nature – Jennifer Brookins

May 16, 2020 by jenniferbrookins_2jj8dq

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 bush seedlings; my feet scorched to the touch. All the while, I foolishly prayed for night to come quickly, that a gentle breeze would push me over the edge. Oh Weaver, what was the greater gift? Was it the baubles received or the hard lessons learned?

April 17, 2020 by jenniferbrookins_2jj8dq

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 hat. Don’t blush. I’m merely a pond reed through which you play music to feed my soul.

April 14, 2020 by jenniferbrookins_2jj8dq

earth yawns … a new day manifests in the flick of an eye… owl gazes the night long, his orange eyes mount heavens ladder while full moon straddles the night sky same as she has for millions of eons. Someone out there is playing the clarinet.

April 13, 2020 by jenniferbrookins_2jj8dq

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 it. Can’t think of another place I would rather be than here, right now, recycling myself for a new day. I’ve made friends with struggle; wise old Shaman taught me the journey was far more important than the destination. Ask the eagle who flies overhead.

April 12, 2020 by jenniferbrookins_2jj8dq

I’m invigorated sitting here in my old robe and timeless wooly socks, the type old men wear when they go fishing. The intoxicant of morning air shakes off the monotony of sleep. Good to let vagrant trickles of laughter escape that part of me who wants to burst out laughing for no reason at all even if it is 4 am.

April 4, 2020 by jenniferbrookins_2jj8dq

I can never forget you in early morning when I watch blades of grass shake their fingers at a ground hog who stepped too hard on their back-side, or the old man in the supermarket who bent his arthritic back to pick up a tomato rolling down the aisle. You are everywhere yet remain hidden. Your silence is deafening yet no music compares to your fiddle.

April 3, 2020 by jenniferbrookins_2jj8dq

What happened to old friend Raggedy Ann, my journals filled with poetry – helter-skelter meanderings written walking along river’s edge when life seemed too hopeless to go on. But on this wondrous autumn day, leaves the color of ripe pimento fall breathlessly in every corner of my garden … yesterdays heartaches replaced with sonnets.

April 3, 2020 by jenniferbrookins_2jj8dq

this odd poetry of my soul

more madness of heart than verse.

perhaps my thoughts of you should be reigned in

meet me in the boathouse for tea, lemony with ginger

afterwards I will lay my head on the soft down of your belly

dragonfly flutters on winters lake

buddha bird sits high in trees watching the moon shed tears

om shanti om

GOOD MORNING WORLD

March 28, 2020 by jenniferbrookins_2jj8dq

It doesn’t take much to be happy: a morning walk before the world wakes up, giant oaks singing to each another … poetry written on their bark, birds warble morning halleluiahs without peering into the morrow; infinitesimal grains of sand divinity-saturated. How can I not be happy when you gift so much?

GOOD MORNING WORLD

March 27, 2020 by jenniferbrookins_2jj8dq

colors of peach sorbet cover the ocean while albatross sits on masthead. Dearest heart, what compass leads him safely to shore?