Poetess Jo Dowling, A Psychiatric Nurse Who Writes Poetry of The Dark Side

 

It is with great pleasure that I introduce you to a fellow poetess who is also a psychiatric nurse, like myself.

 

 

It is because the mind of a mental health nurse sees the world, reported by others, from a down to earth approach and also from a surreal sublime often bizarre experience,  that I’m thrilled with Jo Dowling’s poetry. In a way, because we are so down to earth, we are also somewhat of skeptics, realists and also expect the weird from the world, at the same time.

We may write about “fairies” and fables, but under that fantasy is dirt truth… You must read between the lines that often have allegories, metaphors, parables and messages hidden in the gray areas of life, and from that we express the unexplainable in poetry.

If you live and move in these areas, then  you too, understand the minds of psychiatric nurses… We are the eyes of doctors and therapists. We watch and never have to listen because we see and understand the unspoken language of the human spirit.

We are the Watchers, not exactly the listeners of words, because body language speaks louder volumes than spoken conversations, and psychiatric nurses see and realize the unspoken and that is why I love Jo’s poetry. She sees the reflections of the dark side of life and explains some secrets found inside closets and under beds in her poetry. The child that hurts, the person that still experiences the “boogyman” syndrome, Jo understands.

It is the human psyche and the sixth dimension that her poetry reflects. The empathetic observer that she is, who feels and deeply understands fears, horrors, paranoias and the sadness’ of many who experience mental illness or just simple fears and depression. Jo writes from their persona or perhaps she writes from her own experiences.

I love your poetry Jo. I understand and I relate to well. I know those demons thwarting our living day to day … So often those tormentors get away with robbing innocent victims.

I appreciate your poetry because you are truthful about what you’ve witnessed, and you have come to tell others, to alert them, and to touch them in away, through your poetry. Those whom read your lines, verse and choices of words, know that you do understand because you hit the demon on the head (just an expression) and expose those dark forces, so well.

Jo’s poetry is heartfelt spiritualality, but is not pie in the sky fairies and pixies, but it is about real life forces that have wounded many, and affect many daily;

So, thank you Jo.

Here is one of many of Jo’s poems.

 

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Jo’s Bio

Childhood was spent in China, Korea, and Baghdad. Attended college at the University of Arkansas, Henderson State University, and Texarkana College, obtaining a degree in Nursing. Became Specialized and Certified in Psychiatry and worked as a Registered Nurse at Baptist Health and Pinnacle Pointe Hospital in Little Rock, Arkansas. Served in the United States Marine Corps, Intelligence Division. Retired early and returned to hometown of Foreman, Arkansas to write full time.
jodowling514

 

 


 

 

Poem 1

Sometimes we turn from the fire so quickly we stumble and fall in the flames and are burned
And sometimes we medicate painful mistakes with elixers of poison or  promises made
We watch as the children grow taller and stronger and cover our eyes when they break down the door
We are of thunder and rainbows, and cyclones, and northeastern winds without warning or form
We are of time and celestial planets, and volatile poisons and critical mass
We explain meaning without understanding- our senses perceive only what we believe
Humanity, fling back the sheet from the mirror–
Focus your sight and define what you see
Quiet your mind and acknowledge your senses
Cry for humanity, tend to the bleed

jodowling514



Poem 2

Gold turns to blackness like fossil rock veins- meanings ingrained and embedded 

Sadness strikes suddenly, point piercing through, wickedly splitting existance in two 

Shaking from force of the violent blow- the meaning burns inward and down to the bone  

The sound lasts for only one second of time, but the echo will last for an entire life


jodowling514



Poem 3


Biddable river shines bright in the Autumn

Dance with me under the river rock cliffs

Voluptuous evergreen lips kiss the sky

Come to the river

Swim through your mind

Grape vines entwine, hiding footprints behind us

Time cannot find this oasis

Tedious urgency does not exist

Prisms refract where the river falls spray

Wade in the wonder

Bathe and create

jodowling514


You can find Jo Dowling on FB. She has several poetry groups and you might want to follow her and learn more about the dark side of our mind….

I live there at times and relate to the closets hidden from the world of facade and often irreverent.

https://www.facebook.com/jo.dowling.37?fref=ts


Thank you Jo for sharing your poetry and a part of yourself. Thank you for the work that you  do and write about.  It is because you relate so well to the human spirit.

Jo is a realist.

Thank you deeply and sincerely.

 

 

Remembering Robert Frost

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Investigating the road noticed

A set of tracks singularly left

Perhaps a motorcycle or a sled

The icy coverage maybe slick

Deciding if the path needed me

To venture the trail leading where

I’d never been but seemed foreboding

Oh but the brush and thickets held

Could be rabbits or deers or who knows what

The road invited me ~ so I pondered 

Remembering Robert Frost, I questioned

Is this the way, or perhaps not

It looked so innocent in the beginning part

Considering the icy surface and a mishap

But the other way held no assurances either

And each would take me to where I belong

Just different routes to meander through life

Standing looked as far as my sight grasped

The other way, was not envisioned 

So, I decided to keep moving through

Neigh the other would be traveled blindly 

Thus I went where I could vaguely see

And perhaps, I ask myself ~

 Did this decision make the difference

Is this the road, I should have travelled

 

 


 

BJ K♣️©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 

Image from Pinterest

Never Argue Your Point, Simply BE Your Point

 

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I was almost drawn into an argument

And it was pointless

Narrow mindedness and tunnel vision

Steal from others the light

That is, if it is allowed that chance

 

The best warfare

Walk away and leave them yelling 

No one can win where ears are hard as stones

No one wins when brains are in-prisoned 

 

Leave and get far away

Trust the Spirit of Truth is always working

Even on yourself

 

There are some battles that belong to timing

Some of those battles belong to the right voice

Lessons learned take lifetimes

 

And we are not God

So ~

Walk away

 

A Gentleman Silhouette

 

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Damp leaves fallen everywhere 
Silently he who stands in prayer
Somewhere ~ pondering, “Elsewhere?
Could I have come from?” In despair,
He looks thinking, “is this a nightmare?”
Unrecognizing the odors and the auras
Alone, by the park bench now worn
Etched in wood were cursive initials
Swollen wet wood had but erased them
And there he stands, once debonaire
Only now, merely a ghost carrying an umbrella
The parallel alliance, the romantic bond
Passed into independent realms
Perhaps, time and measurements
Will lock into the same grid
But, until then, he just stands
Silently pondering the else-wheres.
Haunting the bench 
Amidst fallen wet leaves
Stands a gentleman silhouette

 

 

BJ K♣️©2016 Bonnie Jennings. All Rights Reserved

 

Image from A Poets Haven

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

 

 

 

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

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.

Man being God

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Thank you Pixabay for the image

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

 

Time with George H Bush

The year was approximately 1978. I was flight attendant employed for Eastern Airlines and was working on a leg from Atlanta Ga. to San Jaun, PR. The first class cabin served one person that leg which is roughly 3.5 hours. The passenger was George H Bush, then The Director of The CIA and soon to be the USA republican candidate.

The aircraft was a Lockead L-1011. There were 28 seats in first class and he had occupied one. The secret service sat nearby behind him and in front of second class.

I was his personal F/A (flight attendant) that day. I was in my mid twenties and extremely ignorant of politics. But, I did know The Bible fairly well as I’d read it a few times from cover to cover.

It was hot that day and I remember that Mr Bush looked disheveled from his campaigning. He had been sweating and his white shirt was hanging out of his trousers from the back. He took a F/C seat and sighed from release from traveling. I offered him a cocktail but he requested iced tea. He sat quietly and relaxed before takeoff.

I served him his meal and put the supplies away. After my service he asked me for a bible.

“Yes,” I said. “We have a Gideans in the overhead bin.” So, I handed it to him and he opened it.

“Please, sit down. Do you have a minute?” Mr. Bush was a complete gentleman. And, he was reading my favorite book.

Delighted, l sat down.

“What do you know about Ezekial and the valley of dry bones?” He has piercing eyes.

I gave him a 25 year old response trying to sound brighter than my knowledge basis. “It’s about the war of Armageddon.”

“Yes, it is. Let’s read it.” He opened to chapter 37. He began to read out loud as I listened intently. “And, what do you think this means.” He was so kind and looked lovingly as if I was a daughter.

Mr. Bush and I finished through to the 39th chapter and perhaps into the first part of 40…

A few hours later, It was time for landing. Sadly, the conversation had come to an end.

