Jennifer Brookins
Poetry, Prose, and Excerpts
Recent Blog Posts
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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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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
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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
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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
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which heart would you have me hide behind … the one that beats within my soul and far surpasses the small untrustworthy heart answering only
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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
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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
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I bathe in early daybraid forget-me-nots into my hairwhen moon hides her faceI pour my fragile heart into yours © 2020 Jennifer Brookins
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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sun came into view as mixed breed of ginger raspberry … carmine, peaches so full of grace they burden the mother limb. O Weaver, you
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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
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Good Morning World
Wake up dear heart the Divine Alchemist urges you to face life with boldness
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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
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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
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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
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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
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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
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earth yawns … a new day manifests in the flick of an eye… owl gazes the night long, his orange eyes mount heavens ladder while
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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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