Ambling

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Ambling

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back to the place where I belong

K🃞

©October 2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

Image from FB shared photos

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

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

 

 

 

Quarks and Atoms

 

Similar to a galaxy spinning in time
Measures and degrees relations to physics
Worlds and molecules and atoms be
Thicker, heavier, denser or sparse
Spinning in their community on a coarse
United by their gravity and specific force
Ignoring mankind as it flows in unison
Though truly mankind rarely notices
Tiny quarks and black space not hidden
Just so small, but significantly living
Wildly busy and holding prayers
The littlest places, but no one cares
But in the tunnels black between quarks
The energy moves vibrating this heaven
The space between iron and chemical seven
Make a place that causen weights to levin
Billions and trillions of atoms maybe
Your eyes, so that you can see
A world of beauty beyond this place
A world of atoms of molecules and me

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Doodles by me

Inspiration of the Weird Kind

 

Inspiring places…

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Some people must go to a cabin in the woods to be inspired to write

There are some who like mountain tops or large, loud, bustling cities

Places where the foods are exotic inspire Andrew Zimmern

But oddly, the best way to inspire me is to make me clean grout.

 

It’s called. “Let Me Escape! This floor is cold, dirty, filthy, disgusting and I’m sitting on it! 

 

Escapism 🙂 by writing … Stories are a terrible thing to waste.

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Sometimes God Whispers

Sometimes God Whispers, and sometimes He is silent. 

Silence is golden it’s been said.

When God talks to you, the body and mind come into one unit of sheer joy during the synchronization of the two separate parts of a person. Some have called this meshing of energies, “Goose bumps.” Anyway we see or experience God’s communication, it is an awe inspiring moment and during that moment life seems to stop. Life matters no more because the coming together or the meeting of our minds to God’s is beyond words, expressions or explanation. When it occurs, time dissipates and what is or remains, is a moment of pure clarity with The Mind and thoughts of Gods.

Hendrick ter Brugghen, Esau Selling His Birthright, c. 1627

So weirdly, at age 62, I dreamed, last night that I was pregnant. I felt terrified because, I knew, after experiencing child labor two times in my earlier years, I wasn’t physically able to birth this child that I was carrying. I looked down at my belly. It was huge! The skin around my umbilicus was tight and round. It was a 9 month pregnancy round. I looked up at God who said nothing, but He continued to work like a grand old surgeon does. And then, my first birth pang began. Horrified and vulnerable to His plans, I had no choice, but to surrender. God let them start. The thoughts of not only did I realize that I couldn’t physically give birth at 62, but the mental and emotional aspect for parenthood and raising another child was beyond my capabilities. The energy needed was greater than my reserves. I whispered back to God and said, “Please, no, I can’t do this.”

It, the birthing process, began anyway. God did not stop this birth. He didn’t speak to me, nor have eye contact. His internal presence and His will was understood by a fearce impression of I know that I know and there are or were no if this, and that, nor any whining persuasions using the words, but God.The horror of it all was before me and I knew what I had to endure His plan no matter what. I said, then, Knock me out! And the next thing I saw was an epidural needle. They placed it in my back after they rolled me to the side. I fell deeply asleep.

I awakened this morning at 0400, as I usually do, and remembered nothing, but that I felt happy. By the time 0600 came the memories of this dream began to creep back. I noticed my abdomen is unusual feeling. It is at this time, I realized that God whispered something to me in the night hours. Something occurred. I must wait, listen and heed as His whispers are revealed.

I suspect He has told me, that no matter how big the circumstance appears, I will go through it and even if I do not understand all things, it must happen. For our ways are not His. Trusting Him is the only way. There is no negotiation, no complaining, no pouting, no refusal at this stage of the game of life.

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.

