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

 

Quarks and Atoms

 

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

©2016 Bonnie Jennings All Rights Reserved

Doodles by me

Poetry about Disassociation

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Left alone, isolated in a closet

Though tears stopped one day, later

She hated her, and she knew it

Resentment she felt it deep

Having another child, God help her

But her friends merely laughed

That’s life, buck up!

Hush secrets, please, lock and keep

Loneliness bequeathed the child with friendship

And, she still hides in the closet

Come out little girl!

The angel wiped her tears

She was three or four

Angel lends gifts graciously handing                                                                                                        

Paper and pen the tools she needed

Love them, hold them, use them

Everyday while in that dark room

With Isolation her master

It taught mind escaping from that dungeon 

It showed her how to

Travel to Egypt, Israel and Istanbul

Transportation provided by Isolation and Despair

Appropriate names for them

And disassociation is wrong, so say they

They who’ve not felt walls collapse on psyches

The mind is a magnificent creator

God incarnate gave provisions

To those wayfaring life within a closet

And, may I add, mind adventures are not so bad

Learn the lesson and teach one another

On Islands, inside caverns she sits waiting

Departing the darkness of a closet

Propelling the down trotted 

And imagination transports her

She flies somewhere else and is on her away

 

 

K♣️

Copyright

@Bonnie Gay Jennings, or Bonnie Jennings or Boondoggling with Bojenn @Wordpress 2009 to present 2016 ~

*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 with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Thank you

One Good Thing About Winter

Deadwood or reinvention
Deadwood or reinvention

Winter is the writer’s savory confections.
Grey days, rain, ice and snow evoke emotions.
Aroma’s of soup, candles, and fragrances allure affection’s
However Spring’s hope invite relief, from winter’s burdens.

~

Sometimes, in winter humans cry.
Grey clouds hover, as if, a veil dropped
A dullness covers the mind from on high.
It seems that, creativity and sanity, somehow swapped.

~

Oh, but I love Winter, Spring and Fall.
Grey summer sun rising, illuminates The Earth’s horizon,
and witnessed, temporarily, in the summer’s squall,
Nevertheless, the amber fire warms’ emotions of the winter writer’s action.

The Dragon in The Tree

There is a dragon in my tree

I found it just today

It’s been lingering there for generations

Subliminally, controlling my life, I’d say. 

~

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It danced within my dreams

And haunted my ancestors of old

It created some battlefields

Thriving when we were brazenly bold

~

It dined on our fruits of discord

It devoured the meat off the bone

It smoked an elegant cigarette

 While sitting on my father’s thrown

~

The dragon stole our family love

It burned away bonding ties

Gulping down any charity

Our humanity left in lies

~

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~

The dragon wears a mask

Pretending to be a friend

Dressed in a cloak of disguise

Smirking behind all chagrin

~

The day you discover the dragon

because it’s already found you

A sword you will need to don

All fondness dies when it’s slew

~

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~

There’s a dragon over your bed

It came while innocent slept

It played in your fairy tales

It departs when you’ve finally met

~

Bravely casting the beast down

Tis’ the hardest task to do

But, playing with wild demon dragons

Costs, perhaps, the bonnie, likes of you 

Supernatural Journey (a short story)

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While dreaming in the midst of a stormy night, booming lights from the electrical bolts slashed dashing across the walls of my bedroom. I hid my eyes from the frightening waring images made from the shadows.
Miserably, I disdained my life and I, thankfully, welcomed sleep. I hated everything that God gave me and the thunderstorm came to punish me. I was certain that His wrath deliberately chastised me. Surely the grim reaper stood close to my bed. I felt his ominousness cold breath. The rumbling thunder and magnetic energy surrounding my lying body, ushered me into a sleeping journey back into time..

When sound asleep, suddenly, I heard in the distance ~ “the sounds of war?” Bombs and the shaking of the tin shelter where I hid crammed with others, whom I didn’t know. Oddly, they knew me, and there we hid tightly pressed together.
“I must have travelled back in time?” I thought.