I will never forget this time I spent with George H Bush.
True story

©2016 bonnie jennings All Rights Reserved

My mother and I about the age of my conversations with George

Vulnerability; Dating

*This story is purely fictional and the similarity of human stories is merely created, well, perhaps some is real and the names and places have been changed to protect the innocent. The picture of Jeffrey Dahmer is from public domain and is nonfictional picture though this is not a story connected to him.

 

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The story begins.

 

She sat reflecting on a cozy warm couch about the woman murdered, terribly mutilated by a man that she met on a dating site. She thought of her own experiences, of course she wasn’t cut into pieces and nor was her body thrown in different trash bins and she had no children, like the young woman who’s story was all over the news. But, at the same time, if one seeks their “soul mate” on dating sites than a risk comes with every encounter.

It was a horrible story and had the young mother made an early decision to screen her dates with an on-line security clearance, this never would have happened. However, like most woman, she herself was far too trusting and desperately wanted a soul mate,” and was willing to risk everything and go without a simple security check. The fear of loosing someone before there was a chance to discover love motivated the lack of discovery.

She knew this fear of loosing someone before love happened all too well. But then again, if someone is innocent they would certainly allow an investigation prior to dating. And, that potential date could also do the same and run a security check on her, as well. But, all they would find on her was “bad credit,” but then again, who would want to date someone who couldn’t keep a checkbook straight? But, she certainly wasn’t an axe murderer, nor had she  been in jail, not even for one night. She was squeaky clean and quite prudish and shy. On-line dating provided a screen she could hide behind and become someone else bolder and more commanding, more beautiful and so forth…

And, the fact that she was deaf and blind wouldn’t be something she must reveal during their first encounter. No, that would be a sure turn-off if they saw the weir magnifying glasses she used to read and drive with. And, only dating sites would make this impossible for her. So, some things she hid from profile bios. She didn’t see her own deceptions and she never thought the men were or could be hiding their own. In fact ~

She believed everything male bio profiles stated.

“I want a relationship with someone forever.” Or, “I’m looking for a wife, a lover, a special woman who can love unconditionally, and who is romantic and loves kisses, and etc. etc…”

Of course, in her eyes, non of them lied or were deceitful, as she wasn’t either. But, the news article was a personal eyeopener for her. She must be more careful and risk loosing someone before a relationship had a chance to blossom and bloom.

 

The picture of Jeffrey Dahmer and other serial killers were in the next article. They seemed so demure, handsome, normal, pleasant, quiet, and intelligent deep thinkers and she found those traits attractive indeed. She realized her vulnerability and in fact she herself is attracted to men who bare these traits except, the hurting of animals…

How could they hurt an innocent animal! She felt again weak and victimized by her own naiveté’s. This is awful, stupid. This could be me one day.

The argument women should have to protect themselves to understand that serial killers, rapers, marryers, and serial people are often charming and the minute a person looks “to good,” or is a “Knight in white shinning armor,” then, here’s your red flag… Run and rum like hell… Away, far away.

This is about relationships that don’t function correctly.

 

So, she argued with herself whether or not she should continue trying to find HIM her soulmate online because of traumatic threatening possibilities, or be open to receive, Prince Charming.

 

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JD

 

It was a fact that she would never use a stupid dating site because her judge of character was keen in her own eyes. So, she believed and during the days she met her soul mate dating sites were new and on the rise. Social media was slim as the internet was just taking off.

As she sat reflecting on the eeriness of the story of the young mother, she also thought about the fact that many years ago, she was married to a man who had several alias’. Her ex spouses identity and alias’ were still a nemesis and perplexed her even after many years post their divorce. How he had been married so many times and his lies were so many, never straight, and to top off his fabrications of twisted stories, he always gave the reply, “My past is my past. We’re all forgiven and I don’t visit there.” At times he got ferociously angry when she “interrogated” him. That was his word, “Interrogated.” He would yell at her, “Why are you interrogating me!” His body language tightened. He bit his lips. His arms and legs crossed tightly either over his chest or leg over leg which couldn’t be moved apart due to control. His stare of disdain and threats were always present. He didn’t have to say another word. His body language said it all. You ask anything else and you’ll be very, very sorry. At the end of the relationship, he walked around the house with a shotgun. They slept in different areas of the house and that loaded gun stayed by his side. She uttered no words.

Then she flashed back to their earlier marital bliss, or never any of that, bliss stuff, but she had all of her five senses. She was neither deaf or blind in the earlier days.

Well, she answered herself, “Why is another woman’s name on a check book from your past and she signs her name with your last name?” The old checks were under old tax records and pictures and perhaps she was snooping, but it was justifiable as there were always rabbit holes every where that popped up all over the place. The check book was just one simple rabbit hole. The next was her name was written in his Bible but was erased out and under the name of a new woman…

Because she fantasized about being married to me. She did that!” He yelled after she simply and mild asked about the name Rebecca that was shared on the checks with his name. Odd, but she dismissed the suspicions due to, why not, it kind of makes sense.

The box of his belongings still sat there and it became a curious place for finding clues and yes, there were more strange names and women that were on important tax documents dated years ago. The Bible also included another female name listed as an ex wife, but it too had been erased and she wondered why her name was never written inside as a spouse. After all she had been married to him several years. This Bible was his favorite and he read in it every morning faithfully so. She noticed he stared many Proverbs. One stared with fresh ink was * It is better to sleep under a leaky roof than to be married to a nagging wife. She asked herself is this one for me? Is he saying something to me knowing that I read his Bible every morning? 

*(Note here Ronnie and Connie)

Now, in the old tax cardboard box she opened returns dated twenty years ago. In 1989 the top included his name and his spouse Ronnie McCarthy and the next years had a different obviously misspelled name, by the IRS, Connie McCarthy. Another anomaly that just raised and eyebrow as no one corrected the document obviously. An over site from The  IRS… so she reasoned. And also began to think there were many, many, numerous incorrect legal documents and what is the likelihood that so many professional people could make similar mistakes. Something wasn’t adding up that two plus two no longer equalled four. And, the rabbit hole was small in the beginning; however, yearly it got more convoluted and just plain weird. The Bible and the cardboard tax box were early curiosities.

She told her family about the oddities she had found and they blew it off stating that she always had a vivid imagination and that she needed to quit being so suspicious and enjoy her life of influence and gifts and shopping sprees and beautiful homes and pleasantries that most women would never experience. Turn your eyes away and ignore as wealthy women do this so they can keep their lifestyles of luxury. The family smiled. We all do this honey. It’s just your wild imaginations. So, she did her best for many years to look away from suspicious behaviors and the many nights spent alone after being told tales of being at the office and working late, sometimes it was four to five days alone and that included Christmas Eves.

 

There Is A Dragon in My Gardwn

 

She had been married the first time to a man who’s family were extremely wealthy and were Virginia tobacco farmers. She knew and appreciated opulent living, but being physically abused was not a part of the family she cared to accept. She divorced him early and paid him to let her go in peace. It cost her an Alpaca rug and six silver Mint Julep tumblers. That was easy enough though her mother was pissed, she kept her physical self from harm and her mental state was temporarily in shambles, but she healed only to repeat the process with a pauper, and then the husband whom she reflects on. He was much more dangerous than the other two. He was dangerous because her family, loved him and saw no wrong doing and believed that she was the over imaginative, problem.

Then, the country clubs recognized her as being “his wife,” and she was elevated to a position of prestige with privileges of sitting at the front tables or being first for many things. She even won many prizes at events by social clubs for being his wife. Her friends were now his, or sort of…. That meant that she was not quite accepted into his circle of buddies and buddies wives. They had their own special very secretive group and she was invited to their parties only during holidays or when the other people of society were included. The other people were also left in the dark and more than likely knew somethings, but those somethings were never divulged to she, the new wife. Just whispers behind her back and fake smiles were felt. Her sixth sense was extremely keen and growing more and more as time passed and more oddities occurred.

Strangely enough, when she went to the country club escorted by her husband, his friends moved into her space when he left. They always had messages which were disconcerting. “You know, your husband really doesn’t want you to ride with him on the golf cart.”

“No?” She said. Shocked that he was so rude and not a Southern gentleman at all.

“No, he’s like me. Totally independent. He doesn’t want you tagging along.” Mr. Asshole left with a smile on his golf cart. She continued to read her book.

The time had passed after the discovery the cardboard box and the tax statements and she did as her family so graciously suggested. Maybe two years passed and since she was a wealthy working gal, she was approach by two men in a remote rural store in nowhere America. They were laughing and felt brave enough to say something to me after they saw my last name on my badge that I was wearing on my lapel.

