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Before I knew what had happened
The air had turned crisp
And Michaelmas had come
Making it bad luck
The eat the blackberries
And the blueberries had
Grown impossibly
Expensive
And the children were
Talking of Halloween
JEHW Fall 2019
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Was it a giant sunflower floating across the
Longsuffering dirt front of that
Bedraggled apartment building?
I smiled
My heart lifted
Was that miserable landlord ascending
to some newfound level of decency?
I drew closer to see what was afoot
My flower became human
A boy, maybe 12 or 14,
A child really
Helping his dispirited momma
Pull groceries from the back of that
Forlorn old car.
My imagined stem—a vibrant pair of lime green swimming trunks;
My flower top—a curly round puffball of Bumblebee colored hair.
Did he long for a trip to the beach?
Did she wonder how she would keep him fed?
What existed for this little family
Beyond the beauty of the boy,
And the mother’s despair?
Please divine one, a miracle,
I sent up a petition
In exchange for the smile they’ve
So unknowingly given
Jane Ellen Holliday Wilson
June 11, 2019
After the long rain
It’s not gardening
or
Writing
It’s gardening so that
I can write
Nourishing so that
I can create
Healing so that
My heart is free
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My dear friend Joan says it well
Because my words are too feeble to fully celebrate the life and work of Mary Oliver, I will use her own words from her poem,” Prayer”. May you dance on, Mary.
PRAYER
May I never not be frisky,
May I never not be risqué.
May my ashes, when you have them, friend,
and give them to the ocean,
leap in the froth of the waves,
still loving movement,
still ready, beyond all else,
to dance for the world.
MARY OLIVER
It’s been quite a while since I posted anything. My mother died last October and I have felt quite silent since then. But I wrote this little poem the other day. Don’t ask me to explain it because I can’t. Maybe it will mean something to you. It expresses something for me that I am coming to understand, but don’t quite yet have myself:
Boundaries
My first line of defense
Has been boundaries
And boundaries do keep
The dragons – the bogeymen
and women out
But they also lock me in
SIN
How do I open the gate
and breathe in some
Fresh air?
How do I walk down
The street un-
Afraid?
(c) JEHW
My children’s book About Those Dragons is now available. You can learn more on the page above. You can order it here.
Two pieces of sizzly, juicy quiche
Nose to nose on a plate
Waiting to be devoured
Two steaming cups of coffee
So much better than one
Two people cuddled up together for a time
In a warm cozy bed
As dawn breaks on the first
Chilly morning of fall
So much better than one
Two mourners
One sitting at her mother’s graveside
Holding her father’s hand
One standing above her
Gently rubbing her shoulders as she weeps
So much better than one
Two lovers sitting out on the back patio
After the obituary and the service is written
And the sisters are gone
Gazing up at the Harvest Moon
Listening to love songs
So much better than one
(c) Jane Ellen Holliday Wilson
October 2017
She woke up one day
Knowing that it was
Time to clean house
Inside and out
© JEHW 2017
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| Joan on Love Buzz |
gratefullyyourstoday 
Glorious, Empty Saturday
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Snow is coming, and I am free for a glorious two days of doing exactly as I please.
It is glorious
And empty
Empty and
Glorious
Glorious – The thing you feel when the shining sun reaches down through the clouds as though she is reaching down from heaven to embrace you. And you remember that you are made f her. And if not for her radiant, passionate fingers, you would not own fingers of your own—fingers to reach out and warm the heart of your own particular world.
Empty – What a fabulous word—like the mantra of the yogi who instructs you to breathe in deeply, to the bottom of your diaphragm. “Breath in LOVE”, she instructs, “and then breathe out EMPTY”. “Empty out everything distressing; everything troubling; everything keeping you from the here and now”
GLORIOUS, EMPTY
Two words that are not found in my refrigerator poetry set!
How alarming!
What dismay!
How is a girl to call
Herself a creative
A writer
A poet
Without
GLORIOUS and EMPTY
On such a day as
This day?
I guess I will simply (another missing word)
Have to create my musings (and yet another)
Right here on the this page,
Gloriously, emptying myself to this day.
Yay! (Also missing. How could they?!)
© Jane Ellen Holliday Wilson – January 2019