 

Don’t think you shall slip from me,

The Watchers
The Watchers

Don’t think you shall slip from me, 

My mind won’t permit

The waters try to separate us, 

From the sweat and the dust of Earth, 

But I won’t let them take you away,

Though the clock hands unwind to suggest so, 

BUT, I SHALL STOP THEM, from taking you, 

My night dreams and visions will carry us through, 

Until I enter the door of everlasting bliss ~

And perhaps leave you here, 

Half forgotten, “Oh, my dear.” 

I’ll let you go if I must

So, here’s to your peace

In me you can forever trust.

Farewell, my love, goodbye.

Writing Gypsy For Forbes

Good morning and did you know this?
Good morning and did you know this?

Really? Forbes hires gypsy writers? Well, not yet, but they will.

“Did you know the Huffington Post is looking for writers right now?

So is Forbes, Lifehacker, Problogger, and even the Harvard Business Review.

There’s only one tiny problem”

http://guestblogging.com/public/book?inf_field_

This is an interesting article… Must read when there is time…

Day 30 The Trinity

This will be one of my last posts on 30 – 31 Days Walking Through The Bible… (my way). This one is a little lengthy and I do apologize; however, the number 3 has so much within it and are entirely different from each other characters within the 3. Perhaps 3 character types are more prone to mental illness. And, unless it is balanced, may slip off and be one-sided making the 3 out of sorts with itself. It is the most artistic, and most genius of all the numbers, and I will try to explain why.

So, here we go…. The number, 3

Day 30 and 3 + 0 = 3 The Trinity of all numbers. The number 3 has 3 parts or 3 components of one and is demonstrated in The Holy Trinity” which is inclusive of The Father, The Son, and the force and connection that binds and guides them into the union of 1. Without The 3rd force, The Holy Spirit, the number 3 would be a split personality or split personalities. After all, how can 1 person have 3 different entities living within itself? This would be impossible. To remain stable and be of a sound mind, would be a challenge for the best of us, do you agree? So, we break down each part of a 3. Number 1, The Father; number 2, The Son; number 3, The Holy Spirit according to traditional Christian teaching. Each part is unique of itself and can not stand alone and be a 3 personality. The 3 must have all the parts of The Trinity in order to be a true 3 and it must have all the to balance itself.

This is a picture that I took in 2010. This is controlling an energy perfectly with mastery.
This is a picture of JR that I took in 2010. This is controlling an energy perfectly with mastery.

Number 1) The Father is a being that embodies all creation. This father called all life forms into the world. He/she is the chief engineer, the chief lawyer, the chief doctor, the conductor of the grandest orchestra that one could imagine, and is a disciplinarian of all that he chooses. This creator is a wizard and simply creates by thinking something into existence. Within the 3, as I’ve written before, is a tremendous artist type. The 3 can produce masterpieces as their mind is in constant rolling factory (but never the same) master designer and producer. The godhead of creation of these pieces of art  is found in The Father. It is truthfully difficult for a human to understand God, The Father because this entity is like the number 8, infinity, and is not bound by any pictures, spheres, aromas, plants, mountains, animals, sky, universe, heavens, people, life, death, quasars, black holes, engineering, medicine, mathematics of all kinds, television, theories, food, oceans, waters, atmospheres, continents, stratospheres, microbes, atoms, nuclei, health, disease or you name anything and God has already made it years ago, passed it and has gone so far forward in creating more and more every moment, second, or infinite time or quantum this or that… Nothing contains or controls The Father, the master creator. Except ~ number 2 and 3 make the creation easier to comprehend. It brings creation down to something mankind can perceive and except. So, The Father, the creator is part of the ego or personality of the 3 person. The 3 is a true artist whether the 3 person creates cakes, photography, understands all mathematics, music, pictures, novels, writing, landscaping, architecture, or any type of artistry that I am leaving out. The artist says something in their designs that will more than likely not be spoken with speech (usually); however, let me say that some motivational speakers are clearly creative energies and have the 3 characteristics.  Artistry will come through in their display of whatever it maybe. A personality without creativity is questionable about being an actual 3. There is a certain kind of madness or mania within The Father. Many 3’s have manias or depressive states. Does The Father have depression or mania? Heaven’s no! However, a 3 person who has a taste or a fraction of the creative power found within The Father will have a (different than normal) flare or perception thus making a way for creative genius to be displayed. The portal of creations rolls of the three or it just manifests without trying. It is constantly exuding from this person. Creativity is not mustered up or conjured. It just occurs naturally and can’t be stopped. Now, let’s look at the next apart of the 3 personality.