 

*(note Henry McCarthy)

“By any chance are you married to so and so, Henry McCarthy?” They stared at her. Then they said,
“Oh, we thought you had red hair?” And they were quiet and waiting for a response fro her.

“No, I’m blonde and have been one most of my life. Red-head, huh? Maybe you’re thinking of someone else?”

“No, don’t think so. He introduced her as his wife.” They added seriously stating. The one man looked her in the eye.

“It must be a different McCarthy?” She said insisting they were wrong.

“No. He works for Tankard?” He cleared his throat. *******

“Yes. Yes, he does. He’s in a regional director. You probably don’t know him. He’s works out of The Ivory Tower.” She had a turned up nose and was in denial of their suggestions.

“Ma’am have a nice day. Sorry to ruin it for you. But, Mr. McCarthy from the Ivory Tower left The Hillcrest Country club with his red headed wife on his arm. She had much longer legs than you do.” He nodded and got in his decked out white Ford truck. “Good-Day.” He tipped his cowboy hat towards her and pulled out of the parking lot.

She was literally shaking. Her suspicions and fears were back again. Thinking to herself, was that planned? Did they hunt me down in rural boondocks grocery in Ten Buch Two to tell me my husband had a red head on his arm that he introduced as me? Did hey just say that? That man doubted that I am the wife. He thinks I’m a fake, wanna- be. He was questioning my authenticity.

She drove home literally not knowing what to say or how to act. Thank God he wasn’t home when she got back home. There was more time to think about what to say or not to say.

She called her mother and it was the same old story. “Turn your ears away and head. You see and hear nothing. You are innocent. Appreciate your life, dear. Go have tea with the ladies or afternoon drinks. Everything will be fine.” She mimicked her mother as it was always the same old song. Nothing was wrong but her daughter had an over active imagination.

And life went on as usual; however, one day she had to tell hime the story about the two men.

“Who were they! What did they look like?” Her husband was shaking his head. “I don’t have any enemies. Who are the men?” He insisted and was squirming in his chair.

“Two men in a white beefed up truck in the middle of rural nowhere. i was in a country store.” She retorted.

“What country store?” He demanded.

“I don’t know the name of it, but it;s at a four way stop in Slumberville. That’s all I can tell you.” And, thats all she could tell them and saying they had pot beer bellies was describing all men living in that area and they wore a cowboy hat, black and the other had a red ball cap on.”

“What writing did the ball cap have on it?” He counter interrogated.

“Not sure. He wasn’t doing the talking. Just the man in the black cowboy hat. They thought it was kind of funny, I guess or they thought I was lying about being your wife.”

His body language got tight again. Arms hugged around his chest crossed in front and one leg crossed the other has he sat in his grey easy chair tilting back. He seemed to be grimacing and grinding his teeth. He was pissed, no doubt about that.

She left the room, ASAP. The vibes were heavy and they were angry.

As usual, time in between was uneventful except when he left home Thursday or Friday and came back late Sunday nights, “On business.”

Christmas was coming and the huge grand ball for all the employees was almost there. This year she decided, because she always over-dressed to play it simpler. She purchased a beautiful gold delicately knitted top and black sleek crepe pants that slit up the back and were flared like a skirt. She had the perfect jewelry of gold that made her look like Princess Grace. And, they drove in the rain when the date rolled around.

The crowd mingled and there was several hundred people and an open bar. Slumberville Tankard hired three bands that year. One was a Motown band, the other pop and the other country. The party would last until one or two in the morning and that is how parties are planned there. Everyone looked like country movie stars or just stars.

“Honey I want you to meet … so and so and so and so…” until the hand shaking and the nods and greeting became wearisome. It was soon time for food but before the dinner was served, the open bar was packed and he left her at the table where their names were on cards. He was supposed to win a prize or two that year so they were strategically placed in the huge auditorium. She sat alone for a while continuing to nod to everyone who walked by. The time was getting longer than expected for him to get a couple of drinks so she turned to look in the bar. And there were only two people in there then leaning on the bar.  Her husband was leaning on the bar talking to a woman with ~ red hair.

The woman’s hair about chin length like that man at the store showed her with his hand movements to chin length. She had on a royal blue midi dress made of velvet which was slit up the back skirt and the back swooped low which revealed her long slender back. He heart stopped a minuet. He saw she was looking at him and her. He signaled he was coming soon with two Bloody Mary’s.” The woman with the red hair and blue dressed slipped over to a man who had his foot on the wall starring at them both. He was more visual than she was. She got up from the chair and went to the bar. Her husband introduced the woman as Sheri and also said, “This is Shari’s husband.” And, Sheri’s husband never looked up to greet her nor did he take his eye off his wife nor the situation.

 

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Not quite Sheri’s hair length and a little more curvy, but the dress is similar

 

Once during the evening she had gone into the ladies room. Sheri followed her in there with a couple of women friends. Nothing was said nor any acknowledgement made by either women.

It was just another strange happenstance, thats all. The men in the white truck in nowhere America could’ve been right… Just another red flag, thats all. Clock it up to imagination like mom says.

For Christmas, a present to herself, she visited her first astrologer and psychic since she was getting nowhere with family or his friends. The questions were becoming exasperating and gnawing at her mind. Something wasn’t adding up and two plus two was definitely not four. She was hardly sleeping. The phone rang at odd times and he spoke quietly and would quickly leave the home stating there was a work problem.

During the reading in late December, the astrologer said, “Oh, you’re moving soon. Like within eight months. You will be moving out of town and things should get better for a while.

She agreed that something was not right in the marriage and that the deception was real. At one point she ran out of the session. She says the psychic will finish the reading and whatever she tells you, you can take it to the bank.

So the psychic was confused as she was thrown in the middle of the reading and was clueless, but she continued anyway. She verified all her fears; however, she said, “Your husband is very naughty, indeed, but know its an addiction and he really has no control over what he does. Actually, you are the love of his life. He’s just sick.”

Six weeks after the psychic reading he came in one day from work and said, “We’re seeing transferred out of the state. We will be moving to his grand Texas, back to his hearts desire. The psychic was right.

And it’s here in this story it must be said that their home in which they bought and purchased in Louisiana did have a ghost to top off all the craziness and made her seem madder than the hatter. The ghost was rather aggressive at times, he, the ghost, through crosses across the room many times and while she had packed to leave Louisiana and was resting quietly on the plush carpet floor having her eyes closed, a glass table was dumbed on top of her while she was alone in the house, not a sound, not even music or TV or a radio. Just silence. She knew no matter what, she has to leave. He appeared in mirrors and wore red flannel shirts and a red ball cap and she called him, Her Redneck Ghost. The ghost didn’t seem to like her, but on the other hand, he did many things to gain her attention. Perhaps he was trying to tell her something and she wasn’t paying attention?

However, before the move there would be other instances.

Her son came home in between breaks from college and it was Spring Break. College kids keep late hours and so he also slept late. Meanwhile, she took her younger daughter to a party in town which was fifty miles away and she was to be there early because all the young women were going on a boating journey and a sleep over at a cabin in the woods. So, it was 6 AM when they were scrambling to get dressed, fed, packed and there, 50 miles, by 10 Am.

Suddenly at 06:25 the phone rang and on the other end was an angry woman who demanded to speak with her husband, “Now.” And, assuming positively it was his work, he jumped out of bed, un-showered, unshaven, and in shorts and said,
“I have yo go to get new tires.” He ran out the door, It was a Saturday and he was always busy playing his sport on Saturdays, all day and sometimes into the night.

Okay, I said. Chalking the odd woman on the phone demanding to speak to him, the fact he went out hurriedly without showering, shaving and doing his routine of very excessive hygiene practices and also saying he was going to get tires when a tire store wouldn’t be open until later, just added one more odd event to her marriage of curiosities. She went about her business getting in the car and arriving on time at the boat dock and wishing her daughter off with plans to pick her up “tomorrow.” Since she was near other stores, less rural, she did some errands, picked up her paycheck and proceeded home, but she did a drive by the tire store and his luxury truck was not there, no sign of it. When she arrived back her son was now up and was amxious to tell his incredible story of the night before at the house. This was around 2 PM and she had been gone over 5 hours.

And, there was no sign of Mr. MCCarthy. Her son said he had not seen him all day. Mom and son went into the backyard to sit on the swing. He was so excited to tell his mom, the story.

