Faeries or Someone

The tunnels brush borders where mortals grow

The virtue and order of Brussels (the order of mankind) subtle are

Lavishing shabby living deep in the furrows

Fairies and goblins galore who sing and wail

All so deep down in the levies whimsy-dale

And children run through the tree tunnel

Trying to reach the end but rumor has it

Somewhere in the middle or amongst a dim light

Children deepen and become converted

Hair begins to grow, oh so, much longer

Fingernails sharpen and added hunger

Toenails yellow from muddy wet dirt

Switching from boys to men and then

Sometimes switching from boys to women

Fairies come to dust shiny fairly dusty things

Faces once plump become downright fat and detestable

And bodies all girlie become hairy and like older yearlings

Boys end having odd bulbous noses that flake

Reshaping orientation and finding away back

Never thought modifications tweak us away

But anything is possible in the tunneling of brush

Leaving the tunnels, the pretty are rough and gruff

Leaving the tunnels, the oh so ugly are then pretty

The fairies giggle at their high fashion designers abilities

A long runway showing off the humankind

Oh my goodness- we are not handsome or ~

very pretty


older poem, edited today

Figuring out that I’ve written many poems and shan’t write another without tender tampering my archaic words I’ve plundered.

DNA and Cats that kill

Ghong-Gok or Goo Goo

The late Ki Ki 2005

The late Franki 2007

The late Bops of 2018

And I have other felines. …

The point is simple as we all know cats kill anything that moves suspiciously in their site. Lizards, frogs, bugs, butterflies and birds. Etc.

We, the cats and I, have had many conversations about killing other critters. They look at me as I speak, and sometimes they wag their tails slowly, in sarcastic swipes. They seem to say, yes, we hear you, but… they never listen.

It is their DNA that makes them kill and torture innocent living creatures. They bring the trophies home and expect praise.

The thought occurred to me that people have different DNA and some kill without any convictions.

Thoughts on a Sunday

Both parental fowl gone… Cat DNA at work. Very busy those cats are. However… No remorse.

But I still love them.

Saturn Transiting Earth, ugh 😑

Saturn’s transition around Earth. 12. 17.18 – 12. 19. 2020. It is in The House of Capricorn and is in regression until 3.21.2020.

Saturn’s vibrational system gives to all of the earth, man and all living creatures, prudent, strong choices. It cleans us from inside to out. It’s powerful influences are considered by mankind as hard lessons. Astrology is not a religion, but is an ancient roadmap of the earth and its inhabitants. It could be used for the universe, but the knowledge is limited to create geological sections from another galaxy to another that are perfect and universal mythology is not yet known.

The time that you were born and the place must be actual and down to the very minute. If not accurate, the mathematical calculations will be inaccurate and a perfected understanding will not be accomplished. Saturn effects all of us as it’s magnetic force overwhelms and penetrates earth’s atmosphere.

As for me, my health has been an issue and I’m ready for Saturns departure. The good news about Saturn’s effect is that the planet brings us into our families (whom ever we consider to be our families) and makes us tight and strong with the unit, and/or it will destroy the artificial members of the so called family unit.

Saturn is a tough teacher. To be mentioned in this scenario is that Saturn is in the house of Capricorn now for the period of time stated above. Capricorn can also be a tough boss. It means business and will bring the work from you lest you die. I say that humorously, but this ride is a tough one. The planet is in retrograde until March 21, 2020 making the journey even harder. Many self truths will come to all during this period of time.

Please remember that astrology is not god and is a roadmap for our choices. Also remember that God praised The Magi for pointing the way to the Lord, Yeshua..



**written under the influence of a temperature of pneumonia **

Wanting, lusting and selling the soul

Gave up the title “We The People “ for desiring more

Rubbing the hands in wants of delectable grub

Gave up the family and selected not to be poor

Bought a home from the bank

Chose a credit card with ribbons of gold

Then got three more ~ so ever bold

Smiling in the beginning, was feeling proud

Shook hands like a Rothschild thinking about

Nothing, but what to buy, after church

Had a family before all the dirt

Began to swallow us up without a word

Teardrops unceasingly tormented our souls

Divorced in spring and married another

Divorced again for the stranglers in currents

Still waiting on the lottery to free us from Satan

Smiling, left ~ yet adorned another

He looked like me when I was a kindred

If only he’d listen and not be hindered

By the dragon that lives up in the mansion

And has private pilots for any consumption

As he whips the human slaves without a pardon

He produces commercials of beautiful women

And having more because of credit

Not forgetting to thank him, because of his pleasures

Wanting more, as if we’re monkeys

Yet he laughs because we’re forsaken

No god to save us as that’s his legend

He sold us, The Bill of Rights

Told us we’re the children of the light

I pray to the god of humankind

Please forgive us and take us from the demons

We believed them and now we’ve come upstreaming

Dead are his promises to a good man

Will politicians stop it!

