The abandoned home of my grandmother’s bred too many spiders.
But, hiding on the window seal were her Earthly treasures.
And, going to the alter, of her lasting thoughts,
I placed one hand on her Bible and the other on my heart.
Closing my eyes and feeling that time, knew we were not apart…
My grandmother then spoke to me, and said, “I’m so proud of you, as you are, a work of art.”
So, I breathed the moment in reverence of her lovely essence
And departed with a smile knowing ~ She was supernaturally present…
Soulmates Found in Other Times
By Bonnie Jennings 2015
Grasping God. To know him is to love him…
St. Patrick’s prayer in Gaelic
* Note: Tornados were close by my home and together we snuggled sat, my 5 animals and I, in a dark closet we waited until the storms passed, so later I wrote this…
By Bonnie Jennings
The storm threw bolts of illuminated swirling wind
On the horizons of East and of West
The rolling vibrations shook my heart of fainting
Amidst the closet of our hiding of fears and trembling
The weather fell calm and out of the thunder
On the place where I do slumber
Oh, the desire for comfort and embrace
Of the tender human like Christ
Of His mercies and His grace
To touch him for’ He coddled me
While in anguish and in longing distress.
Tearful and demanding that God send his angels
“To please minister to my sorrow”
However, no shape of a human angels came
Only 3 dogs with wagging tails so joyfully wanting to serve me.
Suddenly I laughed knowing that angels come unaware
And, God, knows my heart beyond comprehension.
Thus He sends his commissioned pups to love.
And, It causes me to cry, it causes me to know, it causes me to see that God truly does care.
So when you see a ferrel cat or dog wondering a lonely lonesome highway,
Then you must pick it up with love and knowing that ~
God sends the best human lovers He has.
They are simply cats and dogs that mother ~ God’s Lost people.
And, they travel frightening roads to find us.
The roads they follow are treacherously hot or cold.
But, nothing stops their mission.
They are sent by God to do a work.
We humans are their intentions and they bare many burdens.
They will not give up even under the cruelest reasons…
They are angels that we are unaware.
Finding Home Again
“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 rain.
Caught too long there; my 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 intendedly 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 then, slashes the silk, so tight.
And I then, fell from the web of fright.
Still arms tangled by silken threads
I pushing out with utter dread,
Thus, bracing my fainthearted fall
Then, the spider and the fairy brawl.
Wham, bam, to and fro,
from the deathly fight they bow
Looking, whom’s, my fairy friend?
Noticing the fairy, it must be Joe.
Underneath the spider Joe waves thumbs up, You’re alright!
Now run like hell! Into the light!
Run away little bate!
For, the fate of the firefly might be too late…
There was a time that I believed just like you.
We believed that God was good and He would help and protect us.
Like children we had magical thoughts and fairies and angels played with us.
We made Daisy Chains and crown our heads with the delicate flower wreaths.
We sang KumBaYah with gentile smiles around campfires with the strumming guitars.
We believed that all was well. Now days, where ever one turns, someone is saying come this way or that. Believe, their way or else.
The voices are thousands and peace from within is lost.
So, turning away and finding the fairies and angels lost in time of my childhood is where you will find me.
There I’m not lost, but are found with my familiar friends.
One day a sad dog came to my door. There, I opened and my heart was torn because I wanted to take it inside, but instead, I closed the door. I shut the angel out. Years went by and I thought about my action. So, I cried. Thinking about how I could have done this to a poor creature and then asked why I did so. Oh, I made my excuses and there were many. Then many years later I came to realize that sometimes angels aren’t people. But they are lives sent by God who loves us and has met us where we are, and we shun His gifts. And, why people don’t respond to heart aches, not only our own, but of little critters is unanswerable. However, now knowing, God never fails when He sends the angels. So, today when the starving animal approaches your door, remember it is a gift and it was sent from Heaven. Maybe it is for the moment and maybe the dog or cat is there to ask you for food or water or for help finding a permanent shelter and a loving home. Perhaps, it is asking you for help to find it’s way home because it is lost. Just maybe … We can open our hearts and our doors to help in some little way.