“Mom, I cam outside at 3 Am to have a cigarette and while I was sitting on the swing in between the trees, I saw a women. When she saw me she went and hid behind that one.” He pointed at one of the trees that sat about 18 feet from my bedroom window. He said, “She glided, between them hoping I wouldn’t see her. She had a white long dress on and her hair was up in a bun or a pony tail. It was dark so I couldn’t see her to well. She had a high color on and it was buttered all the way up to the nap of the neck. She was holding something in her hands and up to her chest.” His eyes were huge and he was talking so rapidly. “I think it was a ghost.”

At the same time, the mother was thinking of the odd call that came at 0625 and the rapid disappearance of her husband whom had not yet returned after 6 hours of having the “tires changed.” She thought of the odd story her son was telling her and the hour that it occurred, could there be a link? Was this the same woman who was in the backyard and who called at dawn?  Was this an apparition? 

It had rained the night before and the backyard was completely fenced. So, and inspection had to be made of the perimeter. How could anyone come into the backyard without the sensor lights, the dog barking and past her son?

Oh, the fence on the side was  broken. The wood at the top of the fence was broken off and on the neighbors side of the fence were two large paint buckets turned over where the fence was broken and to top it off there was one footprint in the mud. And, she knew a ghost doesn’t need paint buckets nor do they break fences to enter private property.

Two nights after that and two moths before moving, her son told her another creepy tale. “Mom, I was up at 3 Am again and was standing on the front porch.” There was surrounding the front a beautiful Souther Porch. “I was standing outside when a sports car backs out of our driveway (behind the house and not seen if standing on the front porch) and pulls out. When they saw me outside they took off over the grass in the front yard.”

“What type of car? What was the color?” She asked trying to sort more little erroneous details.

“I think it was red. I can’t be sure. And I think it may have been a Mustang or something like that,” he tried to clarify, but he said, “It was dark outside.”

The front yard was inspected for tire marks and yes there were some, but very scant and left very little marks. It did drive across the front yard.

And, that was another oddity and her mind was just imagining things, again.

They moved to Texas and they had now been married three and a half years and they both seemed very happy then. He was thrilled to leave Louisiana, though she was more hesitant to leave friends, all she could think about was making him happy.

 

Chapter 2

The move was actually happy and pleasant. New jobs, new people, new beginnings so she honestly believed. Though she made many terrific friends in Louisiana, Texas would probably be just as warmly special.  Leaving behind the best of friends, she would never forget them, nor let them forever depart. She promised to call them and they her, as well.

Soon, after the move they were invited to a huge golf tournament back in Louisiana and it was all paid for and so was the hotel, all expenses including (the wife), who would be attending all the ladies events and was specially invited to join the women’s all day shopping spree on the river where the shops were often fun … So, she bought a huge wardrobe spending a few thousand on clothing and jewelry to dawn herself in the way an honored wife should look.

She was ready to go! Their way had been paid by a husband and wife who seemed remarkably wonderful. She was excited to see them and family left behind there.

At the women event she won, as usual, a trip for two to Las Vegas, and several other monetary gifts. She looked stunning as she was petite, blonde and had apple breasts, but packed an attitude that was unusual. A little quirky, fun and really quite prudish, which was hard to interpret by the on lookers. She smiled a lot and forgot about the craziness she lived in. All that weird stuff always faded away and she saw only goodness. She and her husband spent lots of money, gambling, eating, drinking, shopping and buying others the same. To give up this lifestyle, one would have to be insane.

They all went out that night. She had a gold gown on and gold sparkling high heal sandals. her blonde hair was in an up-do and her toe nails and finger nails were finished that afternoon after the ladies luncheon and before all the women gathered at the pool. Of course the spa was quickly booked up for massages, but there was a reservation made, for her, before the pool party where then Bloody Mary’s were served freely. After the pool party she stole a little nap and at 7 PM she dressed to meet her husband, Mr. McCarthy at the ballroom at the country club.

The Louisiana and Texas crowd gathered in a nice size room holding 300 or more people, husbands, golfers, executives and wives. There were no girlfriends invited. Everyone was sparkling, dazzling and so superficially polite and correct. The dinner was Prime Rib or chicken and the entertainment came after the husbands were awarded and after more prizes came and then the music. Those kinds of nights were absolutely perfect. She felt like she was Princess grace and he wore her on his arm as though she truly was a divine creature. She loved that part of being married to Mr. McCarthy.

Later, everyone went back to their luxury hotels and agreed to go gambling. She changed into something casually comfortably elegant as did everyone else and they all met up at the bar before spending more money. But, money was like a fountain and it flowed smoothly without any interruptions. From the bar everyone branched off and went to their pleasure as far as gambling went, she thought.

Not being a gambler, she decided to walk the mall, shop and retire early for the night by herself. A soak in the hot tub in the center of their hotel room and a movie was her plans.

Suddenly, she was face to face with her husbands finance’s wife. The bombshell woman asked her to go for one drink at the bar and she accepted the one drink offer, which turned into three or four. They stood at the bar together having small talk about husbands, children and the usual, personal plans and dreams. The woman was a voluptuous wife with auburn hair and very well dressed. She was lively, carefree, enjoyed drinking and was flamboyant and sensual. She could see why men were drawn to her and she saw a warm and tender side.

It was getting late and she was getting anxious to continue with her original plans, soak in the hot tub and watch a movie. But, her new friend kept talking lively and was definitely tipsy.

“Hey,” she said. “I want to tell you about what we do for fun. Now, don’t tell anyone. This is our secret?”

She nodded yes, and she had a feeling, a notion of where this conversation was going. “Go ahead, tell, me. I need all the help I can get in our marriage.”

“Really? How so? What kind of help do you need?” She alluded to having my answers.

“Oh, romantic. We need sensuality and the animal desire for each other, again.” She spoke directly with wanting to know more. She wanted to hear what the exec’s wife’s suggestions were for a marriage without physical interactions.

“You gotta be sexy.” She nodded.

She always thought she was… sexy. After all many men had pursued her and she knew she was not lacking. “Okay, go on.”

“You and he must do things that keep your marriage thriving.” She smiled her sheepish withholding impish sneaky grin.

“And, what is your suggestion?” Now she was getting somewhere.

“Well, must husband and I swap partners.” She stepped back and waited for her response.

She knew it. That was what she thought all along. BINGO! She found one answer. These men traveled together and lived in each others back pockets. BINGO! “Really, you swap?” The other wife thought she would be shocked. She wasn’t. She knew the hook and saw it coming. After all, her first husband who’s family were the tobacco farmers was really into wife swapping. She knew couple swappers lingo. She saw it coming. The looks, the leads, the eye and the suggestions and questions and then the hook. The seduction.

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The trail of conversation leads one way. It might be spoken using different smiles, words, thoughts, but it’s all the same sales pitch and she knew the sale very well. BINGO!

“Tell, me,” she asked the woman,”Why would you want to do that? Why be married? Why not be single?”

“Because, Because we love each other and enjoy swapping. It’s what we do and I don’t see anything wrong with it.” She spoke boldly with conviction.

“I see and I do understand your situation. I was married to a man once who demanded the same sexual activities. I began to hate him. he began abusing me physically and I never seemed to live up to his idea of perfection. He wanted to dress me for the other men and women, my hair wasn’t long enough, blonde enough, nor was I fat enough or thin enough. I couldn’t make him happy. For me, swapping would not be an option for marriage. But, saying this, will say, each to his own ting.” She arose from the bar stool. “I’m sleepy now, I’m going to the room.”

“Oh, I’ve offered you!?!” She stood in shock thinking she had said, way too much.

“No, no you haven’t,” she assured her. “Its just I’ve been where you’re at and it’s not for me.” She smiled and turned to leave the bar.

She had to cross the four lane downtown street of the city in the dark by herself and it was raining. But, she made it to her room; however, she didn’t make her bath, nor turn on the TV. No, she sat in the dark sitting in a chair thinking about what had just occurred. What had happened?  Is this what he and his friends do when they travel together? What was that romans ultimate goal? Did she think I would agree and go with she and her husband or did she make deliberate plans for the four of us. A gloom fell over her. She felt like their whore. They paid for the expensive weekend and she ruined it for her husband.

The hotel opened very soon after, It was her husband. He seemed rattled and his night was cut short as his plans were to gamble all night, but here he was asking her, “Whats wrong? Are you all right? Why are you sitting in the dark?”

“Thinking. I’m thinking.” She kept her answers deliberately short. There were no truths shared in this marriage.

