Category Archives: Jeanne Beauchamp

When Spring Awakens

Forget me Not…

When Spring Awakes.               day 11


Crystalline drops of rain soaked in Sun

Glitter drips from branches waiting to leaf

Air is sparked with the vivid waft of green

Earth trembles in the welcome of the deep drink


A New Moon rises quietly in the vibrancy

Night brings the shelter of hidden places

And still the awakening rises to greet

Morning in her fresh verdancy


The Solar Lunar marriage of life’s renewal

Sacred union in joined nurturance.

Patterning the seasons on the earth plane

Birth, life, death in cycles repeat


It is in awakening to your life

A seed planted; a thought released

Creativity gathered to intention

Unified together in life renewing


In Crystalline clarity soak in limitless Light

Beaming out into Infinite spaciousness

Charged with the luminescence of divine intent

Feel the trembling birth of your consciousness



jeanne adwani. @2021

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Grief’s Gifts

A cematary in Michigan


Grief lives in your body

It doesn’t leave, it simmers

It doesn’t magically go away

It lives on your breath

It pulses with your heart

It flows from a trinket

It stares at you from a photo

it lives in the letter of goodbye

in the recipe you love

It smells in the dog collar

it purrs from the pillow

It hums in the shadows

It stalks you when you least

expect it, in the quiet times

in the family times

driving in the car

laying in your bed

on the beach,

at the Dairy Queen

listening to a favorite song

And tears fall, they come

unabashed, choking you

flowing with so much feeling

joy and pain in a whirling vortex

of love, of loss, of remembrance

of celebration, of tenderness

‘I miss you’. seems hardly

enough in this heart ache

hardly enough in this loss


Grief lives in me

I celebrate it

I welcome it

My list is long now

So I never forget

any of you

My heart is vast

because of you



jeanne adwani. @copyright. 20121


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Give it to Kali, she’ll eat it.  She’s famished

Take all that shit that doesn’t serve your life.

the people, the job, the hoard. that negativity

Give it to Her, Give it to Kali’s belly


She’s hungry, she can’t wait to eat it


Rid yourself of all that wants take your sovereignty

All that wants to suck your goodness away

Everything that you let break your good flow

Give it to Kali, give it to her completely


She’s so hungry for it, she cannot wait to eat it


Look at her, she’s quivering with desire

She loves the rot and stench of your stink

Of all that you have gathered that smells

up your life with toxic dissidence


She’s beside herself with craving for it


She cannot wait to eat it up, gobble it down

Smack her lips with unabashed delight

It slithers down her throat in orgasmic pleasure

Give your shit to her, All of it, Hold nothing back


She’s so very hungry. Feed Her!


She will come for it if you don’t release it

She will eat it up whether you are ready or not

She knows that for your creativity to flourish

For your goodness to be alive and purposeful


She wants to take all your malignant puss and eat it


Give it to her. Not later on, Not tomorrow. Now!

Your life is a cesspool with that stuff you drag around

Let her drag it.  Let her take it and destroy it for you

Hell, She wants too.  Look how ready she is.  Drooling


She’s ready.  Writhingly. Undulating with hunger

Give it to Her.  Give it to Kali.  She’ll eat it



jeanne adwani. @Copyright. 2021

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Time Has Changed



Time is recalibrating, days crunch together in twelves

then expand into forty-eight, then have no meaning

not in the way we all laid our schedules down

not in the way we made our hours fit our days

not in the way we made up time like we imagined it

the Sun rises and set, the Moon makes her monthly pattern

there’s sense in that, there’s a time continuum in that


Time is dissolving like we put it underwater to watch it

swirl in a vortex of energy pulling what we thought we knew

deeper into an unknown unseen cavern of timelessness

all the while we still think we can be on time, fill the day

while we watch the clock tick and move as if it knows  

the perfection of twenty-four hours and we should too

we ‘should’ on ourselves yet again.


Time is teasing us just like the Sun does, shining so bright

so welcoming on a freezing day we think it might be warm

we feel a little thrill when the temperature says 28 degrees

and there He is all bright and smiling that sunny grin

what a liar that Sun is that can toast a marshmallow

that can make green lush an arid desert landscaped

Fiery bastard is such a paradox


Time is liar, we didn’t think so. We don’t want to believe it

we are still held to the twenty-four, it’s what we know

it’s what we count on to keep us in a timely manner of life

the clock says so.  Big Ben belts out the hourly chime.

alarms ring out the hour to rise and shine to the new day

only have you noticed how out of sync the days feel

how running late or early, or out of time is the new time


Time is different.  Time is not the same as it was yesterday

even a moment ago when you looked it all seem right on time

just like you knew it would be, felt it was tic toc-ing right

the world was timely and in perfect flow like you like it

nope. Take notice.  Feel into it.  Change is happening

space time continuum has you on alert.