Number 2) The Son is the part of The Father that is civil, kind, just, pure, enlightened, beautiful, humane and it is because of all the goodness within the godhead is embodied within the character named, The Son. This 2nd being/entity within the 3 characters is the one who renders grace and mercy. He is the one that tames The Father and makes this world and universe have a since or loving order that a man/woman can and will perceive. It was a small part of The Father’s design that doused mankind with a void or hunger for love and beauty. The Father had to give to humankind a personification of himself that would be known to him and by him as His Son. The Son is the curator of this gallery of The Father’s artistry and history and is the goldsmith of this earths and The Father established The Son over this masterful accomplishment. The Son presents the masterpiece in away that humankind can understand and He also presents mankind back to The Father for final inspection. The Son is presentable in human form and looks like a man and talks in the languages of humans. The Son thinks like a human and suffers the human losses the same. He feels the grandeur of gains such as in a marriage celebration. The son smiles at the birth of a child. The Son marvels at the flowers in the fields and The Son cries at the misfortune of others and feels the loss and deaths, the same or more than, the human. The Son takes notice of animal life and The Earth’s agricultural produce. This planet became the home of The Sons’ and he loved it as much as anyone else. He marveled at the beauty and wonders the same as the next person. He also beheld the glory of the sky from a man’s perspective. The Son was able to control the waters and miracles because of the next personality held within the 3 number. He is the healer of the earth. And, I must say here at this point that a 3 character without the 3rd force would be entirely at odds within itself. And, without The Holy Spirit, the 3rd unit within the godhead, the 2 opposing personalities wouldn’t be united. The Holy Spirit brings both The Father and The Son into a peaceful union which makes operation of the other 2 characters, smooth and without flaws or roughness. My question is probably the same as yours. It is the age old question that wants to know, which came first? Did The Father create The Son and The Holy Spirit or are they separate of themselves? And, the answer is, your guess is just as good as mine; however, we can speculate together. My thought is they were all part of The Father’s who created the others because he knew he needed them for perfect balance. My guess and what is yours?

Number 3) The Holy Spirit is the magic. It is what goes and does the supernatural maneuvers over all the creations that God spun into action. It is the oil for a squeaking wheel and is the force that makes everything happen. When either The Father speaks or The Son and orders a process to occur The Holy Spirit moves. So my question is what if The Father and The Son are in opposition to each other? What does The Holy Spirit do then? My answer is when The Father created or found The Holy Spirit, he brought it into the godhead knowing the nature of healing, and the divine covering that The Holy Spirit always does, so, The Father chose or created it for this purpose. The Father knows all things require balance so the 3 entities balance each other perfectly and from out of that perfection all smile and find the joy of perfect harmony in perfected expression. The Holy Spirit is the cursive in beautiful hand script and it is (or she as The Holy Spirit has been identified as being a female) the flowers and green grass in the meadow. The Holy Spirit makes all that is wrong, horrific, painful and unappealing into the opposite of peace, comfort and great understanding. She makes life worth living and is the enlightenment of the universe. She brings hope and peace. She is a good nurse and not so much a teacher as that would be more of The Son’s role. She takes no credit. She is the rainbow after the storm. She is able to work in the dark spaces of time and space and there is no place, not even at the bottom of the oceans, that she can’t permeate or be present. She is found everywhere, even in the heavens and galaxies. War zones, birthing rooms, hospice rooms, tearful places, happy places, mountain tops and on The Moon, in the minds of mathematicians,  The Holy Spirit moves, travels and holds his being, healing, enlightenment, joys, and peace and so much more. The Holy Spirit brings The Father and The Son into perfect union. The creator, The Father, and disciplinarian and the other the great lover and humanitarian, The Son, she makes perfect within the spherical number 3 as she smooths all rough ends and brings an absolute balance similar to a ball that rolls together with synchronicity and harmony. The Father and The Son understand and appreciate one another as with the help of The Holy Spirit, they are all united and perfect. They are the yin and yang of life, Earth, water, fire and air. They are rolling together as one and see and understand all things in heaven and on earth.