He asked no more questions, but he went to bed cuddling her tightly. That too made her wonder why he was so cuddly that evening. He usually was a don’t ever touch me person. Don’t ever touch me! So, why now? This made no sense, but she took advantage of his generous affections that night. He seemed as if he wouldn’t let her go, never. She felt loved by him which was rare. She liked his comforting side.

They didn’t say goodbye to the couple who paid for the weekend. They were not around for breakfast and it was now time to hit the road home. They had a two hour drive.

Chapter 3

Home and back for a week and the next weekend would be another huge golfing tournament in Louisiana at the old country club with old friends. She couldn’t wait. It was New Year’s Eve and of course she had to buy the right outfit. His family would be there and so would her own personal friends. This was going to be awesome!

The next weekend they were off to Louisiana again. She came later in her own car as she had to work, but still soon she would arrive. She drove as fast as her huge SUV would travel 2:45 minutes. She checked into the hotel and made a call to meet up with henry in a couple of hours for a meal at the country club.

Henry didn’t answer his call. She waited and Henry didn’t call back, either. She called him again. No answer, no response. So, she drove out there believing she was interrupting his game of golf. Henry was nowhere around the country club as she greeted old friends, his friends.

“Have you seen Henry?” She asked his buddies and their wives.

“Oh, he’s around somewhere.” This was the common answer.

She went in the bar and there he was sitting with a group of his old cronies, drinking.

“Don’t you check your messages? I thought the plan was to meet up?” She tried her best not to sound pissed or interrogative, but it was hard.

“I told you no such thing.” He took a sip of beer as the others chuckled and the creep that always told her that she wasn’t welcome to ride with her husband was the chief humiliator. But, she will win. She was determined.

She saw non of their humor to be particularly humorous, but sly and hateful.

“Well, are we going to eat?” She asked him.

“I ate already. Go help yourself. They have ribs down the hill and crawfish out back.” And there was no “I’ll go with you.” So, she went bravely by herself and said hello to those she knew.

On Saturday, the women’s’ luncheon, then shopping, visiting, the party, the dinner and the awards followed by a band that played until 2 AM. She had a new outfit for every event. She visited Beth before all of it began and her best friend went with her to the luncheon.

She had already told Beth about the woman at the previous event and what she said. Beth just listened and never gave her opinion. She made jokes, but was really a very good friend.

She and Beth walked into the luncheon wearing their Junior League outfits. They chose their table with Bloody Marys’ and sat to chat. Beth said hello to a few of her friends in the community. The show began.

This year it was a tremendous magic show put on by a Professor of Mathematics at a local University. He was kind of like the old Kreskin. He bent a spoon with his mind. He called women out of the audience and told them things about themselves that no one knew. Some of the revelations were horrifying for some of the women, she assumed, if it had been her,she certainly wouldn’t want others to know those kinds of secrets.

She wanted him to call her out, but then again she didn’t.But, he didn’t. And the luncheon ended. It was a fabulous day with Beth.

As Beth and she were walking out of the country club, the magician said in a booming voice to (she), “Hey! I have to ask you a question.. I was going to call you out, but I didn’t want to embarrass you.”

She tilted her head and say, “What? What do you need to say?’

“Do you know why men cheat on their wives?’ She took a step back.

“What! ? No, no I don’t’,” She silent, opened her ears widely. “Tell me why?”

“Well, it’s not what you think. They don’t cheat for love. They cheat for the thrill of it.” And he was finished with that and she sat there with her mouth wide open.

“Beth. What did he just say to me?” She added looking back at the old retired professor magician, “Are you psychic?’

He laughed, “No, no I’m not psychic. I’m a magician. That’s all.” He laughed and walked away to his old car and drove off.

“You see?” She said to Beth.

“He said men cheat, because it’s for the thrill.” Beth replied.

“No, what did he really say?” She asked for something deeper.

“What are you saying? What do you think he was said?’ Beth turned the question around as she wasn’t certain of where the conversation was supposed to go.

“That man didn’t just come up to me out of the blue and say that. He knew something. He was tipped off by one of the women here before it all began. He said, I didn’t want to embarrass you, so I waited until I saw you privately. He’s not psychic. He’s a magician. He said that. He did it by chicanery. He knew what I was thinking before it all started. And the two women who hired him are my husbands best friends wives. You know the ones that I told you who leave me out all the time. They must have given him information.” She began to wonder why the women would be so cruel or find a joke from it. Did they know something they were holding back? All the questions began again, the rumination, the questions, the questions, the questions rolled over and over and over twenty-four seven…

 

 

Chapter 4  (Thinking and Pondering the loose ends)

Oh, the red flags were everywhere, but she kept the advice of her mother and carried on with the many unanswered questions, as her mother suggested. She did love dressing like a queen and she began to enjoy the hours and days she was left alone, to draw, paint and write. She thought all the time about the loose strings that always led to nowhere.

She began asking questions to anyone and everyone. The curiosity and the mysteries were killing her. Never had she lived in such confusion and vagueness. Her existence and marriage was similar. Was she really married or was she a symbol or a representation of a white picket fence marriage? Was her life real and was there any truths she could grasp other than a marriage certificate? 

His hateful demeaner when he was around the house was disheartening. He loved to exasperate her as he used racial slurs and made fun of “fat” and “ugly” people. He laughed when he saw how upset she was. Once he got in her face using his index finger threatening her with the words, “In my house we say the word, nigger. You understand?” 

She wasn’t raised like that. Growing up in The South, her family never used any kind of hateful conversation. To add, if anything like that was said, then she could be assured that her mouth would be washed out with a bar of soap. So, unkind phrases and words were not acceptable, at all. No, she would not use that word. In fact, while visiting his “Christian” family she said out loud after one member said a racial slur, How can you call yourself a Christian and hate like that? After all, the man who carried the cross for Jesus was a black man.”

When pulling out of their driveway, Henry McCarthy threatened her again, “Don’t you ever again speak like that to my family. They are good Christian people and good Southerners. Period. Do you understand?”

“Yea, sure.” She murmured. She was hoping Henry would leave town, soon. But, since he wasn’t leaving for a while she thought how different her families lives were to his. There was no comparison except they were Southerners.

Henry’s family were Way different. After a little investigation she found links to the KKK in his family. How could she be in this situation? What is her mother thinking? He always put on his Southern gentleman behaviors when he was around her family. He used the proper eating utensils and chewed his food with his mouth closed. He never talked with his mouth filled with food. He ate slowly and methodically and conversed in an intellectual and kind manner. He never sat at the dinner table with a T-shirt on or bare chested. And, if her late father knew this man was linked to the infamous KKK he would tell her she was in trouble. Her mother would have excused his racial slurs because he said it humorously and meant absolutely nothing, by it. Little did her mother know or maybe little did she care that her husband wasn’t joking, at all. He meant every word. he also realized her mother was quite happy with the fact that her daughter, his wifie, as he called her, was once again donned in beautiful garments and had a huge purse. There was very little she couldn’t buy, well almost. And, Money Can’t Buy Me Love, as it was once sung by The Beatles. She sighed. She was fighting a loosing battle and vague ghosts were all around her. Was she loosing her mind?

Henry really didn’t like her mother. He made fun of her pouty-toity personality. He called her a snob behind her back and accused his wifie of being A Yankee.

On the advice of her mother and friends she sought a therapist. After all, the family told her she was terribly imaginative and creative, but in a negative way. “Honey, you can manifest many things. I’ve seen you year after year, but it’s all negative. You need to create goodness and positive, and see things in a good light. Why if anyone had the powers to be a witch, it would be you. But, use your magic and make this marriage good. See all of your life as wonderful. Make your home the sanctuary that any man would want. You can do it. It’s in you. I’ve seen you in operation. Just wiggle your nose dear. Make it so. Be the ball, as you say so often to you husband.”

So, she followed everyones advice and sought a Phd psychologist to help her with her delusions and black magic. She was sarcastic at this point in the game. She saw him one a week for a couple of weeks, then two times a month, then once a month until the therapy was complete. His advice was “Run and run like hell.” He was a quote un-quote Christian Counselor.

She reflected on a conversation she had with Henry’s forty year old son. He asked her one day, “Honey, he called her Honey, How many times has my dad told you he’s been married?”

“Four.” Honey replied.

The son shook his head no.

She tensed up and though this was the perfect time to ask questions, as he was drunk and willing to talk. She clammed up. Fear gripped her when she had one of Henry’s bold faced lies actually hitting her in the face. This was the first actually verification of a hidden untruth, exposed by the light in his son.

