Category Archives: national poetry month

Circle and Line


~~

Circles and Lines, patterns of spirals

angles and curves what about it all matters

In circle we connect, we unite, we commune

In lines we declare focus matter of facts

Straight forward or backwards in maybe

we make what happens to happen like that

~

The way of the line can feel lonely

Line can get things done, get on the track

Alone on the line manifesting this and that

Circle can jabber and keep circling back

Till brilliance is coherent and ready

Not the slim line to walk take the broad path

~

Lines and circles can be distorted

Jagged sharp or wandering curves

Coherence needs unity in community

For the Line to make things happen to procure

Are you a line or circle, are you soft or a knife?

Will you join in the brainstorm or spare with life?

~

Sooner or later maybe tomorrow next week

The circle will gather to meet in retreat

Call the line to get busy, to ready, get things done

One needs the other, the other needs one

No right or wrong be it circle or line

There is us in the We, we all need to get life as One

~

~

~

Jeanne adwani. @copyright

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Road Tripping


Traveling those blue highways those rural routes

of back roads, of byways weaving through

small town USA where life thrives in a

slow way if it thrives at all

With empty old shops surrounding

the local hardware and there’s

a café and gas station at the corner

~

Rosey’s Cafe printed across the window

neon light blinking “OPEN” calling me

come on in for lunch, not to forget that

breakfast is served all day everyday

Breakfast it is with the proper amount of grease

and grits, thick bacon and that toast

that is square, fat and slathered with butter

with a side of homemade strawberry jam.

~

Across the street, a thrift store with antiques

a passion for me, a junker’s paradise, a road

tripping pirated looking for bounty.

These shops can be hoarder full,

barely able to walk through

with mountains of rummage collected

hangered and stacked with some order that

defies the meaning of what order is

~

Somebody’s grandparent’s ancient old shit

an estate of family collectables unwanted

heirlooms broken to be fixed in the never will be

Generation of not letting go, now needing it to go.

Families don’t know what to do with what’s

left after the scramble and pawing through it

dumped now in these shops in the hope that

making a few dollars off of someone’s forgotten

 treasure is for a ’picker’ something to celebrate.

~

Not enough people pass through these

off-the-main-drag small rural communities

to buy the leftovers of old dead people

long gone with outdated uselessness

only worth the rummage to a true junker

A pirate of the byways seeking treasure

I hear the call. I stop for the joy in the hunt

following a garage sale sign

in the middle of Midwest nowhere

passing alfalfa fields with poor farmers eking

a living with a few cows and chickens and a big

gardening full of vegetables and flowers for some

local prosperity to keep the living pulse Ok enough

~

This sign aiming me onto a damn dirt road

where the grass grows down the center of it

and the rain puddle too deep I have to turn around

Should have turned left at that last cross-road

Should have let the grass be a sure sign of nowhere.

I should on myself yet again, only to arrive at

the best garage sale ever smelling the methane in the air

~

It’s good to know yourself as a compass traveling this way

or at least how to follow the sun cause that’s maybe

what you need to follow unless you decide

that sooner of later you’ll hit a main road

if you go far enough in one direction or another

That’s iffy and then again. hell you’re on a road trip

taking the blue highways where ever looking for stuff

stopping when you like, sleeping at JoJo’s motel

just on the edge of that town you passed through

a few miles back deciding it was time to make it a day.

Turning around cause you’re pretty sure there’s not

much you’ll come across any time soon on C32

~

Sitting at the café’ counter connected to JoJo’s,

my appetite worked up for all the seeking of treasure

and the miles of driving and stopping

ordering the meatloaf with mash potatoes, gravy

and boiled carrots with maple butter dripping on them

striking up a conversation with a woman named Peggy

with her over bleached permed hair, too tight jeans,

a hot pink tank top showing every curve she wants you to linger on

She wonders why a woman like me, in my jeans,

my black peace sign tee shirt, rings on every finger

and my ratty old Birkenstocks that serve me well

is alone without a man on road trip like this

Isn’t that dangerous? Wasn’t I scared?

Why would I ever travel alone?   

She couldn’t image it.

I ask her who does her hair.

~

~

jeanne adwani. @copyright

~

~

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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 NaPoWriMo.net 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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Evolution


     

~~~~~~

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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Anointed


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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I Love Myself Too Much Lose My Peace


I Love Myself Too Much to Lose My Peace.                 

          a pantoum

~~~

I Love myself too much to lose my Peace

Chaos can’t have me in the cover of darkness

When fear comes out to feed on harmony

My inner flame rises a thousand kilowatts

~

Chaos can’t have me in the cover of darkness

Breathing out the light of me into the unseen

My inner flame rises a thousand kilowatts

My exhale becomes a beacon in shadowland

~

Breathing out the light of me into the unseen

What fear is this that wishes to consume me?

My exhale becomes a beacon in shadowland

I love my shadow as I love my light

~

What fear is this that wishes to consume me?

To steal my brilliance into its dark worm hole

I love my shadow as I love my light

I take the fear to my mouth and swallow it

~

To steal my brilliance into its dark worm hole

A passage that has no end in its beginning

I take the fear to my mouth and swallow it

There is expanse in me for this transformation

~

A passage that has no end in its beginning

When fear comes out to feed on harmony

There is expanse in me for this transformation

I love myself too much to lose my Peace.

~

Jeanne adwani   copyright

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FEELING



Feeling the mycelium beneath my feet
A woven tapestry of nurturance 
A vast cooperation of life in Oneness

Feeling the giant maple whisper her rooted
story to her beloveds for as One 
We thrive in the net-work of living

Feeling the air skim my flesh in the
Invisible gift of each breath offered
Clarity of purpose uninterrupted

Feeling the tears rise for the spilling
A salty sea of remembrance to be shed
For All that need to grieve in surrender

Feeling this vastness of Connection
Of how I am all that and none of it. 
The Earth of me
The Heart of me
The Breath of me
The Bright Spirit of me

Feeling it all to know it All
Being it all to live it all
Breathing it all in for the sake
Of Knowing the Deep gift 
of this simple
Truth

copyright.  jeanne adwani

  

 

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WILD THING


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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