Jennifer Brookins

Author of Tharon Ann, Living Under the Weavers Hut, and India with Backpack and a Prayer

About Jen

Author and poet Jennifer Brookins is a former Broadway and television actress living in Princeton, New Jersey with her husband, musician Doug Brookins. They frequently travel to India, and based upon their experiences, she wrote India with Backpack and a Prayer - the sequel to her first book Tharon Ann. She is also the author of Living Under the Weaver's Hut - an illustrated book of poetry.

A Memoir


A beautiful story of bravery, tragedy, independence

Tharon Ann, by author Jennifer Brookins is a wonderful read! A young woman begins her journey to chase her dreams from the Deep South to Hollywood, enduring a number of difficulties and overcoming the hardships of single motherhood to a wonderful ending and to the lovely woman known to us today. She teaches us to reach for our dreams, and though life sometimes seems senseless, in the long run good things do come. I highly recommend this book to anyone that loves biographies or for just a delightful read. Check this out!” 

-C.C. Cole

Click here to read more reviews of Tharon Ann

An Illustrated Book of Poetry



“Lyrical and deeply moving. These poems speak of the soul’s journey back to its Source. Love, longing, loneliness, joy. These are things we all share throughout our journeys through this life and beyond.”

Ginny Byham

Click here to read more reviews of Living Under the Weaver’s Hut

A Spiritual Journey

India with Backpack and a Prayer

A deeply affecting travelog of a spiritual life

“I loved this book, the intimacy, the sense of the spiritual world close by, the interiority of the poetry, and most of all, the mystery of her four adept friends. Highly recommended.”


Click here to read more reviews of India with Backpack and a Prayer


doubters only believe what they see … you know the type dark sunglasses at night for a better view. Oh Weaver, guard my arrested heart

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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Jennifer Brookins, author page

3 days 13 hours ago

let us sit on moons edge, eat peanut butter sandwiches
drink slurpees while stars bow to your generous heart
let us sing the morning song and be grateful we are here
not there with daisies planted over us
let us do that while there is still time for laughter
let us speak of the Beloved until moon turns to butter
cows jump over the last soldier to die in senseless war
when darkness envelopes the earth and we sing no more

Jennifer Brookins, author page

4 days 13 hours ago

My gypsy moon wears the cloak of dawn this day, stretching her legs across the horizon, dazzling the landscape with more familiarity than it is prepared to receive. The sun, enjoying this masquerade, then fills the air with such buoyancy that all shadows disappear. The morning tango has begun.

Jennifer Brookins, author page

4 days 14 hours ago

Some days all I need is a stroll along the river bank, my sweater rolled up under my head, feet swooshing about in the coolness of early spring water. I close my eyes and listen to trickles of laughter coming from children. Every now and then a bicycle passes behind me, a dog barks, wind brushes against my cheek. Let me be to you as a leaf attached to water rhubarb floating in the lake; fields of wild sunflowers seeding earth for generations to come, children yet to be born. You have planted wonder in my soul. I do not know how this happened but it did. Look what you have done to me, my crazy heart will never be the same. Yesteryear's rough husk matters little when moon fades and fullness of dawn barrels across our hayfield. Rays of sunlight weave through treetops, kneads earth with crisp morning air like grandmother made sourdough bread. Grey squirrel has forgotten where he buried winters breakfast; rhythms of a new day have begun. I am the recipient of wealth beyond measure just from listening.

Jennifer Brookins, author page

1 week 13 hours ago

Dear heart
let us cuddle when dawn that delicious rhubarb loving mama showers her hungry grace upon this beautiful land. We will sit like two fat old women eating popcorn in a hammock like the good old days. No need for secrets. I already know yours but I will tell you mine with a wink. Tarry not daybreak nears. I'll bring Little Richard and you ... Edith Piaf and red wine. I've missed you so. c/jb

Jennifer Brookins, author page

1 week 2 days ago

I wander through my garden this night searching for answers
what must I do in this world of haves and have nots
should I bury my heart where the first dandelion blooms
or plant corn when oak leaves are the size of a squirrels ear
maple leaves turn scarlet then fall to the ground
or make love all night until
the sun hides behind
the moon

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