For many years she realized it was then with his son, she should have interrogated him. But, her shy demure fearful personality did the controlling. It would be that quite characteristic that would keep her alive. The ability to be quite at the right time.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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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Blogging 101 From WordPress University

Good morning!

Like many of you I’m taking this course at WordPress to help with my blogging appeal.

The first lesson really has to do with searching the articles at WordPress to learn “how to” add badges using widgets. And, I was unsuccessful in comprehending the ‘how to’s.” I will try one more time, but that’s all the effort I can give that. Time is limited like many of you.

Working and blogging is all consuming.

So, next, I studied “The Etiquette of Commenting,” and, “The Trolls” and the how to manage them on your website. I reblogged the article as I found this quite interesting. I wasn’t sure of what or who a troll is and now I know. I invite you to read the articles on “How to Comment” to them. Should we, ignore or respond? The article gives the reader tips for either path chosen. You’ll find “The Troll” articles there on “The Etiquette ” article.

Next, the first written assignment was/is to write an introduction about our self, and all of us did that when asked to do so last night. And the assignment said to write on your own wall a post about self, so that’s what I’m doing now. I’ll keep it short.

I wish that I could put that WordPress University badge on my wall by  using widgets, but I’m not there, YET.

Any way, here is a picture of me. Putting a picture up is also part of the assignment. So here I am world!

Photo on 11-1-14 at 10.24 AM

Troll Tales

The Daily Post

About a year ago, I wrote about how to deal with trolls. My chief recommendation echoed the conventional wisdom on this subject: don’t feed the trolls. In other words, ignore them. Don’t engage.

I still think that’s the optimal way to deal with trolls; however, I’ve come across a couple of interesting stories lately from people who did the opposite — they engaged with their nastiest bullies, and they ended up receiving sincere apologies!

View original post 518 more words

2016 Poetry, The Beginning

All poetry created by me, Bojenn or Bonnie Jennings. All Right’s are Reserved. No copy or part of copy may be used without permission by the poet or author. Thank you. ©2016

 

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The colors of waters

 

And water is a representative symbol about our emotions whether it is a calm crystal lake or a violent Tsunami.


 

The Invitation To Sleep

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“The sleek cold turquoise forest of ice cycles simply welcomed the tired into it’s beauty. Crawl into the cradle, so cozy and warm, and the wind will sing lullabies to beckon sleep. The babies felt comforted by the hues and the limbs of branches that rocked the infants to the lands of the deepest slumbers. And there they schlafen until the fairy lights sent by the Sun awakened the babes and then another adventure soon promised to begin…”

Goodnight World, and sleep well.

 


 

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Cinderella and Karma

Soot on her nose and on her clothes
A princess under the gloom
Sweeping by day and sleeping with a broom
Occupied her, several years and a day
Then one eve after chores completed
Cindy’s thoughts were always fleeting
Except on Sunday when snow fell sleeting
She lingered looking in a mirror scrying
Amazing stood an image of her abiding
Dressed in clothing so fair
With hair done up with care
Her face trimmed with shimmering flair
Her broom became a handsome princess’ groom
And the hearth beheld foods that filled the room
And she danced until the moon’s lights diminished
And Karma knew Cindy was quite unfinished
And the shoes belonged to the princess in soot
And not another minute was spent feeling unloved and unkept
Because Cindy saw the crown Karma promised


By Bonnie Jennings ©2016 All Rights Reserved
Photograph from A Poet’s Haven stock
Poem submitted for poetry challenge at A Poet’s Haven on FB and is under the direction of Alan Boles


L’infant 

The Invisible World of Wars

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Holding protectively L’infant
From the surrounding Angel of abducting darkness
In mercy and vengeance Gabriel secures the child
Whether from life or death with resurrection
From within the invisible world the battle is fought



By Bonnie Jennings ©2016 All Rights Reserved
Photograph from A Poet’s Haven stock
Poem submitted for poetry challenge at A Poet’s Haven on FB and is under the direction of Alan Boles

2015 Poetry Wrapping up The (last 1/4) of the Year

Fairy dances of The Fall

Drinking brew when the wolves call
The Moon is full with beams of light
The elves shoes twinkle ever so bright
The final dance before winters hooray 

 

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All poetry written by me Bonnie Jennings or Bojenn and is © 2015 @ FS All Rights Reserved and any portion reprinted, used, borrowed must have permission by the author (me). Thank you.

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I want to give a personal thank you to Mr. Alan Boles who has encouraged poetry and has provided poets with many opportunities on his FB sites (one) A Poet’s Haven. I also want to thank Author Susan Joyner-Stumpf for including two of my poems in her Christmas Anthology Book Vol 1 2015. Thank you, Susan for this wonderful opportunity.
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The Images are from stock images from A Poet’s Haven and other sites, some are mine works of art.  And, at this time would like to thank all who have contributed to those of us who love to write. Many, many thanks over an over again. You inspire us more than you’ll ever know. We work hand and hand to create our masterpieces.
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“For what is a shoe without a sock and what is a sock without a foot… A bare foot is vulnerable to many things. Art and poetry cover the naked flesh and protect the virgin skin.” Bojenn
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And now Poetry 1/4 year 2015 begins with 
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Hendrick ter Brugghen, Esau Selling His Birthright, c. 1627
Shadows on my walls are silent
Telling stories; often violent
Because messages must be told
Within my self, my heart does hold
~
And the stories that were uttered
Hushed for intrusive others
Surrounded by the shadowy figures
In silence, I mouthed their nameless brothers
~
Walking in the past held memories
The dreams of my enemies
Explaining their inner pains
Listening, though I kept their refrain
~
Then my pneuma knew for certain
The tear of that grey curtain
From whence the shadow came
Stepped out from them and too be blamed
~

And in the darkness hovered several lights
Beaming hundreds, of tiny sights
Music heard from here and there
Sounds vibrating ghostly everywhere

~
And the birth of a tiny star did shape
Within that void
Troubled stories within shadows of souls

~

Well, laugh at me if you must!
The lost brothers who had no trust
Listen cowards with opened ears
Listen closely they’ll be no cheers

~

The words will not be enough
silently whispered and then hushed
Forever silenced, within, she wept                                                                                                             There the crowds morned her loss
Though misunderstood dimmed her gloss

~

There, she stood amidst her kin
She glowing from within
She held a sign for all to read
“The shadows are no longer silent, indeed”
And her peace rested as the shadows disappeared.


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The fog of dull moist clouds cloistered Earths hills
rolling slowly quietly assured with December’s presence
uncovering the steal bleakness of chills
the grey fox sought the superlative time stalking
hunting, one catch, the hare eating thorns, is captured
~
All rests except the fox, and the hawk that swoops prey
and beautiful it seems to carolers that dream
pictured on Christmas Cards sleighing coupled in hay
but the hunted sigh as the singers pass by
ignoring the innocent life in the forest by night
really wintry rest is not what it seems
~
The white witch cursed the greens for 3 months
laughing, she pointed t’wards the fox and the hare
the hawk she invited on her evening animal hunts
while the fox, hiding and embarrassingly shares
“dear rabbit if only there was another way to convey
my condolences and my fondness, for you, today”
~
The fawn born in grey thicket that night
a hunter was on track for a meal, of the carnivores type
deep in silence, bitter coldness that eve, less bright
their faces showed meanness, sickeningly alarming
hungry for killing the innocent and feeling no lament
the damp floors lined with twigs and leaves sent
~
warning there are trespassers entered our forest
and without invitation, the hawk soared forewarning
the dove in turn echoes cooing that entered the space
of the ears of the fox alarming, He tells the furry rabbit who
crosses into the thicket nosing the doe and the fawn in warmed coddling
“stay within the thicket this eve, safe from guns,” the hare knew
~
the hunter’s love winter’s and the innocent blood
And the white witch carries on until spring
stay here little doe while your mother brings the cud
the sleet drizzling rains seem never to bring
peace within the forest it seems
and life circles around the fox and the hare,
the buzzards hunting the carcass from away up there.

