Spirit                                  

~

Pushing or pulling is not the characters of her mother, Holy Sophia

~     

Her yin and yang possess the softness of clouds

~            

Going the way of peace and pure serenity

~                        

Fear; nor doubt dare try her walls

~                                        

Their power simply dissipates while in her presence

~          

All strength isn’t; as it never has been

~                                

It never will be, in heaven

~                                                    

Threats and violence come from Earth

~                              

The vibrational tones are hellish

~                                          

They only bully the vulnerable

~                                              

Our goal is selective hearing loss

~                                        

And, laughter at Taurus’ black soul

~                                      

Self lies are Tera Lord’s embodiment

~                                  

He is unknowing and faint of Sophia

~                                  

She who walks amongst harps and Lyres

~                            

No battle plan has the stalker

~                                              

Adorned in the finest gauze linens

~                                      

Taurus watches Spirit crouched like a lion

~                          

Her body iridescent in the night’s Moon

~                              

Glaring visions; he ponders as Sophia sees

~                        

Glides, her fingertips touching the child’s temporal mind

~    

Blessing’s whispered; she covers Son of Adam.

~                

From the dark corners, Tera waits.

~                                      

Leo, he is not, yet he acts, as if, he was ~

~

Faith adorns her head with Lilies

~                                      

Hating he despises her, for he can’t conquer, the gods

~      

Mercy rules Spirits heart

~                                                

Tera hopes Spirit shall fall prey

~                                                  

Hope? Raising her eyebrow, She hides her laugh.  

~          

Thinking; he has her and is victorious, at last.      

~              

She lets him believe; as he so boasts.        

~                        

Then, vanishing, Sophia has no time for silliness.

~                

This angered him again; next time.  

~                                    

Spirit decides, if there will ever be, a next time… 

~

Tera are you so ruthless that you would allow the king to sever your child into?

~

Do you not know Sophia loves Spirit?

~

She is her child just as Adam is yours.

~

But, you are selfish.

~

You permit destruction in the name of pride.

~

Spirit is Sophia’s kindred and the golden child, too.

~

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Day 3, They Labelled Me a witch…. :-( and I cried that day

Day 3

“When the  Lord brought back  the captives of Zion, we were like men who dreamed.”

Psalm 126:1

My lessons  in learning. “They labelled me a witch that day and I cried. Sadly, had it of been in the 1600’s or there about, they would have burned me at the stake.” 

Dreaming and being apart by choice from the one who loves unconditionally in the rotten state of purification, he restores to His vine a fruit with fragrant  blossoms.

What have I learned while sojourning the dead?

Most men are dead though they believe they live and life is found in belief and relationship to the creator. There is no life separate from him and he does not condemn. The serving of “other gods” are my wondering thoughts that do not allow His enlightenment. For in every topic on earth, God is. And, He is knowledgeable about everything including the forbidden subjects. He still  teaches me and I am grateful.

The only judgement is that of ourselves and non other, unless of course, I’ve worn their shoes for a lifetime. Judgement arises from fear of that which is not understood.

Stairway To Heaven Led Zeppelin

Dear John

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I was leaving then, on a day such as this, with my suitcase in my hand.

But a tsunami came and took me away thus leaving my portmanteau behind.

If you find it dear, please, know you were near to my heart break at that time.

Treasures of gold and diamonds of blue are not fond memories, I held of you.

Old Dear John letters within the luggage were left on the shores, in lieu ~

WP©04/30/2015