Influencing Verbiage

Influencing Verbiage
♣️

Weaving awkward words unbelievably infiltrated by a source
Who has bent reasonable human consciousness and time
Organizing underneath hidden conversations of the elite
Dictating to mankind frightening beliefs of death and scheol
Creating fear and hatred, and intolerance by falsifying lies
Freedoms eliminated; intelligence dissipated; imaginations empty
Colliding human beings, bending core character, remains nothingness
Grievances uninhabitable; the loneliness of the angelic godhead sits
Found are words that bend ears into manifestation matrix ideologies
Their pat verbiage we’ve acutely hypnotized and weaved like experts
Awaken to your own thoughts that were given to you so graciously
To hold them as yours and shan’t ever change a thing eternally
Your being is your gift; do not give it away; as you’re not a whore
Now stay where you’re at. Don’t move and eat only the finest fruit
Stay far from repeating their verbiage that binds you eternally
Speak you, and only you, and do it in love, for the Matrix will vaporize
Do not judge the fallen, but turn from that universe, and offer your hands
It’s not a place for survival. No.
The terrain is rugged and the waves are ferocious.
Learning to swim is mandatory for survival.
🦅
However the atmosphere is compelling me to open my wings and fly from the verbiage and voices of earth.
I must accomplish this
One task at a time
One goal
God

K♣️

BoJenn @December 13, 2018

Beliefs, Verbiage We Use, Freedom, Open Your Door

Perspectives about how life works and occurs for humans and animals and living cells are different for all humans. Every person has a different concept of their belief system unless that dogma as been hammered into a soul over time, and presently governs that person. For example phrases in conversation like “Praise the Lord!” Or “Bless you,” and “I’ll pray for you,” are judged by the circle of the congregation of “Believers.” Also, the New Age Yoga word, “Namaste,” follows another type of believer who feels their need to express their beliefs and so that word, too, becomes a word meant for dogmatic control and protection from an offensive adversity.

The point I am making is this: We become so easily swayed/manipulated because we desire and want rulership and/or governorship by a “King,” or a dogmatic belief that says we are accepted, loved and fit into the large scope of the kingdom of people.

Is it possible to think outside these rules that govern the above and ask questions? Is it possible that we are driven to the place of DOGMA for a reason?

Is it possible, now ask yourself “possible” that we are controlled by ideas, rules, thoughts, sayings, words, phrases, magnetic energies of one, that govern us in such away. It is from somewhere else our designated and herded lives and circumstances assigns to our lives rewards with wealth or poverty. We accept this as truth and do not cross over the lines drawn in the invisible sands in less we are atheist and believe that only we ourselves control the universe or our surroundings.

We are afraid to ask this force or question the intentions of familiarity to a religion or political group or any ideology because of the fear of going to hell or dying a horrific death or being cast out of a society.

I write this above because my story of events are based on the above dogmatic beliefs, fears and control. I want you to know that I serve a loving God who is supportive of me personally and is happy when I go beyond the lines drawn in invisible vague old rotten shells and sands.

My next story will be about my childhood experiences with my father, a mechanical engineer, who designed missiles, rockets, ammunition, and had encounters of the third and fourth kind in the late 1950’s, 60, and 70’s. From his experiences came mine. Perhaps this is the reason I am able to photograph odd flying images. Or UFOs 🛸

Fables For Jacob; About Control

 

10291850_10205903462051078_5477328068635602_n

 

Once upon a time there was a golden pen

It was sleek and elegant and was its own

One grey foggy day a brown shoe visited

Telling the pen it should sweep as a broom

The golden pen didn’t realize its penmanship

And became a fine natural haired bristled mop

Thus swept the cobwebs from walls and the floors

Cleaned windows and dusted chairs without love

It began to wear its woven tough coated flocks

Singing no songs whilst it was manhandled to death

Sat in a corner collecting no glory just cluttered doom

It began thinking, “What was it doing dusting the room?”

There was a world awaiting tales from twisted off keyed tunes

A smile appeared where the golden paint had disappeared

The pen arose from the wooden stick of woven haired loom

It stepped away from the shadows or the corners where stored

One step, two steps, three and four moving toward the door

Grabbing the handle trying to gain its escape

Jumped higher each time jumping to its fate

Escaping to freedom by inching its slender way

Never again would it listen to a brown shoe’s dismay

Realizing it held power all of its own

Taking advice from something not its clone

Learned a lesson to stay far away 

From things not like us or shiny 

And voices waning to follow ways

Insisting they’re the right

Never seeing truth

Demanding ways

Inconsiderate

Not seeing 

You

From them move
Your’e invisible!
AND geez!