~

But, in three months the white witch sleeps, for seven
greens foliage pops abundantly mostly everywhere, in heaven
lives encircled by violent game continues to hunt prey
And all the animals ask the Great Spirit to end those days
when all God’s creatures are safe and won’t have to pray
Until that time, all creatures carry on, waiting that one day the living
may sleep, in peace, forevermore


 

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There was an occasion, one spring And with this key it may be opened
However, the cause, now, is lost
The rose petals gathered and dirt collected Where once on cup’s lips we sipped teas
The key remains and holds our memories in the china
The wind fills our cups with flower dust
The memory will not be forgotten in the petals
By Elysia Warne Elrod and Bonnie Jennings

 

As brilliantly warm the sun enveloped the forest amid the berries during the hub of Autumn. It was the perfect concoction of warmth, light and love that brought her to our place. Her mystic green eyes, her pale flesh, her hair of fire and her babies breath, all, appeared in the cold air that morning. By noon, we had witnessed her birth. and by evening the woman goddess of our forest emerged. We clothed her with a gown of burgundy velvet. Her language was not ours, but we needn’t know one either. With her eyes she told us many things. All of us listened and never spoke a word of question. There amongst us and she was trust. Total. Daily we listened. Her chords were vibrational like songs. Everything in the forest turned towards her as he sang her songs. The forest animals became plentiful. There were berries everywhere and all of us, creatures, too, feasted from the berries. This lasted through winter. And one day before spring her garments were found on the cold ground in the snow, but she was nowhere to be found. That is why the legend continues. Everyone loved the queen of the autumn forest. Every late August we eagerly await her return.

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Over the land covered in suet, singed by storms of fires

The Fire Drake surveyed for any breath of life remaining
The humans decidedly in unification ended all existence
Hovering over Elysium once occupied by eternal Spring
The Drake came to rest on wet wood washed to shore
It considered all things and then it took to flight
Once there was a place called Heaven and now it’s forever lost
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And then, the angel shouted, their ears perked

Those waiting shouted ~ “We are gathered here ~ hiding.”

The tales are true, dear majesty, and we doubted

And, with a wisp, they and the pheonix departed

 


 

 

Playing in the drifts of fine white snow

The horse and the owl whimsically banter
Cold and brilliant, crisp and fine thin air
Like two children enjoying the woods as they go
She waits dressed in her dark long dismal robe
Hiding and lurking watching them behind a tree
The fun and freedom she MUST control
Concentrating on taming them using her telep-probe
The owl tells the stallion of her curse
The two bind together in unison
Committed to freedom they press the  witch
And, in love, the two reverse the intended perverse

 

 

She pondered; “It’s a riddle.”

Holding gently the found ware from the basin

The lamp started smoking as the puzzle unravelled
She knelt to feel for the pebble in the warm water
Alone, only she mastered the lamp’s secret
It found her fingers, the vessel waited
Time not an issue to wizards
She arrived as predicted
Alive, it opened.
Her genie.

 

The witch adorning her black garbs so Goth
Holding the chicken claw cup of blood she
Dared her to drink. The young maid entered
Cautiously she was descrying the next move
She untrusted the black witch with the claw cup
They matched off and knew only one would win
The other fades into just a poet or story teller.

 

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There once was a cameo dressed camper

Shooting the moose, a distasteful damper
He aimed at the three
Who jammed his gun at his knee
And bound him around the targets truck, Betty

 

“What was I thinking? I lost track of time.”
Running to the seaside home before the clock is nine
The water cooling from the heat of summer
Her feet are numb from the cool temperatures that plunder
Across the waters, towards the house she glides
Beating the forceful midmorning tides
Ah but, she’s an apparition lingering in my time
The curtain that draws memories closed is a fine-line
Will she be noticed past my prime?
She waved! She said goodbye, then blew a kiss!
Looking at the beach, in memories, I will reminisce.
Who was she? What was her story?
Oh, perhaps it was for love, aw perhaps her glory.
I will never know. Maybe she knows already?
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Ignoring them who yelled, “Mr. Darling, get out of the rain! You will catch pneumonia.”

They hollered, as they ran by, and there I layed the Camellia
Red as a rose the pedals began to fall
She loved the flower, as it blooms, were ever so small
Where have you gone, fairest love any has known?
Behind us remains a monument
Oh purest have you entered judgment?
Holding tightly is your bill of rights, my hands love
I will see you through disgrace, even from above
I will not let go of your virginal precept and promise
Forever, pledged to your chastity and modalis
Here in the rain, I sit, reading notes unfinished
Here I will watch and I will pray until my love has refurbished

 

What a muse for a schemer

Swinging freely from a heavenly chair
Playing the keys while suspended in air
What a muse for a gal like me
Can think where I’d rather be
Must laugh, if you’re a too, daydreamer

 

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The Forest of No Return

An Autumn path led me today

Lurking the mind to travel through time
Memory lane to my mother’s to stay
Awhile amongst her dreams sublime
The gold, reds, browns and stone
Whispered distant tales of we children
Took me there in visions of home
My mother cooking for a zillion
Always people around there
Politics, food and football
The odors of onions, peppers and pairs
And daddy with daughters gathered in fall
And this path in Autumn takes me home
Just kicking leaves and singing hymns
Remembering my mama as I rome
And thinking of daddy is another whims
This path is golden
Magical and not so distant
Once traveling it’s colors so olden
And commitment to journey that path be persistent
When at the end shall greet them if not resistance
On the path in Autumn thought nonexistent

 

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She scrying in the flame saw

Answers asked of her love so
Fair and where he hid his
Love far from her because
He feared the strength she
Possessed and found another
Less bold and demure so he
Thought leaving true love
Alone to scry for his
Affections gone wrong…
He will return

On a stairway not actually going to heaven
There I sat undecided and sullen
Turning back towards home seems boring and lame
However, realizing it’s the only way and less shame

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Chasing wild stallions
Taming the beast
Is her goal, so it seems
In her dreams
Running after him
He who can’t be tamed
She who can’t win
Chasing wild stallions
Taming that stead
A enormous goal that is bittersweet
Leave now while your eyes are black
Tomorrow your heart suffers a panic attack


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Saphora loves the red birds

That nest in her hair
Skin so pale and silver tresses
Turtle necked tight black dresses
Always adorn you
And though misunderstood, others view
Yet, looks are deceiving because your heart is true

Here Samantha contemplates
Hiding eyes behind the red rim
Thinking others do not see
Her lips plumped as sin
Tonight is my moment
I shall not waste
Tomorrow is church
There I’ll go in guilt and haste

 

Oh maiden of winter so fair are your breasts
The Cardinal comes to rest and awaken you
Before the freeze comes and occupies the crests
Into the foxes den where it is warm
Come fairy princess and we birds shall nest
In your love and beauty
Within a winter cold and dark
Do come into hibernation as it’s our duty
To keep from harm and warn you our darling lark

A storm is brewing in 1622
Powhatan envisioned
What innocent colonists would do
The Virginia clouds rolled end
Just before the indian chief died
Now only Powhatan’s memory
In an indian bride

Trapped in a whimsical place so grey
Fantasies and stories plague her mind all day
Beating on her walls and knocking on her door
Dressed in white she thinks forevermore
Sinking in her gown, her face of despair
And in walks the nurse, who cares
Bringing drugs that makes one stare
Off in a distant place
Prays for that normal day

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Please, have a seat, I don’t mind if you do.

Waiter, please, pour them a cup of the secret brew

Yes, I’m a writer, if that’s what you want to know
I dream of romance and interludes with handsome foe
Aromas musty, and florals so sweet
Those fragrances you’ll read as if it were meat
Have a said enough?
Did I fancy your ear?
Because time for dreaming and writing beckons me, near

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She looked back in time and saw the golden girl reading.
The ghost watched through the window 
Years disintegrated from fifty to five
Why it was she! Alarmed at the picture so demure
What happened and why was she here now?
Time had escaped with her joy
But the child showed signs of life and happiness
Could she try this again?
She hurried to ask her guide.

 


 

Slapped in my face again and again
The martyrs blood didn’t just begin
I loved you and you, way too much
And lost my life while mending, all of your stuff
When visiting the family on holidays, seemed so dim
Everyone did it because we were all blood and kin
And fun was somewhere other than there
But we came together anyway, and had another beer
The superficial laughter, we feigned, so well
We “faked it until we made it” and we got over that hill
Of once a year family Christmas greetings
Where the canines brought the joy and less family heatings
Politics and football, food and wine
A day of utter tolerance and strangely kind
One more year behind us
One more year older and realization, that WE MUST!
Continue with traditional mayhem and tolerance
That once seemed so very terribly fraudulent
However, looking past now realize, that everyone belonged.
The magic was there, in those times, and with us all together, in communion, in all that time along
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“Be humble,” so they say.