We’re sick of the scheming

BoJenn 2018

Query Letters, Self Publishing: My thoughts, what’s yours?

You might realize, one day, that producing a novel is costly. I think playing golf weekly, owning the best equipment, and paying for yearly dues at a country club is less expensive than the time spent writing, producing and editing to a perfection that is expansive in many ways.

Then, after all the above is finished, writing, time, editing and re-editing, then the query process begins.

As for me, I’ve received (I’ve stopped counting and this is my estimation) approximately 60-75 rejection letters. All but two have been positive rejections. Some led me from one person to another and other rejections were kindly written, bland, generic, and computer generated letters. The two not so friendly were not horrible, and honestly I cannot remember the first remarks, but the second one said that I was “stilted.” So I looked up the word “stilted” and found the definitions. There are several things the publisher could have meant and I would be guessing.

So, I’m leaving the meaning with the publisher who, by the way, in the salutation to me, never addressed me by name and in the first paragraph he failed to capitalize the first letter of a sentence and misspelled a word. So, I am glad that I’m “stilted” after witnessing the letter of rejection. 🌞

Now, I know that thoughts of self publication are very real and yet are costly. And once again, having query letters edited, spending money on books and classes to make publishers notice the query letter and suffering with the idea, they aren’t successful, must ask, so now what? We consider the cost of self publication and this is overwhelming and pricy.

The writer needs a break. Going to work at my professional job in the health industry is my vacation. Yep. Golfing is sounding more relaxing, less expensive and better for health than writing or working. Hmm 🤔

I wonder what drives us to the point where publishing our work is so important. Is it simply the ego? Do we really have anything that is especially important to say… I think so, but I’m not sure. So, here I sit writing this blog “query thoughts” for me and you. I think writing is an addictive recreation. Maybe so, but isn’t anything and everything we absolutely love an addiction?

Well, I will close now. There are questions that need to be asked of self and others. Why do we write and want to publish? I guess that’s a question that brings to mind: Charles Dickens, Poet Henry Wordsworth, The Bronte Sisters and so many other writers. Those recorders of history brought their world into our present time. Of course not leaving out any present day writers, writing is the recording of time, from the mind of an author, to a person/audience in another place, time or spiritual dimension. There I gave you something to ponder, “a dimension.”

I will end now. Thank you for your time, and prayers for all of us. Have a great day no matter how you spend it whether writing, swimming, planting, playing golf or whatever.

Let me know if I’ve matched your thoughts or prickled them.

Bye for now!


Just A Day

Within the place where dragons doze while snoring

Stepping gently between claws and dragon appendages

Examining the beasts and any somnolent advantages

Eyes catching movements from their slumbering four helices

Thus embarking across the garden of their webbed den

Thankfully passing by, unnoticed by the dangerous kin

One step be rescued and past their treacherous plan

Almost made it when one glanced upon shacking hands

Frozen in mid air, body forked, all tangled in complete despair

The creature still dreaming and lazily comprehending

Noticed not any careless body or movements dangling

Just one step onto the slime within the morning sunlight

Into the light, I passed, without any trace of fumbling

Freedom from dragons, this day, as breathing normally

Slaying any fears, of beasts, that try to encumber

Sword in hand, passing forward, pressing into

The game of life and all that must be gone through

A time of solace, a time of reverence, and a time of gratitude

@BoJenn 2018

There Is A dragon In My Garden

Carefully coiffuring the etiquette garden of the cascading words

Trimming the elegant exuberant plethora of stumbling somnolent leaves

Happened upon an opulent slithering serpent and some bees

Hiding within the myriad of sublime transcendent trees

Shrieking in a shrill voice a cacophony was heard

And the shunned godly creature

Slithered serenely from the place of my obstreperous yells

And the words fell back into a peaceful tranquility and tune

Excusing the moments as serendipitous and absurd

But was harangue for no reason except tales of Slew (Foot)

And went about my business without any further adieu


@Bonnie Gay Jennings, or Bonnie Jennings or Boondoggling with Bojenn @Wordpress 2013 to present 2016 ~

From A Poets Haven on FB

Our Choice For This Early Thursday Afternoon’s

Feature Best Of Our Photo Challenge.