In the number 3 we now can experience the light and the darkness, the cold versus hot, the morning and the evening, birth and death, and so forth. The 3 number holds all opposing knowledge and has The Holy Spirit to make all rough places straight. The number 3 is a difficult character to be or live with; however, the 3 is the most gifted with opportunity to be a 3. After all, God The Father and The Son entrusted the creative knowledge to the 3 person and gave The Holy Spirit to tame the drastic opposing views and gave the 3 the tools to create music, mathematics, literature, art works, cakes, wall art, writing of all kinds and so forth. To much is given; much is expected and with that responsibility can come moments of madness that must be tamed. Being a 3 human, that person will need help and great support in order to do all that God and The Son intends.

I will be adding or perhaps taking away from this article at times as it’s not written in stone, but is only my perception of the number 3 characters.

*Also, a note here that I will do the number 31 as I do want to wrap up the complete qualities of the 4 character and then I shall be complete explaining numerical basic related to creation, God and the grand design of mankind. This numerical walk through the Bible is intended for fun and it not intended to replace the need for psychotherapy or God as you experience him. So should you need psycho-social help, please see your doctor, or go to the nearest emergency room. 

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.”

wpid-20130711_184411.jpg

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.

Day 9. Deducing Assumptions

Examine and deduce like a scientist who allows for grace and mercy
Examine and deduce like a scientist who allows for grace and mercy

“You who have tried to be justified by the law are alienated by Christ.”

Galatians 5:4

I don’t have to talk the same as you, nor do you have to think like me either. I don’t have to dress like you either, nor do you have to look like me. As a matter of fact, we can resemble Renoir or the opposite, Picasso.

You are free to be yourself. Please, don’t look like the guy on tv, and please, don’t talk like her either. I might judge you wrongly.

We all judge. It is innate, intuitive, god given and it is protective. However, while deducing a circumstance or person subtract your personal possibilities of error from the equation. Figure out the percentage of miscalculations or delusions that are made within your assumptions and subtract them from your/my judgements.

Deducing renders grace and mercy. The two are not in the absolutes of black or white judgements. Grace and Mercy are found in grey ares.

Then, I consider killers and murderers. I think they are subject to God’s hands; I’m not equipped to see the whole picture, lucky for them.

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

Second day

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The scripture I’ve chosen is one of those lines that can condemn; however, I’m going to apply it in a positive manner and only point it at me, myself and I. This will be one of those times one can write about the self and hopefully not have too many “sighs.”

So here goes my application of applied self to scriptures that can condemn.

It is no surprise that when I read this passage it clearly explained that teaching, preaching or giving scriptures to others are meant first for the self and if (this one in particular) directed at someone else is judgmental.

Having written this above statement please note that the verses mean something to me as well as others and is there for individual interpretation for self reflection. In other words, the meaning and content will be individually comprehended and the message given to me will not necessarily mean the same to you.

So I thread lightly when giving the words and use them carefully for myself.

“Woe to you experts in the law, because you have taken the keys to knowledge. You yourself have not entered, and you have hindered those who were entering.” Luke 11;52

How often have I created harm rather than good in the name of God. The way that I now interpret God is far different than the way I felt 45 years ago, which was a condemner, and now, I see him/God in a masculine/feminine presence  as a lover and encourager of mankind who loves all men and women no matter what their condition of their soul/ego maybe sojourning. Because he loves me, just as I am, so I know he too, loves you, as well.

So, having said all this, God and I begin again. This is my second day to reunite with my lord.