So i was.
Now, I say, “Weather, I dare you!
Just try to make my day!”
Like Giddy, I challenge my fears.
I tied myself to the umbrella
The lightening may come near

 

‘Seems thar’s twoves in Kalhutan

     Thez’ bien mumblen and turchin
Gathied in onz anoder jibbering
     Grandishes and Larens
Abot’zee nudderins of Da Barons
     belliishen hatch for saking
Lozing habellishing bulleshitings
     Zee tongulashings regartrash
Ghtened in zee wesewer
     Fairest what’d zit longbeliefeth

 

Political whines
Screaming opinions
Demanding self
Entitled
The hare hole opens
Exposing plans
Hidden agendas
Ready friends?

 

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The black blue star lit sky hung as usual and no one questioned, why.

A rumbling resounded from a distant horizon still high
And folks didn’t wonder or look upward at the magnificant sky
And, alone stood a winter tree, in the freezing lake starving for companions while dying
Under the umbrella of heaven it watched, as it knew, there are no champions on the horizon
Frightfully from the distance, came rolling in the dense ghostly fog
The Winter Tree witnesses the start of ~ It won’t utter what it seers..
It sees the future. It knows the last storm is coming, just behind the fog.
It knows the  prophecies are unveiling just as written.
Shaking in the icy cold water, standing alone, it will be brave, it realizes it’s destiny.
And, the stars will come again.
There will be other trees.
Another prophet shall emerge.
And life rolls as directed

 

Winter
 My fairy princess is a double gemini
Should I expect anymore
Anticipate, death
Cold, gray skies cover me, write
Introspection’s drawBetrayed again by
Those who say they love me too
Why do I stay nearSo, I feel sorrow
My eyes cried, but I, will live
My life will resumeTruthfully, time stopped
Slow-motions of long times pasts
It’s relative nowLife has it’s lessons
Karmic, reaping and sowing
This too, I have learnedcropped-img_1466.jpg

In addition: Day 2

Laughing together, eating cotton candy
We rode The Ferris Wheel dangling our feet
Over the side, all the while screaming
Laughing once in awhile

Life has ups and downs, but mostly valleys
Sometimes desperately crying for calm water
Please, we’d pray. Please, just for a day.
So, we learned to love Ferris Wheels and such

Many years we lived together with adrenalin
And I tried to wipe the chocolate off your nose
You cried, and I did too, and he did, as well.
You left in Spring for green pastures

No troubles while grazing amongst the clover
With the rabbits you nibbled and ate Tarots
And, did other things called art to your body
But, you always did your best to laugh

You chose to leave us behind and escape
We missed you, but understood “the whys”
Visiting here and there, you came
In and out like a whirl wind of turbulent breaths

This was your style. Lighting on home and friends
A little here or there, wherever your whim landed
Until sadness overtook you and then you always left
Again and again, even after bloody devastation

One September you stole away after midnight
You thought you were clever and free
Closing my eyes for a year and a half
Bowing in prayer, had to set you free

Did you know it was one year and two months
One week before Christmas that you returned to me
Brought home by a wayward girl
She called in the middle of the night a hundred miles away

I went anyway, and lost my job
I didn’t care.
Holding you in my arms
We both cried again, but you, did not cry for me.

I write this because, it’s happening again
The cycle is here and you’ve chosen other’s to light on
Time and history repeats itself
But, I’m weary now and it’s Christmas again.

 

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Oh, so Smooth and Beautiful

My Mandala for today

This is where I’m at, not sure what it means
Halted at a green light, no energy it seems
The Mandala is our psyche of where we stand
Is this a green light or reversing as planned
The green is for peace and health of our soul
The blues and purples are majesty, so I’m told
Today this is my Mandala and it’s where I stand
Perhaps another day my Mandala may portray a different hand

 

Time

The bench in spring held our laughter
The bench in summer scorched with our embrace
In fall we agreed to say good bye
The freezing winter alone I often cried
Once my life was filled with your love
Seasons came and passed by and by
And time marched on
Like a vague memory that you’re here
And then your gone
And time did not care
nor did it elevate any suffering
It just stepped forward and never back
And time marches on

 

Time
This bench in spring holds our laughter
This bench in summer scorches with our embraces
Though in fall we agreed to say good bye
That frozen winter alone, I often cried
Once, I was filled with your love
However, seasons come and pass by and by
And time does march on
This bench is a vague memory of that time
A ghost. You were there.
And now, your gone

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Cinderella and Karma

Soot on her nose and on her clothes
A princess under the gloom
Sweeping by day and sleeping with a broom
Occupied her, several years and a day
Then one eve after chores completed
Cindy’s thoughts were always fleeting
Except on Sunday when snow fell sleeting
She lingered looking in a mirror scrying
Amazing stood an image of her abiding
Dressed in clothing so fair
With hair done up with care
Her face trimmed with shimmering flair
Her broom became a handsome princess’ groom
And the hearth beheld foods that filled the room
And she danced until the moon’s lights diminished
And Karma knew Cindy was quite unfinished
And the shoes belonged to the princess in soot
And not another minute was spent feeling unloved and unkept
Because Cindy saw the crown Karma promised

 

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Time it was

Caught in glance
And a glance was caught
Though in innocence
She saw
Secrets of long ago
It does seem
I know this place, before
She dreamed

Madonna’s flame and smoke trails her now

Once burned, but rarely does she bow
Running in the fields, towards her past
Madonna look ahead, to that which will last

The Golden Princess of The Autumn smiles

She blossoms when summer bids goodbye
A wreath adorns her head overgrown with fall
Purples, golds, red florals and all
The Winter Fairies adore her entrance
The white snow unicorns prance
She heralds the epiphany, she is the bride
That brings with a promise to those who cried
She brings to life those who sleep
And unites old souls and brings home the sheep

The Queen of Hearts

Didn’t win today
Being dismal she refused to play
Demanding all heads on her plate
Then she sat alone, to live her fate

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The knocker came as a gift today

And raising it to my eyes, I noted
Attention to the details of the two
Embraced in a kiss, as if, I should too
Slowly placing the knocker, far from my sight
I placed in in the back away from the light
Then, it stayed for a year or four
Until one day there was a knocking in the drawer
Opening the dresser carefully, examining the sound
Noticed the knocker tightly covered and loosely bound
I then looking in fright at the years I’d lost
By putting the lovers knocker in a box, that I tossed
Carefully holding the embracers to my lips
A tear fell upon the lips of their tendering nips
I then nailed it to my door on the last day of winter
Suddenly, a prince came and placed a ring upon my finger


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The Queen of Hearts

Didn’t win today
Being dismal she refused to play
Demanding all heads on her plate
Then she sat alone, to live her fate

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The reds, oranges, and golds of Autumn swirl

In the forest of enchantments and colorful girls
The Earth and all of it’s energies
Watched dancing in elements and synchronicities
In bare feet when the Earth cools
When The Moon and the wolf rules
In silence during the first virgin lights
In November at the stroke of midnight
The leaves and spirits twirl
To the dance that ends the world
And ushers in rest for the end of the year
Which, often takes the lives of a deer
The hunter knows where to aim
Ending the year , what a shame
The last hoorah is for now
We join together reverencing our bow

Fairy dances of The Fall

Drinking brew when the wolves call
The Moon is full with beams of light
The elves shoes twinkle ever so bright
The final dance before winters hooray
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And so, I wrap up 2015 with my poems for 1/4 of the year. The last quarter obviously. Thank you for making it through to the end, those of you who survived. I hope I didn’t put you to sleep. I don’t hear any snoring, but if your in REM sleep I hope the poems bring you dreams of enchantment, enlightenment and love.
One more poem to go… I think. So, May you have a Happy New Year 2016. Thank you for visiting.
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The Day My Mother Died
The phantom who hides within my shadows
Speaking on occasion as if we’re brothers
In whispers the ghosts utters futures
Leaving truths and unanswered mysteries
Hence the messages given haunts
Forever traveling in times
Within the masks
Of my livesIn clouds vague, I transend
Through vapors and sparkling dew
Under layers of ancient art
Reading to understand the clues
Turning through the doors in which I knew
And the answers remained within the stones
Foreverthere
In another season
To viewAnd in a dream I awoke
Seeing humanity without lovers
Mumbling with no purpose
Screaming without sounds
Writing without inspiration
There was no illumination
Just eternal voidness and no loveAnd I prayed for a thousand cheers
Bringing back the fragrant years
And wiping away all rusted tears
With the hope of a redeemer
He who arose from the damned fires
He who lit the eternal dark shadows
And cast the phantoms
Far from the whispers© 2015 FS Bojenn All Rights reserved.
Image from The Occult University
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May The Lord bless us all with love, health, peace and prosperity.

Sincerely,

Bonnie Jennings (Bojenn)