Art Abrams

One wears black one white

The winds take their clothes in flight

As birds fly up high

Bonnie Jennings

Yin and Yang

Yin and Yang entangled on a beach one breezy evening

Their clothing, yet contrasting and different,

Tangled like women reveling or cats on the prowl

People starring at their unusual behavioral brawls

Observers didn’t try to stop the feminist stewing

The winds moved their bodies in shapes as brewing

Like a dance of martial arts, in and out, their stances

Almost beautiful in reverent artfully created dances

Two women merged working together while tossing

On the shore of a beach out of the place called heaven

And contrast and indifference between two divas

‘Twas merely Yin and Yang compensating for each other

But it all came together so nicely and sweetly guarded

And they rolled off together into the waves of steal

A metamorphosis of wonder and of physics galore

Two women, Yin and Yang fought to keep all sure

Always traveling to earthquakes and volcanic eruptions

Tossing all energies and making it quaint

For humans, babies, cats and dogs

Bringing hope to existence and peace of sorts

@BoJenn 2018

Thank you A Poets Haven

Conversing With God; It kinda goes like this

Conversing With God

It kinda goes like this


“Hmm’” he/she says

“Good morning God.” As I’ve just awakened and anxieties about my day have already taken hold of my mind.

“Good morning,” he replies. ‘How are you today?’

“Well, as you know my mind is all over the place already. My day hasn’t begun and here I am in my usual fretful place.” My response.

“Yes, I see this.” Pause… “well, what are you going to do today?” He asks nonchalantly, But is most interested in my responses though he already knows, everything.

“I will begin with you, my god. I will thank you for … I don’t know… let me think… my children, my animals, my home, and for me. You have crafted me for something. This I know, but honestly I’m lost and can’t remember or can’t recognize your plan for me.”

“Oh yes, I know.” Pauses again as his voice is soft and slow, he then says, “ in the Lord’s Prayer when you come to ‘they kingdom come thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven,’ pay attention again.”

“Yes, I know what you’re saying. But, I’m not there today.” My faith is low and I need inspiration for manifestation.

“Try it again and this time say it until you believe it. Get the truth of this concept right here and now. You need it today.” He always hits the hammer on the nail that’s wobbly and crooked.

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Thy Kingdom come thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.” So I say this over and over trying to get the message into my heart and soul. That I believe this truth, as he gave me, and this truth that is my lesson in life so therefore I must believe and practice this once again.

“You know,” he said, “those who gain the power of this verse will never be thirsty, hungry or have any lack. That’s why I put it there in these wonderful words.” He smiled. “But, you must do it. No one else can do it but you. You are no longer a child, yet you are a part of all my children in heaven as they are on earth.” He looked into my eyes. “Your eyes are so beautiful and are heavenly. They remind me of the finest of all my gems.”

I smiled back and looked at his eyes that seem as if they contained all weather within them. “Thank you for visiting me today. You made my day. The compliment about my weary eyes mean more to me than… oh my god. You gave them to me. They are a lesson that I am also learning about and anything from you is a gift. Thank you. I see partially. Thank you.”

He left within the rays of sunlight. His conversation will not be forgotten.

“Until later!” I waved into the lights of the early morning. And all was silent except the chirping of the cardinals.

@2018 BoJenn

Waiting for Answers

My words are few but are my hearts truth

And whispering comes within a surprise

I won’t echo your mistakes

For truthfully found are my misgivings

And into the winds I utter my longings

Privately standing before my god

Hearing him listen to that I’ve learned

He hears what I say and makes his decisions

Anxiously awaiting the answers rendered

In patience, in privacy, in humbled transgressions

And should he say, no, I continue forward

Gratefully because he may have saved me ~ again from tomorrow

@2018 BoJenn

WordPress You Frustrate Me

Non of my work formats any longer.

My page is not correct and my corrections, well… I gave up, because you always complete my work, your way.

If I could change blog sites easily, I would.

Is anyone ever home?

You send out messages, “how can we make WordPress better?” But, you don’t listen.


IF (written for someone I love)

If my life went down another road

If happenstances were plainly homely

If times gave bliss instead of wrath

Perhaps you and I would not have met

And if you saw me without the impact

If you saw me as when I once was whole

If you were to speak then, thought doubtful

Perhaps the sorrows may not have occurred

Yet watch and look at the stars as they twinkle!