Performing our magic when it seems dull and impossible is a concentration of our wills.
In quiet “boring” times,
When there seems to be nothing, but nothing, to do
It is then that we can create a masterpiece.
We illuminate the darkness that seems to surround us.
We make it our heaven, and if we lack vision we perish.
So, rise your wand,
Make your life, that which you’ve dreamed of..
Cause it to happen.
You can do it.
Believe, because you must.
Make it as you envisioned and thought of yourself.
Before the world of voices told you, “no, you’re nothing.”
Don’t believe a word of it, the world’s lies, because it’s not truth.
You are exactly what you imagine.
Nothing greater or less.
It is how you think of yourself.
Your beliefs will lead you.
So, change your beliefs for change.
Cause your world if you so want.
You have the power
God gave it to you.
It is in the tiny mustard seed of faith that will move mountains.
tick-tock; tic- tock; tick, tick, tick.
Nursing homes, memory units, family dispersed.
They ran when my hair turned silver and I smelled of urine.
Oh, this is The United States ~ who else in the world would leave?
What, a silly question, after all, it was us the free-love generation who started this nonsense.
Really, in truth, we were the “me” generation. Misnamed. The irony makes me laugh.
We called our kids this. They were the product of the all consuming need to be free.
Mom and Dad split, time, after time, after time, all for the image of freedom.
“They’ll get over it.”
Yes, they have and assuredly ~
One plus one equals two. And, two times two equals four.
Physical laws don’t change without the atom bomb.
And, now is waiting.
Waiting, on my clock.
Quietly it tick-tocks; tick-tocks, tick, tick, ticks …
God, how many more breaths must I take?
Seeming to sleep, resting quietly, you think.
She’s traveling miles from home, over the mountain tops.
The flying vehicle stops and he said, “Get in.”
“There’s no, time to waist. So, buckle up.”
He pulls the seatbelt through, then, passed the clouds, and away they flew.
“See!” She pointed, all around about.
“Celestial galaxies everywhere,” she whispered, “not, even, yet imagined.”
There, hidden in space, beyond our thoughts
A veil of stars protecting, the place of her death.
He showed her one heaven.
There were so many.
“This one is yours for now
There will be plenty.”
He took her to rest, as if, he loved her.
“The Lilies, so lovely,” she thanked him kindly.
Holding her weight with his arms,
He kissed her brow and said,
“Its time to take you home.”
At three Am, she sat up in bed.
“Oh, just a dream,” she spoke, “but so real.”
The fever was gone and the headache too,
And the golden man’s memory vaguely haunted her new heavenly view.
The young woman tells the final story. Her last chapter is complete.
“Darkness covered the room. At midnight, the chimes from the grandfather clock resounded a deep, “dong, dong, dong, and dong.”
“The clock didn’t awaken me. The chimes never do, but I always expect them, the others, that is. They’re, always, right on time. It’s their, time to come. I sense it. Like an odor, or breeze or an internal alarm that warns me.
Her mature voice shifts. It changes into a young girls. Under the covers, the seven year old hides. She says that she shivers in fear and dread while they, the male beings, occupy her bedroom.
“Maybe, they won’t notice, that I’m awake. They usually don’t, but one night, they might. What then? What should I do?” She asks.
I don’t know what to tell her. I’ve never had them visit. There are no solutions to help her. I wonder if she is being sexually assaulted? I listen, but there is no mention of touching or fondling, not even a kiss. So, I wait. My antenna will know the moment I should question.
Her eyes are huge. I see she is telling the truth.
“The beats of my heart will surely tell the black cloaked monks, I’m faking sleep.” She sighs and looks up at me with the saucer shaped eyes.
