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

1 day 9 hours ago

Same as night segues to early day before returning to herself, there was a time when I became all those things that kept me bound. Oh Weaver, though my thoughts brand as me your own, I sit in wait each morning for the rising sun. Should luck so find my pockets empty, fill them generously with pine crickets for then I will know it’s you.

Jennifer Brookins, author page

5 days 7 hours ago

Autumn breast flirts into my garden and kisses the cheek of season past. Indian summer knows the end is near until the next go-around; when she surrenders her condition to scented dusk, seasonal musk, slippery crescent moon. Listen. It's a woodpecker rapping on my door. Time to fall in love

Jennifer Brookins, author page

1 week 3 days ago

hear winter rain falling as wild mountain roses
it is you hiding behind dark whisky moon
if you stay away my heart will turn into shards of glass
Look! red shouldered hawk perched in his monastery
praying to rising sun as I to you
Beloved opiate of my soul
come to me
play your divine lyre
I wait for you in the quiet elegance
of my soul

Jennifer Brookins, author page

2 weeks 6 hours ago

last night our farm was speckled with snow flowers
bushy tail squirrel nestled in his tree house
whitetail deer feasting on last summers harvest
yet winter lingers on
I can no longer wait to plant my garden
winter pansies, a bird feeder near the potting shed
for flowers yet to come
but for now
only this.

Jennifer Brookins, author page

2 weeks 5 days ago

I'm invigorated sitting here in my old robe and timeless wooly socks, the type old men wear when they go fishing … you know the kind. 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.

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