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 get up for 3 a.m. meditation
splash cold water on my face
Oh Weaver,
you sweeten me like ripe peaches on a hot summer day
my eyes burn, can’t think straight outdoors pickin’ cotton
sun beatin’ down on my back
I am a pond reed through which you play music
to feed my soul
© 2020 Jennifer Brookins
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 of the Jungle. I waited for dusk to watch fireflies light up my southern sky. I can still smell the sweetness of honeysuckle wifting through our bedroom window. On schooldays if there was enough money, my aunt gave us a nickel to buy a slice of watermelon to eat as we walked home from school. Oh so good. After dinner, we polished our shoes for school the next day while scaring ourselves to death listing to “Inner Sanctum” on the radio. Time…a thing of feathers
© 2020 Jennifer Brookins
I bathe in early day
braid forget-me-nots into my hair
when moon hides her face
I 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 over to the window to observe a family of young morning glories clustered together in prayer; their heads bowed low. I thanked them for their generous heart and spent the rest of the morning lost in wonder.
© 2020 Jennifer Brookins
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?
© 2020 Jennifer Brookins
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 echo to weave in and out
rain clouds spill shadows on wet sheets
I left outdoors on my clothesline
won’t be tomorrow for awhile
come sit with me under the shade tree
her leaves a canopy for old lovers
when summer leans toward spring
put your head in my lap
I’ll rub your back
until you fall asleep
in the hope
you wake up
feeling
better.
© 2020 Jennifer Brookins
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 moment, planting and harvesting, …planting and harvesting. How fruitless to arm extend into the future.
© 2020 Jennifer Brookins
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 birdhouse
with a red front porch
yellow umbrella
can sit under
have afternoon tea
I want to know everything
about you
how flying in the clouds
makes you blasé
about things
you cannot change
why you prefer aloneness
to chit -chat
why you never worry
about tomorrow
or where
your next meal comes from
let us have lunch today
I’ve much to learn
from you
© 2020 Jennifer Brookins
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 your hardest battles to your strongest warriors a lion waits in my gathering place that need be tamed it is to that divine drop of you I sing I kiss your belly full of divine secrets waiting to be cracked open
© 2020 Jennifer Brookins
who is to question your ways
in a secret covenant every creature calls out
Beloved Beloved …Listen
how quiet is snow capped mountain
where honeysuckle grows wild
heliotrope clings to craggy rocks
snow goose finds refuge
until worldly clatter
flaps its nonsensical ideas
how smart they are
how beautiful
how witty
how cereal A is better than cereal B
poor little human heart
my every breath a last hurrah until I met you
O Weaver Ji
meet me tonight
in the gazebo
please
© 2020 Jennifer Brookins