The Little Lives of Clouds

The feathered white pheasant’s tail was broken yet she flew anyway

And on the horizon swooping low was the mouth of the dragon

Yelling and pointing, “Go South!” Pleasant friend rigorously showing the way

Yet smoother than vanilla ice cream drifted the angel fairies just enjoying the day

All is well by the looks of the spectacular blue skies! What humans think 🤔

And the people in the clouds roll their eyes in utter quandary at thoughts of beings

A sigh is heard from the leader. Pausing breathes and pulses from the cloud kingdom

Just waiting for the Moon 🌚 and not being seen to loudly or heard silently, but dreaming realities of Tolkien an TS Eliot

Can’t wait to show Jacob about this world above our heads and inside our hearts that leaves one day when we become mankind.

I love you Jacob… Mimsi Never loose your imagination

Fables For Jacob; About Control

 

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Once upon a time there was a golden pen

It was sleek and elegant and was its own

One grey foggy day a brown shoe visited

Telling the pen it should sweep as a broom

The golden pen didn’t realize its penmanship

And became a fine natural haired bristled mop

Thus swept the cobwebs from walls and the floors

Cleaned windows and dusted chairs without love

It began to wear its woven tough coated flocks

Singing no songs whilst it was manhandled to death

Sat in a corner collecting no glory just cluttered doom

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

There was a world awaiting tales from twisted off keyed tunes

A smile appeared where the golden paint had disappeared

The pen arose from the wooden stick of woven haired loom

It stepped away from the shadows or the corners where stored

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

Grabbing the handle trying to gain its escape

Jumped higher each time jumping to its fate

Escaping to freedom by inching its slender way

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

Realizing it held power all of its own

Taking advice from something not its clone

Learned a lesson to stay far away 

From things not like us or shiny 

And voices waning to follow ways

Insisting they’re the right

Never seeing truth

Demanding ways

Inconsiderate

Not seeing 

You

From them move
Your’e invisible!
AND geez!

What ever you do
Don’t look behind!

 

 

BJ

Passages: Time is a Thief 🌹

William Wordsworth, 1770 – 1850 (an excerpt)

“What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind.”

Reflections on Family

 

My Family/families are my Valentines. ❤️

 

 

Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood

William Wordsworth1770 – 1850 (an excerpt)

 

“What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now for ever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind.”

 

 

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Time is a Thief

 
 
 

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Fleeting ~ Time

Left are memories of the children voices
 Left are the visions of sand castles

Time is a thief ~ so subtly it steals
 The moments thought unimportant and harried

If only for a moment ~ my mother and father
 We could gather at the playground together

Instead of doing my own thing
 Would look only at you and carefully listen

Because truly ~ Time is a thief

BJ

 

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Hidden from sight the old trees still protect
 As if intruders enter out of disrespect 
 Inside the castle tucked deeply far away
 Is a beating heart who yearns for their play
 When they visit again and all will be restored
 To the time and place where the children roared
 The dogs barked when visitors approached
 And all was well, once upon a day
BJ

 

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The laughter of voices of children are still heard
 Looking at the image seeing what once was
 And nothing will bring back the innocent days
 Moving time forward, can never return



And the cycle of voices of children presently heard
  Are the ones who'll whisper in future playgrounds
  And the cycle goes on and on and on perpetually turning

Making the maddening cycle stop
  Takes fortitude, strength, courage and truth
  That the voices of children stay presently in your heart

BJ

 

 

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 Her Mysteries

 
 

Ascending an abandoned staircase stood once gloried and adored

 Still remains inside a crumbling castle’s walls ~ yet still lovely
She held secrets no one had explored, she waited to share
The mysteries, now ghosts, of people who once were
Back, caught in time, and the twirling vacuum of memories

Went ~ Swept away. But the antique staircase could bring them back ~

If only a wandering visitor came to stay.

 
 
 
BJ
 
 
 
 
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“Please, whisper. As you enter a sacred place, be reverent. It is the granite that shields her heart, and the only way to enter is in quiet solitude.”







Thank you for reading

 

 

 

K♣️

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 

 

 

Tomorrows My Birthday: To My Unborn

To My Unborn

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An empty swing

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

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

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

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

Teaching Alchemy, Legends and Angels to Children through poetry

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GATHERING with Barbiel ~

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 on trees”

Then Barbiel took his dousing rod to lead

“Come this way girl, and don’t meander

I’ll teach you of autumn’s alchemy

And some other things,” he spoke kindly

Barbiel pointed to the medicinal fungi

Found under the wet decayed log

He held up a yellow October leaf

Inspected and said he, “just wait until it turns orange.”

And on their path of only mystics travel

Who wander questing of the dark forest

Finding a Fagus Beech Tree standing alone

He cracked the triangular nut offering

She ate the sweet fruits he gave her

Filling her basket with the kernels

Slowly continuing onward,‘old Barbiel taught as they passed forward

This the child maiden spent a day learning

From the tall burly angelic wisdoms

“When will I see you again?” She questioned

“I’m afraid, not until next October.” Said he.

“I’ll be here on the first next year!” She promised.

Then saying goodbyes ~ He departed.

She watched the sparkling winds dissipate

And long-suffered October’s date ~now fated

 

*** Notes***

Barbiel – angel of October

 

©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights are reserved

Thank you artists at Pixabay for your image

 

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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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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 ferociously tame

He thus tapped me on my shoulders saying, “Arise 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.”

 

 

***Hofniel – The ruling angel of the bene Elohim; name means “fighter of God.”***

©2016. Bonnie Jennings. All Right’s Reserved

Thank you for visiting
Just remember the copyright    🙂 Pretty Please… ©2017 Bojenn All Rights Reserved
 

*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.

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…

Star Children (TEST) By drboylan.com/starkididqstnr.html

http://www.drboylan.com/starkididqstnr.html