“They enter my bedroom, from out of the closet. Twelve, midnight, when the clock dongs, I know, they are coming. The leaves from the forest that surround our home have shimmering grey colors that seem to dance like stick indians on my bedroom walls. The images fervently sway in madness of movements. I know then, to expect, the friars. And, as certain, as fall follows summer, they will come. Three, of them, usually.” She pauses, then`
“Sometimes four, walk out of my closet from behind the doors.” She whispers with downcast eyes when she tells this story.
“They are extremely tall. They’re working doing, something. My bed covers over my head, cloak their activities. They will peer over my body, looking to see me sleeping. They don’t know everything. But, if I look at them, their red eyes stare. I can’t see a face. They tell me to, ‘shut up.’ Meaness. That’s all I can say. They’re no good.”
I look at her. Dumbfounded. Hopelessly, there is nothing, I can say. After the hypnosis session, she passed the polygraph, which she agreed to, and I don’t know how to help her. What can I say?
Standing up to leave my office, she adds on her way out ~
“Doctor, the last time they tried to visit, I give them this look. They no longer bother me. And, now, that I’ve got their look, they seldom pay me, social calls….”
She gave me a haunting stare that passed through me.
“Oh, by the way, doctor … you may want to get rid of the grand father clock in your hall. It keeps your children up. They can’t sleep after the gongs at midnight occur.”
What? I look at her, but she has shut the door. After a brief pause, I ran after her, but she was gone. Bewildered by her last comment, I was paralyzed. Fear overtook me, as I saw the same look on my son this morning.
Standing next to The Rivers of Babylon we prayed.
I told you to whisper, Sophia, and there on the banks edge,
She will breathe.
In your loneliness, you will cry,
In solitude, you shall find her.
Standing, by the fresh spring waters,
Her voice, will arise new,
Unless you know, she won’t come.
She cannot sojourn the dead,
Not, without your certain, hope.
Only, in the voice filled with life,
Shall she manifest.
The lifeless carry no spirit.
The initiator needs the spark.
Speak, and Sophia will sing.
Listen, and her song, you will hear.
Smile when you know.
She came because you asked.
Happy Valentines Day to self,
It’s in the love that we share with every living being.
In love we stop torture.
In love we set birds free.
In love we reunite baby elephants to their mother’s
Loving hands set the MCCaw free where it belongs with its own kind.
In love we defend the dog or cat.
In love we thank the animal that was slaughtered for meat.
In love we hold a motherless child.
In love we pray for a lonely soldier.
In love we think of someone else’s grandparents who can no longer remember.
In love we hug the abandoned.
In love we grant pardon to our ghosts.
In love we thank our parents.
In love we genuflect towards our mistakes.
In love we embrace our futures.
In love we kiss our lover on the cheek.
In love our eyes twinkle with goodness.
In love we blow a kiss blessing to God.
In love we sleep soundly at night.
Because of our love,
Our angels watch over us.
Those who grant pardon are given the same…
They will lie down in green pastures
Winter is the writer’s savory confections.
Grey days, rain, ice and snow evoke emotions.
Aroma’s of soup, candles, and fragrances allure affection’s
However Spring’s hope invite relief, from winter’s burdens.
Sometimes, in winter humans cry.
Grey clouds hover, as if, a veil dropped
A dullness covers the mind from on high.
It seems that, creativity and sanity, somehow swapped.
Oh, but I love Winter, Spring and Fall.
Grey summer sun rising, illuminates The Earth’s horizon,
and witnessed, temporarily, in the summer’s squall,
Nevertheless, the amber fire warms’ emotions of the winter writer’s action.
There is a dragon in my tree
I found it just today
It’s been lingering there for generations
Subliminally, controlling my life, I’d say.
It danced within my dreams
And haunted my ancestors of old
It created some battlefields
Thriving when we were brazenly bold
It dined on our fruits of discord
It devoured the meat off the bone
It smoked an elegant cigarette
While sitting on my father’s thrown
The dragon stole our family love
It burned away bonding ties
Gulping down any charity
Our humanity left in lies
The dragon wears a mask
Pretending to be a friend
Dressed in a cloak of disguise
Smirking behind all chagrin
The day you discover the dragon
because it’s already found you
A sword you will need to don
All fondness dies when it’s slew
There’s a dragon over your bed
It came while innocent slept
It played in your fairy tales
It departs when you’ve finally met
Bravely casting the beast down
Tis’ the hardest task to do
But, playing with wild demon dragons
Costs, perhaps, the bonnie, likes of you
While dreaming in the midst of a stormy night, booming lights from the electrical bolts slashed dashing across the walls of my bedroom. I hid my eyes from the frightening waring images made from the shadows.
