Jennifer Brookins
Poetry, Prose, and Excerpts
Recent Blog Posts
doubters only believe what they see … you know the type dark sunglasses at night for a better view. Oh Weaver, guard my arrested heart
I bow to you winter moon mosaicthat all starsin heavenly darkness lay their heads to restanother rising sunwraps her dreamy arms around our landfrom ho-hum
walk with me this afternoonno particular plan just fresh mountain airwild roses gone wild; nest where mockingbirds had babieswhen breathless we stop and watch clouds
sometimes I face the sunother times the amber glow of dawnseeding earth with prayer in the chill of early dayI wrap your essence around my
I hear winter rain falling as wild mountain roses it’s you hiding behind the moon if you stay away my heart will turn into shards
I got up early this morning when darkness still covered the land; just had a feeling the stars would still be shining. Not good to
what would I do without you in cold wintry months when honeysuckle sleeps on the vine cranberry fields bow low their auburn heads casting shadow
on this cold winter day aviaries of black birds feast on summer leavings white tail deer munch in my garden vagabond neighbors always welcome at
Twilight makes the flow of river geisha like; eager to please, an intimate exchange between the setting sun and fireflies dancing along the riverbank. The
which heart would you have me hide behind … the one that beats within my soul and far surpasses the small untrustworthy heart answering only
GOOD MORNING WORLD
time to sing the morning song hosannas I’ve lived too long to view myself in a different light I love the you of me still
Only yesterday I lived my childhood in the lap of innocence, sitting for hours in my tree house dreaming myself the incarnation of Sheena, Queen
I bathe in early daybraid forget-me-nots into my hairwhen moon hides her faceI pour my fragile heart into yours © 2020 Jennifer Brookins
In the quietness of early day, I discovered a secret gift for collectors of small things. From habit, my better self got up and walked
I pined for raindrops to fall against my cheek; yet nature had not the strength to yield moisture to earth’s bounty, nor water for thorny
how beautiful earth this night cornstalks sway in midsummer breeze rows of tomatoes ripe for harvest farmers dog barks again and again waits for his
this morning I found myself braided into your snowy white beard; wonderful to be so inconspicuous. The chill of winter months makes me wonder if
When I sowed apple seeds, apples did I reap, thistles planted,cyclops harvested. I am the unsung architect of my tomorrows, sculpting my destiny moment by
dear sparrow each morning I watch you sitting alone on a telephone pole rain or shine today I purchased lumber to build you the finest
Baba Ji mentioned he would be travelling for five days in Punjabi towns giving satsang, and wants us to come with him. However, the good
slow thaw of winter snow bougainvilleas eagerly await spring no matter how veiled her balancing act more seasons to witness Oh Weaver Ji you gift
who is to question your waysin a secret covenant every creature calls outBeloved Beloved …Listenhow quiet is snow capped mountainwhere honeysuckle grows wildheliotrope clings to
It was shocking to my soulHow softly the night fellUpon the earth as lips kissingAn undeserving travelerFor the longest timeI’ve wanted to lay my cheekUpon
Time douches the bloom off a cheating rose
An excerpt from Tharon Ann – a memoir. I’ve gone from a scrappy kid wondering when I’d get to China digging a hole in the
Mrs. Thrush sings the morning song, cocks her lovely head exhales her spotted cleavage. Dearest friends, herein lies the solution to the world’s problems: people
Sleeping in the Cradle of God
An excerpt from India with Backpack and a Prayer I have big days and small days. Today is a small day. I woke up this
Lioness Mother ….a short story
Her wayward cub never listened to mystic counsel. He thought himself more clever, more surefooted and never viewed his reflection in the lake. Early mornings
I sit in the great spring outdoors, my heart buried in snowhot torrid summer comes; I’m still buried in snowIf there was a way out
There are moments in the middle of the day when I drop everything and just stop. I forget the time and the day; even myself
this foggy winter morning I hear a 3-string quartetof aged priests playing the cello to “Baby it’s cold outside”and wonder if it’s you ….. is
wind rustles through high grass, bends even lower this dark night of my soul, other times turns ordinary stones into Egyptian obelisks…still I listen for
GOOD MORNING INDIA
Baba Ji’s driver is waiting for us in Amritsar. I’m so happy to be here that I smile and greet him. “Mera sir dukda.”Sunny is
I walked to the barn this evening; wanted to say goodbye to my old friend whose udders were dry from milking. She always saw me
I had almost forgotten you my spring beloved last caught up as I am in this secret rebirth repeating itself this time each year. My
sun came into view as mixed breed of ginger raspberry … carmine, peaches so full of grace they burden the mother limb. O Weaver, you
The great wave reached down to the depths of ocean’s floor that teemed with every imaginable form of sea life; bursting with desire to live
Good Morning World
Wake up dear heart the Divine Alchemist urges you to face life with boldness
Excerpt from India with Backpack and a Prayer
“Dear Jennifer, I received your letter so full of love. You are so important and loving for me that I cannot mention it. What you
Be with me this stormy night when your absence weighs heavily upon my heart for that glitters in Xanadu has lost its charm. I’ve tucked
My big Broadway break
I’m in New York trying hard to find work in the theatre, and coming up against a brick wall wherever I go because my Hollywood
You sweeten me like ripe melon on a hot day, my eyes burn …can’t think straight from mid-day sun, working in the field without a
If meadows shamelessly blooms out of season and lavender anxiously press their seed against a blanket of wintry snow, why be embarrassed if no one
why make friends with heartache …that old blowhard. Living in the past is a witch riding her broomstick over a memory heap. Laughter is contagious
earth yawns … a new day manifests in the flick of an eye… owl gazes the night long, his orange eyes mount heavens ladder while
there is a moment before dawn when regret gives way to purpose, darkness to light, and heaven so close I could reach up and touch
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