Really, I’m not kidding



Jeanne adwani.  copyright 2021

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Into The Fire

3/5/3/3/7/5. Shadorma 26 syllables

This is poetry form taken as a prompt from the website for todays poem

artist unknown to me.


Into the Fire


There is no

dousing the fire

when it all

needs to burn

fan the flame of destruction

what is done is done


Make sacred

the empty land of

blackened waste

an altar to new beginnings

the phoenix rises




Jeanne adwani  @copyright 2021

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She raged as the Earth in full tilt cracked wide open

Swallowing everything whole with great lust

She didn’t bother to chew, or show her pleasure

She didn’t bother to give a shit one way or the other

Rage can be fierce and shameless. 


The thing is, is that every moment of her expansive indignation

Made her hungry for more of the same want of destruction

Her molten belly was nowhere near full and digestion was no issue

Centuries of longing, eons of unrequited, lifetimes of carelessness

Fierce and shameless she took it all down


it was bound to happen; destine you might say as you noticed

How humans made careless of living, of taking with no return

Thinking that they were in control of the elementals, the seasons

She laughs in the face of that bull shit, that lie that humans do

No shame in taking that shit down with ferocity


She said, “Fuck you!, you had millions of years to figure this out.

I have molten lava in my belly, and I have had enough. Done”

She meant it in this brutal ending of humanity in despair

She will dream the dream of renewal and new life will flourish

She is shameless.  She is fierce.  Don’t fuck with Mama Earth.




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She Didn’t Mind


do not know the artist…

day 5.     of national poetry month.


The squirrel placed acorns in her pocket

Piled them in for the long winter rest

Invited the neighbors for a hide and seek

Making sure they couldn’t find her dress

She Didn’t mind


The fox brought her cubs for a visit

Doing the circle dance around her

Sniffing her toes and fingertips

Giving a lick and nibble here and there

She didn’t mind


Spring came and commented on the great melt

Pushing bright green up between her legs

Urging bloodroot to unfold their white bloom

In a halo of light around her head

She didn’t mind


The meadow lark made a nest in her hair

Tweeted and chirped each weave carefully

Fluttered around her haloed head anxiously

Small eggs waiting to crack open

She didn’t mind


Bees came buzzing, landing on her eyelids softly

Tracking the fresh pollen of Summers blossoms

With the chirp of baby birds mouths wide open begging

Gave a symphony to the forests awakening

She didn’t mind


A travel walked deep into the forest foraging hen in the woods

Against an old oak tree rest a woman of twigs, moss, and Autumn’s leaves

An old nest of feathers and grass lay twined in the seasons of her hair. 

A hive of honey glistened from her mouth with the buzz of bees

She didn’t mind


They hummed and buzzed in her heart, whirring from her womb

Broken acorns scattered over her waist, her fingertips were nibbled clean

In the delight of the many forest suiters who came to woo her

She didn’t mind


He wondered of her as the bees bullied distance and ownership

Claimed her as their own with no trespassers allowed but the forest keepers

He left her there in that perfection of how life had found her at last  

She didn’t mind



Jeanne adwani. copyright 2021



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Magdalene anointing.

Nail Love and compassion on the cross of your righteousness

Swing high for all to see how right you are in that self-proclamation

Sponge the water of life on the dry mouth silence of your transgressions

Declare death to differences and censor the voices of conspiracy


Holy of Wholy lost to hearts closed to tenderness forgetting Oneness

The beggars and thieves know well how power over serves no one

Hanging as a trinity at the crossroads of possibilities pondering

Choice that comes from the heart, not the evitability of this death


For death is guaranteed no matter the road taken on life’s journey

No matter what you nail yourself to for your offences against yourself

In the dark cave of your resurrection the Magdalene anoints you in love

Caresses your heart in compassion, in the remembrance of your Oneness


Reborn again in the light of tenderness as you take the path holding

The hand of she/he who you feared, now your beloved walking together

Free of the fear that bound you to separation and extinction.

Held in the anointment of this now moment of love everlasting.



Jeanne Adwani. copyright. April 4th 2021



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Lost in LaLa Land

LOST IN LaLa LAND,  A Hollywood memoir 1978’


Sunset Strip lay raw and naked in the early hours

Hollywood had had a bite of my soul in the dark night

Such a quiet unseen brutal take of self-given willingly

Overtaken by the false comfort of drugs and booze


The pickup of idle chat moved to hungry lust imbibing

A perfect storm of Ferrari, and handsome bundled up

Danger hung in dripping stalactites over the bed

Yet unruffled as we sat on its edges before the long fall


 Carelessly, in Mr. GoodBar style, hunting dark mysteries

Swallowing the soft kiss deeper into my body waking

The edge ever so close for the wild jump risk of life

The tilt of the room, the wonder on his beautiful face


The roll of my inner storm, clouds bursting in torrent rain

Every tear that had been unshed flooded the room

Every want and wound soaked the walls, pooled the bed

Drowning was the best way to go as the vortex pull me under


Memory has no straight line, no sureness to how tenderness

Found the moment in the gentle arms of a stranger’s hold

Petted like a lost child found with comforting words of

“You’ll be already, You’ll be OK.”  in repeat kindness


Sunset Strip lay raw and naked before me as I walked it

Finding my way to my car alone unaided by my request

He gifted me with a gentleness I took to be time now

Soul healing needed a body temple safe and free.


