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

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


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



© 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

© 2020 Jennifer Brookins

It was shocking to my soul
How softly the night fell
Upon the earth as lips kissing
An undeserving traveler
For the longest time
I’ve wanted to lay my cheek
Upon the sky and grab hold tightly
To cusp my hand
In such a way that I pulled it down
Upon my unsuspecting breast
Until every breath
Every sinew finally gave way
To one sigh
To that one moment
That hearkened upon
Such sweet sadness that
I could no longer yearn
Nor reach
Nor want
Nor run – nor hide
I could but receive
as you caressed my eye lids
sweet lover
will you not cradle my soul
within the bosom of your own
send me a message if you will meet me tonight
unbalanced am I
waiting for you

© 2020 Jennifer Brookins

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 should find a solitary place, open their mouths wide and holler so loud that everyone knows how miserable they are, have no money, their apartment doesn’t have an elevator, the kids never write; worst of all they’re sure someone gave them the dreaded coronavirus because everyone in the supermarket (or maybe the elevator) breathed on them. Dear Heart, please make friends with Mrs. Thrush in the hope she reveals her secret for leading a happy life. She wisely counsels: never fear turning the corner

© 2020 Jennifer Brookins