They spoke in a foreign language. It was Polish. Everything was gray there, including their battle worn faces. The wrinkles bore sad lines of desperation. Their bodies were almost skeletons. And, I wanted to run, but when I started to leap, they held me.
Then, screaming, “no! Let go of me! Please!” I escaped only to see armed men coming my way! I caught my breath. There, in the dark of the night I saw a sign which hung swaying in the freezing rain and blustering wind. The metal sign creaked “Warszawa, 1943.” I knew where I was… The horrors of death were everywhere. Bleakness and freezing weather, trapped innocent victims.
The enemy soldiers started to grab me, but ~
I prayed that God takes me somewhere else other than WWII, Poland.

So, He granted my wish.

Rolling in the dirt, in fear of The Nazi’s, I was thence transported somewhere else in times past. Here the air was humid and the smell of death and blood permeated everywhere. Flies, fleas and moans came from dying men were everywhere.

I heard, “help me. Please, won’t you help?”
A man lay there in the brush. He was in gray and I was in blue. By his side a rebel flag was standing next to his bloody broken body.

“Where are we?” I asked.
“You don’t know?” He puzzled at my daze. “Mississippi.” He looked at me as if I was mad and he had disdain on his face, even though he was dying.
So, I reached out to lift him away from the fighting as all good men do. It was then, that I noticed my skin was dark. I was a large Negro man. I, aghast, thought, I’m in trouble now. Here I am, “a colored man,” centered on a battlefield in The Civil War. They will kill me. I will die. Now, more panicked than ever, I surrendered to my fear. How then, my old life seemed kind and benign in comparison to Warsaw and Mississippi.

I petitioned God’s help. “Grant me my own life, once again.” Sobbing from the deepest part of my being, concluded that he did not grant my request.

Then He transported me, again. I found myself sitting on a piano bar singing loudly. There was a sign hanging across the wall of the smoke filled bar. It swayed back and forth as the room seemed to move erratically. The sign said, “Welcome Molly Brown.” The crowd applauded and I smiled, warningly. The spotlights were in my eyes. A second passed. I noticed the calendar displayed on the wall said, “4.15.1912.” Gasping. “I’m on the Titanic.The night it sinks.” I whispered with dread. I knew, soon these lives and Molly Browns would be recorded in history. They were unaware and I was petrified. The iceberg floats before us. It will sink this ship and most of the applauders will soon die. Mortified of knowing the fate, I froze.

If I could change the course of history in Warsaw, the battlefield in The South, and on The Titanic, I would. If there wasn’t any goodness within me, then my travels changed me. All three places taught lessons: thankfulness, empathy and compassion. “God, I know, I understand. I’ve been selfish and unappreciative of the mundane circumstances in my “pathetic” life. I’ve been blessed all along and so ignorant.

With the final confession, I awakened in my own skin. It was my room and correct time…
My worldly travels were enlightening and my lesson? i will not murmur, grumble nor whine ever again.

Photo on 1-28-14 at 4.26 PM #3

About Goong-Gok and Imaginary Friends

Is this Goong-Gok?
Is this Goon-Ghok? Mimsi Asks.

Goon-Ghok came with Jacob

on December 7, 2010. They entered our world.

Goon-Ghok

He popped into Jacob’s world.

before Jacob was merely one,

They gibbered about topics and things

that Jacob thought was fun.

He laughed at the entity

That no one else, could see

And, baby talked with Goon-Ghok

I asked, “Would you introduce me?”

 

Then, Goon-Ghok stayed 

until Jacob turned three.

Jabbered over his tasks in life?

Saving, only, that Jacob could see.

One-day, Mimsi asked, where’d Goon-Ghok go?

 “I don’t know.” Jacob replied,

He forgot about life’s entrance friend.

And, Earth time began, sadly, when Goon-Ghok died. 

Our childhood angels.

Jacob says, “no, Mimsi, that’s not Goon-Ghok (in the above picture that I drew). This is.”

Jacob points to the purple aliens and names them in the bottom picture.

Right back one is Goon-Ghok.
Right back one is Goon-Ghok.

Imagination, it’s a terrible thing to loose…

And, Jacob? Mimsi thinks Jacob will one day create a fabulous story.

The gift of the writer’s is Imagination,

On The Tarmac

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IT was summer of 1976, The Bicentennial year of America (USA) that I walked the tarmac at Walker’s Key Bahamas with Janie’s Crazy Salt in my back pocket. Growing from the grass that lined the tarmac were wild tomatoes. Plucking a few and salting them, we gobbled the delightful little mattoe’s up. Oh, those were warm kind and innocent days, so it seems now.