I packed the VW bus with my life quaking like this land

Filled it with myself and the surrender to find myself

Taking my salty tears to the ocean to be swallowed by the tides

Barefoot in the sand the land heals the soul of me

~. jeanne adwani. copyrights

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This writing and this poem that will come at the 
end of this narrative, was inspired by Wendall Berry, 
The Peace of Wild Things, and Mary Oliver's poem 
Wild Geese.
It's the 'Wild' in both of these that called out to 
me this morning.  The freedom in the Wild that 
during this time of sequestered sheltering, doesn't 
feel so free, so wild.  So, I go into 'remembrance' 
of that first time when that wild freedom flowed over 
me and all I could do was let it have me.  I dedicate 
this Earth Day, this New Moon day, My day to The Wild.
In 1966 the song Wild Thing came out. It seemed a 
call out to the way of the world then, one of the 
freedom calls of that era of Vietnam, free love, and 
the peace movement.  It felt a call to young women to 
let their freak flag fly, be groovy, make heart's sing.

Wild Thing
The Troggs
"Wild thing
You make my heart sing
You make everything, groovy
Wild thing
Wild thing, I, think I love you
But I want to know for sure
So come on, and hold me tight
I love you
Wild thing
You make my heart sing
You make everything, groovy
Wild thing
Wild thing, I, think you move me
But I want to know for sure
So come on, and hold me tight
You move me
Wild thing
You make my heart sing
You make everything, groovy
Wild thing
Come on, come on, wild thing
Shake it, shake it, wild thing"

I had moved for that summer to Hamilton, ON to 
be part of a program put on by my Uncle, the priest.  
I lived in a German Lutheran Church parsonage on 
the edge of downtown Hamilton, with four other 
young people whose names I have forgotten.  
We were a diverse group, I was the only one from 
the U.S., and I was a family member of the leader.  
That placed me in a position of either being special 
in a suspicious way, or being that 'other' that was 
clearly a bit of a wild thing;  unpredictable, 
amusing and just cute enough to stir everyone's pot 
up with a certain charm. I was an unknown factor.  
I was liked, and often not trusted to be present in 
the way of the rules given down by my revered Uncle. 
I had rebellion written on my soul and there was no 
way to stop it.

I was a Wild Thing. My then boyfriend, Scotty, that I 
had left at home in Michigan, had sent me that record 
about a month into this program.  It came with a 
very endearing card of love and missing that tickle 
at my hearts edges.  I was already crushed out on one 
of my Uncles students that paid visit to us, probably 
to see how we were all doing on behalf of him. 
Henry, dear sweet Henry.  Someone I will never forget.

It was confusing for me at 18, sassy, cute, smart, 
curious beyond measure, to have a boyfriend at home, 
and this unique, 'older' guy really wanting to know 
me.  It brought the wild of me to all my surfaces and 
made my decisions based on the immediate rather than 
anything thought out.

Henry was willing to accommodate pretty much my every 
whim. I knew his crush on me made him vulnerable to 
my charms.  I took advantage of that with a frivolity 
I had no idea of it's hurtful and joyful impact, 
to both of us, to the program, to my uncle.  
In my playfulness, my spontaneity, my overall 
first-time-away-from-home freedom, I was pushing 
life's edges in ways that were freeing for me, and 
tedious and confusing for others.  
That awareness for me came later.  I was testing the 
world and people around me, finding where I might 
fit my creative, wild spirited self. 
Who were my people?  
What kind of Wild Thing would I be?

A Pantoum to The Wild.

Race the Wild self across freedom's radiance
Soar wide out into the vast unknown moments
Welcome the curious creative Spirit on fire
Hold back nothing in the Everything

Soar wide out into the vast unknown moments
Let the menace and frolic find pure release
Hold back nothing in the Everything
Earth, Fire, Air, Water are the orchestra

Let the menace and frolic find pure release
Be the clear channel of paradox in it's dance
Earth, Fire, Air, Water are the orchestra
Infinity is a boundless playground waiting.

BE the clear channel of paradox in it's dance
Welcome the curious creative Spirit on fire
Infinity is a boundless playground waiting
Race the Wild self across freedom's radiance

copyright. jeanne adwani

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