doubters only believe what they see … you know the type dark sunglasses at night for a better view. Oh Weaver, guard my arrested heart from neighbors who wonder what type illness has come over me now that I wear mistletoe in my hair. They say I’m eccentric… well hardly…just bring on the hand cuffs; you’re welcome to everything in my old closet.

Early this morning before the sun had yet to rise I heard you say, “Daughter, have you seen my new act? We are the infamous bullfrog quartet free to all who would dare my kind of loving”

There is a lion in me so easily provoked; rears it’s head each time a stranger attempts to enter it’s cage without knocking when the sweet silence of heartache is disturbed

2020 Jennifer Brookins

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 make friends with a bed; too much sleep imprisons the soul. But to sit here in crisp late night air stargazing in wonderment and discover some lonesome adventurer looking down at me makes my heart break out in laughter. I call up. “Send me a sign, a paper airplane will do.” Just the thought makes my heart laugh … and I dream of you as the new day slumbers.

© 2020 Jennifer Brookins

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 our table

sometimes late in the day I see flocks of winged birds

headed for supper-fields

Weaver Ji,

guide them to your special place

where huckleberries grow wild in depths of snow

weatherman says more of the same

on the way

© 2020 Jennifer Brookins

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 first rustle of wind that pierces my heart. Oh weaver, you disguise yourself as the evening breeze

© 2020 Jennifer Brookins

which heart would you have me hide behind … the one that beats within my soul and far surpasses the small untrustworthy heart answering only to the finite. Quite frankly, I wouldn’t buy a used car from this one. The large heart is beyond language or touch…never judges. It answers when I call out Sweetheart.

© 2020 Jennifer Brookins


time to sing the morning song


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