Friday, May 31, 2013

she has another one that’s an angel now
a long time ago, it started with one friend
who was sick and saw a vision
before she went
they need her & she needs them,
before they die.
There always seems to be, in the
months leading up to their deaths
special moments of realizations
walking in gardens,
and she shares with us
the stories of the lessens they
finally understand
before they go home.
She helps them with it.
It’s a hard and sacred job,
I see.


Wednesday, May 29, 2013


when I was a little girl
I would go in the back yard
with a hammer and a chisel
to the small rock pile
under the peach tree
and try to break open rocks
with the hopes of finding a Geode

I never found one
but the excitement
and happiness
of the treasure hunt
were all that mattered


Thursday, May 16, 2013

there is a burning in my body
in my belly
in my bones
there is weakness
I want to cry
I push on
I want....
To go to bed
and stay there for a while
I want to feel well again
I am tired of this.


Wednesday, May 8, 2013

Somewhere In The Future....

May 8th, 4013

Today a team of archeologists in the seaside town of California uncovered what appears to be the Temple of The Golden Arches, thought until now to be only a legend. Beneath the two huge yellow arches were perfectly preserved fragments of food from that period that appear to be a type of bovine between two pieces of bread, and several round, crusted pieces of some type of fowl.

Several statues were also unearthed, including one believed to be a depiction of the god that the Temple of The Golden Arches was built in honor of. The stature is of a figure wearing a yellow stripped suit, with painted face and bright red hair, an inscription reads "Ronald McDonald". In ancient America, Ronald McDonald was the god of humor, and worshipers often prayed to him to make their meals happy.

~Jennifer Miller
there are many of us
who can’t quite decide
who we would like to play
in this life

the wise sage?
Meditating in nature, always
with friendly, welcoming, serene
smile across our face?

the artist, painting,
sculpting, perhaps
sitting in Parisian cafe’s
drinking small drinks
of spirits or coffee?

the wild, carefree rebel
living with reckless abandon
to party late into the night
pushing the limit against
life, against the world
regardless of any cost
a bright loud bottle rocket
that streaks across life
in one full brilliant amazing
explosion that if you look away
from for only a minute you may

the writer, who would
be published, if only
she submitted her tickets
to the booth for the ride.
I don’t even feel like writing