What ever you do
Don’t look behind!

 

 

BJ

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

 

Tomorrows My Birthday: To My Unborn

To My Unborn

12439470_10206581385238734_988464936409216340_n
An empty swing

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

img_0281
Perhaps one day, until then, I’ll always wonder

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

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

Stealing Flowers

IMG_2611

Stealing Flowers

 

(Assumptions and Boundaries)

Some have come to steal our flowers, the secrets of the herbs
How brave are the humans who come to our gardens,
And walking on wee flowers and picking those with their selfishly desires
Never asking if they can, and tumbling over the heavy placed towers
The statues of cement that line the wooden fence, secrets held swollen so tightly
Grabbing at the weeds and tossing them over the fence, as if, one can, indeed
Who gave you permission, you’re not a friend, but ~ GURRRR, instead!
Perhaps a foe, are you? For boundaries crossed in lovely quiet spaces
Where the lines are etched deeply in sand, and you who cross despite the rejections.
Dare you not know the inner chambers, nor the thoughts, that birth each moment
And why do you assume, because being a woman
That you may make foolish assumptions
And graze within my garden so soon?

K♣️

 

The intricate beauty of god's love
A thief comes at any time

 

 

Copyright © Bonnie Jennings | Year Posted 2016

Stealing Flowers © 20116 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved
Pictures by me

Stealing Flowers © 20116 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

The Circle of Life

IMG_3116

 

 

The fog of dull moist clouds cloistered Earths hills

rolling slowly quietly assured with December’s presence

uncovering the steal bleakness of chills

the grey fox sought the superlative time stalking

hunting, one catch, the hare eating thorns, is captured

~

All rests except the fox, and the hawk that swoops prey

and beautiful it seems to carolers that dream

pictured on Christmas Cards sleighing coupled in hay

but the hunted sigh as the singers pass by

ignoring the innocent life in the forest by night

really wintery rest is not what it seems

~

The white witch cursed the greens for three months

laughing, she pointed t’wards the fox and the hare

the hawk she invites on her evening animal hunts

while the fox, hiding and embarrassingly shares,

“dear rabbit if only there was another way to convey

my condolences and my fondness, for you, today.”

~

The fawn born in grey thicket that night

a hunter was on track for a meal, of the carnivores type

deep in silence, bitter coldness, that eve less bright

their faces showed meanness, sickeningly alarming

hungry for killing the innocent and without any lament

the damp floors lined with twigs and leaves sent

~

Warning there are trespassers who entered our forest

and without invitation, the hawk soared forewarning

the dove in turn echoes cooing which entered space

of ears of the fox alarming, the furry rabbit crosses into the thicket

noosing the doe and the fawn warmed coddling

“stay within this eve the thicket safe from guns”

~

The hunter’s love winter’s and the innocent blood

And the white witch carries on until spring

stay here little doe while your mother brings the cud

the sleet drizzling rains seem never to bring

peace within the forest it seems

and life circles around the fox and the hare

and the buzzards that hunt the carcass from the air

~

©2015 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

First attempt

The fog of dull moist clouds cloistered Earths hills

rolling slowly quietly assured with December’s presence 

uncovering the steal bleakness of chills

the grey fox sought the superlative time stalking

hunting, one catch, the hare eating thorns, is captured

~

All rests except the fox, and the hawk that swoops prey

and beautiful it seems to carolers that dream

pictured on Christmas Cards sleighing coupled in hay

but the hunted sigh as the singers pass by

ignoring the innocent life in the forest by night

really wintery rest is not what it seems

The white witch cursed the greens for 3 months

laughing, she pointed t’wards the fox and the hare

the hawk she invites on her evening animal hunts

while the fox, hiding and embarrassingly shares

dear rabbit if only there was another way to convey

my condolences and my fondness, for you, today

The fawn born in grey thicket that night

a hunter was on track for a meal, of the carnivores type

deep in silence, bitter coldness, that eve less bright

their faces showed meanness,  sickeningly alarming

hungry for killing the innocent and without any lament

the damp floors lined with twigs and leaves sent

warning there are trespassers entered our forest

and without invitation, the hawk soared forewarning

the dove in turn echoes cooing which entered space

of ears the fox alarming, the furry rabbit crosses into the thicket

noosing the doe and the fawn warmed coddling

stay within this eve the thicket safe from guns

the hunter’s love winter’s and the innocent blood

And the white witch carries on until spring

stay here little doe while your mother brings the cud

the sleet drizzling rains seem never to bring

peace within the forest it seems

and life circles around the fox and the hare

and the buzzards that hunt the carcass from the air

 

~

 

©2015 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved