Friday, January 29, 2010

Sun Visors

Let me not look on past grievances,
or current strifes,
let me remember the little girl
at the bear jamoboree,
and the love and the generosity,
the selflessness of heart,
that you so bravely gave.
To make a life beautiful
and bring memories that fill the cavity,
on empty nights.
That shine a warmness,
that hits like an exploding ray
of thank you so much,
you put everything on the line,
to be what you are to me.
~Jenny Miller

Thursday, January 28, 2010

A person will sometimes devote all his life to the development of one part of his body - the wishbone. Robert Frost

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Chicken Little

Chicken little woke up one morning,
and said, oh my god the sky is falling,
falling–on my head.
He ran around in circles,
flapping his wings,
shouting and lamenting
all sorts of things.
Meanwhile the farmer in the dell,
was plucking feathers from his friends,
Frying them up in his old frying pan,
he was a crispy skin kinda man.
Chicken little ran and ran,
instead of taking a look around,
and doing what he can.
After all, chickens must grow up some day.
And put in their time and take home their pay.
And for the new chickens make way.
And the sky did fall on poor chicken littles head,
and sorry to say, he wound up dead,
but not from the crush of the weight of the sky,
after all sky is just air to you and I.
But his end did come
from all those circles he done run.
~Jenny Miller

Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Two Part Poem (read only if you have a body)

Ode To The Body
Body, my body, now seemingly
sagging and white.
Sagging breasts that fall with
weight loss.
And rise with weight gain.
Eyes that look more and more tired,
as the years pass by.
Skin that looks darker, darker-- beneath the whiteness.
Hair, teeth, feet, the bottoms of soles become harder.
Breath, hands that love and touch.
Hands that push away.
Eyes that grow dimmer and say,
"please, come closer".
Pursed lips that say,
"please go away"
woman, female.
You have taken me through my mother’s womb, body,
and through this life. Have I stopped to give you thanks?
You have endured every beating, every neglect,
every absence of thought of you.
You have held the soul like the shell
around the fragile seeds and pulp of the pomegranate.
October 31, 2008
To The Woman
To the woman with hair and eyes and nails and breasts and sacred yoni, and sweet natural smell, and ears, teeth, voice.
May you be canonized as saint for all that which you endure.
May your body be made a sacrament after it is laid to waste.
After the toiling, and trudging, and judging and trusting and codling and scorning and loving.
May you be restored to the perfect beauty of your youth.
May the tired skin once again become soft, may the gentle hands that take care once again become gentle.
May your eyes shine once more, once more before and after the children, the lovers, the marriage, the bravery even when you did not know you were being brave.
May your body rise in every place it has fallen, your breasts become full, your teeth white, your nails strong, your face beautiful and young again.
Woman you are a saint.
October 31, 2008

Wednesday, January 13, 2010


Those were the good days,
it was constantly fall and I was young.
Walking in the garden with you, in the rain,
with your heavy accent.
I was taller, I wore blazers, I was in love.
Mistrust was picked up by a breeze in an instant,
and carried away.
The piano softly played, the scent of mulberry candles
surrounded everything.
My home was comfortable and dark.
But there was a spark, a spark in my spirit,
and in my heart, that lit up my life, from the inside.
Even in hours of sadness, I had this light.
After years of fading, it is back again,
slowly coming in, like a star whose light takes
thousands of years to get here.