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

The Wedding

Time suspended itself by yielding to a forbidden wedding. Moon drew water from dark clouds to quench her thirst. Sun so burnt the edges of her heart, they no longer existed as Sun and Moon or anything the galaxies had ever before witnessed. As they lay under heaven’s canopy, she whispered in his ear, “Close your eyes, I’ve a treat for you.” She placed one snow cone within the innermost core of his heart to quench his desire during the midday heat. He was much pleased with such a remembrance, and replied,“Now close your eyes, I’ve a wedding gift for you too.” After a few moments, he said, “Open them,” for he had carved a blood red talisman upon her heart, the inside of which slow-burned the fire of his longing. She smiled at his thoughtfulness. Throughout this night, changeling stars gave birth to fill the unspeakable void when once again, Sun would vanish into dawn.

© 2020 Jennifer Brookins

As each season passes, I wait; First winter, then spring, then hot languid summer months praying autumn leaves fall so close to my feet I can easily reach down and touch, but this morning raindrops dissolve upon my soul like rare cashmere. The greatest part of any day is waking up to the flow of life’s drum beat, another haiku morning. Just once I would like to pour myself into a long stem ice cream sundae glass and sip the whole of dawn until it sets once again.
© 2020 Jennifer Brookins

Hello World

Night beckons me to lie down in the high grass, arms outstretched over my head towards a lantern glowing on a farmer’s back porch; his dog barks at the least little thing. I hold close a throbbing mother earth who patiently awaits her progeny; my face turned upwards to the infinity of stars in the Milky Way twinkling as shards of mirrored glass.

© Jen Brookins



in silence mist falls gently upon the great treetops
Oh Weaver, you wrap your dreamy arms around all who live under your umbrella
hint of sunrise with splashes of magenta and gold
across early horizon, air pregnant with expectation
giant oaks cradled in the alpha heart unashamed in their nakedness.
early this morning I watched seven wild turkeys
cross a grassy knoll, their footprints in winter syncopation
against a snowy quilt
you braid secrets into their autumn breasts
these foragers of winter acorns
once obtained off they go doing their winter rumba
at other places, other knolls
this makes you belly laugh
you like to make angels in the snow
© jb