Miserably, I disdained my life and I, thankfully, welcomed sleep. I hated everything that God gave me and the thunderstorm came to punish me. I was certain that His wrath deliberately chastised me. Surely the grim reaper stood close to my bed. I felt his ominousness cold breath. The rumbling thunder and magnetic energy surrounding my lying body, ushered me into a sleeping journey back into time..
When sound asleep, suddenly, I heard in the distance ~ “the sounds of war?” Bombs and the shaking of the tin shelter where I hid crammed with others, whom I didn’t know. Oddly, they knew me, and there we hid tightly pressed together.
“I must have travelled back in time?” I thought.
They spoke in a foreign language. It was Polish. Everything was gray there, including their battle worn faces. The wrinkles bore sad lines of desperation. Their bodies were almost skeletons. And, I wanted to run, but when I started to leap, they held me.
Then, screaming, “no! Let go of me! Please!” I escaped only to see armed men coming my way! I caught my breath. There, in the dark of the night I saw a sign which hung swaying in the freezing rain and blustering wind. The metal sign creaked “Warszawa, 1943.” I knew where I was… The horrors of death were everywhere. Bleakness and freezing weather, trapped innocent victims.
The enemy soldiers started to grab me, but ~
I prayed that God takes me somewhere else other than WWII, Poland.
So, He granted my wish.
Rolling in the dirt, in fear of The Nazi’s, I was thence transported somewhere else in times past. Here the air was humid and the smell of death and blood permeated everywhere. Flies, fleas and moans came from dying men were everywhere.
I heard, “help me. Please, won’t you help?”
A man lay there in the brush. He was in gray and I was in blue. By his side a rebel flag was standing next to his bloody broken body.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” He puzzled at my daze. “Mississippi.” He looked at me as if I was mad and he had disdain on his face, even though he was dying.
So, I reached out to lift him away from the fighting as all good men do. It was then, that I noticed my skin was dark. I was a large Negro man. I, aghast, thought, I’m in trouble now. Here I am, “a colored man,” centered on a battlefield in The Civil War. They will kill me. I will die. Now, more panicked than ever, I surrendered to my fear. How then, my old life seemed kind and benign in comparison to Warsaw and Mississippi.
I petitioned God’s help. “Grant me my own life, once again.” Sobbing from the deepest part of my being, concluded that he did not grant my request.
Then He transported me, again. I found myself sitting on a piano bar singing loudly. There was a sign hanging across the wall of the smoke filled bar. It swayed back and forth as the room seemed to move erratically. The sign said, “Welcome Molly Brown.” The crowd applauded and I smiled, warningly. The spotlights were in my eyes. A second passed. I noticed the calendar displayed on the wall said, “4.15.1912.” Gasping. “I’m on the Titanic.The night it sinks.” I whispered with dread. I knew, soon these lives and Molly Browns would be recorded in history. They were unaware and I was petrified. The iceberg floats before us. It will sink this ship and most of the applauders will soon die. Mortified of knowing the fate, I froze.
If I could change the course of history in Warsaw, the battlefield in The South, and on The Titanic, I would. If there wasn’t any goodness within me, then my travels changed me. All three places taught lessons: thankfulness, empathy and compassion. “God, I know, I understand. I’ve been selfish and unappreciative of the mundane circumstances in my “pathetic” life. I’ve been blessed all along and so ignorant.
With the final confession, I awakened in my own skin. It was my room and correct time…
My worldly travels were enlightening and my lesson? i will not murmur, grumble nor whine ever again.