For within the sparkling, a hope of life appears

Yes, we were once friends my dearest husband

And thankfully a child was born in a season of mirth

And I thank God for our moments

Who thus engendered this young man

Smiling and happiness for such a gift, so grateful

But now, the doors are closing on our plans

If I knew what lies before us

If I think of the future, I shudder

If we never speak again, will matter

However, hatred and abuse have shattered

Every last membrane of my body

BoJenn @2017

The Angel Miniel

We ask Angel Miniel to induce love of humans and animals

Miniel so rare the majestic sights of you
That here you are when so needed
Spreading love to man and puppies
Blowing love orbs amongst the brethren

And was my wish granted to see your face
To see you in action all over the place
Is there something that I should do?
Oh my … I’ll watch, so please, give me clues

I won’t get in your way
I promise this to you
Kindly tell me what I am to do
You smile as if to say,
“Just ask me, for I’ll quicken the stay.”
She winked and then departed with glee
A lesson learned from Miniel ~ to me

@Bojenn 2018
Picture from A Poets Haven




1950; Children, of Closet Punishment

1950; Children, Of Closet Punishment

This topic bewilders me. I am an adult now, but still remember the closet. And, 65 years have past.

When reading Stephen Kings novel about how to write, he mentions being locked in the closet when he was a child. My mind flipped back over my years and my closet punishments sat before all memories.

Wondering if children who experience extreme isolation and quietness are prone to developing (one side effect) of creativity, as well as, horror and terror.

Stephen King’s novel was a gift and I’m not a huge reading or watching his shows, fan. I read the book out of curiosity and because it was a gift, only to discover that he and I had experienced the punishment of being locked in a closet.

Now, Mr. Stephen King, I’m not a fan of yours because your stories scare the hell out of me. And perhaps we experienced different types of endings, or visualized different circumstances while in the closet. You saw huge monsters and I saw survival by quietness. However, we both used our minds and imagination to live, to exist, to adjust, to protect ourselves from our closet experience. For these reasons, I see why and how we became writers. You who are famous, wealthy and a wee bit older, but not much, are products of the 1950 punishment regime that a few mothers or babysitters used on their children.

Sharing this story is not easy for me, however, it has entrapped me for a lifetime. I need to come out of the closet now. I’m sixty-five. It’s time.

By BoJenn 2018

All rights reserved

Poem (part two of poem one on 12.29.17)

Part 2

Behind the singing blonde angel who fed me.

She pointed “that way” to the pathway set before the trees.

Yes beautiful and green this holding seems to be

I wearily took my hat before lingering.

A pink Dogwood appeared way in the distance.

But audibly there were no sounds and no resistance.

No birds, no spiders, no bugs, nor anything living,

Other than trees and greenery and grass and mossy stepping stones.

So my question was, “what’s going on here? Am I now living without any friends?”

What of this lesson set before me, oh God, I give up before I enter in.

For you have me on a path all alone in a beautiful jungle without a snake

And what shall I do without even a slew to give the questions that must be answered

And lingering for “how long” is beyond anything reasonable

But, if you want me to enter in, then shall I enter

The limbs bare of leaves and foliage

No laughter from children nor tears or crying

Silence and peaceful so it appears

But, lord, the clanging of voices are now gone, disappeared

All the ways that I thought were for the best

Now seem unimportant and somewhat depressed

The world of news, wars, fighting and human distress

Now are gone in this jungle of mistrust

Lord, how do I get out of here?

This isn’t a place for me to endure

Nice as it may seem to have such a place of demure

Thankful that I see before it’s too late

The best place for me to be

Is in this world of terrible whines and mess

And people who are hungry and angry for

Your place of silence without any bugs

To tell you that I enjoyed the quietness

Is a lie of utter intellectual defiance

And the place of peace and humanity

Is in the thickets and meandering trees

Holding a hand torn from the fight

Blessing a bird caught in the winters night

Saying I’m sorry for the things I’ve done

Hugging you until the sun is done

Singing a song until the moon sets

Holding an orphan that must be lost

Bringing home a cat or dog

Loving the lost without cause

Saying well done when the curtain sets

Not traveling a road lost of human threats

Please God hear my prayers prayers

Bless me and others beyond the stars

Bring us home to rest in love

And keep us from pathways of forlorn

Bring us to peace and love for each other



At The End of The Street

At The End of The Street

There before sits a doorway of changing

Should I pass through this exit or entrance

Appealing are the blues and dusted greens

Red bricks approach then a vague dusty mat

The hedge of multiple colors light and darks

Shadows of darkness and lines of dirty molds

Yet somehow it is statuesque and unassuming

Where once a warrior lived in a mysterious place

So familiar it resoundingly felt like a dream I had

The wetness a reminder of blood that was shed

The cobwebs naturally adorn the sides of wood

And a fair blonde woman will soon open the door

Wearing a beautiful smile she’ll invite me inside

And while singing tenderly explain where I’m at

She’ll feed me as a friend who compassionately is

Behind the turquoise doors waiting my arrival

To tell me about where the clocks gone haywire

And the craziest things about heaven on earth

And what the angels are up to amongst the dirt

And all will be well passing through

The mysterious blue door

At the end of the street