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Jane in Resistance


Day 5 of NaPoWriMo… This is an on going Poem inspire by the Fool.  You can  start from the beginning on April 1st, should you be so inspired to begin at the beginning.

~~~~~

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in my LIGHT

Opening eyes to an unknown radiance
when the cloak of night laid it’s chilled cover
and hours had held her entirety to the forgotten
Trying to be remembered.

The brilliance came through her eyelids
Her hands splayed over her face
Resistance was her friend.
The old oak of Bench her comfort

Bench was undulating
pushing at her immobility.
Whispering in her head
Swelling her heart’s desire
A silent urge to Open.

Fear stalked her hesitations
Pulling at her hands, her eyelids
A resonant ’NO’ filled her senses.
Peace had left the park
And the Sun was calling out
‘Jane, Jane, Jane”

What foolishness wanted a piece of her?
What trick of Light wanted to betray her
She welcomed the night’s crawl over her skin
Jane wasn’t . Jane was invisible
Till now.

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JANE? A fools journey


Day 4 of NaPoWriMo.    This is a spontaneous, on going, poem about Jane, and her Fools journey.

~

Heart hand n mouth

She knew her name,
common among the abandoned
and runaway lost.
She forgot that it mattered
If it ever mattered till now
And if it had, would the memory
be candied sweetness or
layered in spikes and blades
with more of the ceaseless lonely
in this sea of other nameless
from the Lost?

The Bench ripple down her spine
A forgotten comfort, a familiar
longing, her skin flexed in
recognition, a silent welcome
followed by a far away voice
“Jane,
Jane,
Jane”
A long ago came tumbling in
with the coral sky swallowing the Sun
to the other side for that awakening.
Eyes open wide to the coming of night
Held to a singular beaming planet,
a radiant spike of light drives down
strikes her between the eyes.
Her breath taken from her
filling up on the blind of luminance
“Jane,
Jane
Jane can you hear me?”

 

copyright: jeanne Adwani

Photo: Jeanne Adwani.

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The Bench… one fools awakening


Day 3 of NaPoWriMo… my on going quest to write a poem/story, adding some made up bit every day, cause I can and it feels delightfully like a foolish thing to do.  Us Fools do like to Jump in, after all.

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The gift of the Bench… an awakening A Journey. 3 April 2017

There would be no explaining this.
Pressed deep into the wooden bench
Letting the wind tease at her edges
Letting the trickle of wet trace her cheek
Letting the smell of grass and root
weave their way passed the senseless
life so void of living, when her lungs
are filled with bird songs, her ears
held to the music of grass giggling,
and her closed eyes taking the Sun
as her lover.

There would be no explaining this
hyper sensual, elemental, out of body, and
back in again with repeat.
Laying witness to the forgotten
brought back in for remembering.
The tremble of the Universe filling her up.
Exposing the DNA of infinite connection.
Oh No…
Not in a city lost to any noticing of
the nature of this nature lost.

The hug of Verdancy, with her long
fingers and long ago memory
of a forever of Seasons changing,
wrapped tenderness around this Fool.
She fluttered in her consciousness calming
the split of her world in the abyss of clarity
Called out in a silent exhale, ‘Wake Up.”

A spell cast, a spell broken, on a park bench,
in this city of empty, on this April Fools day.
where stories of magic and earth wisdom
soaked deep into that bench wood of oak
with a thousand Foolish days that waited
for her to pause, lay down, and listen.
It had waited for Jane14.

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Foolish Reflects


A 30 day poem about The Fool’s journey.  Can I do it?  Stay with me an see.  Feel free to give suggestions what Foolish might do or Not.

GERMANY 130 This picture is when I was in Germany.  I was in a ‘crypt’.  I’m pretty sure I wasn’t supposed to do this.  It’s as close to a park bench of a picture I have.

~

A Fools Journey. 2 April 2017

Weary go the Days unattended
In the drone of beige and shadow
Eyes open, eyes shut to the ticktock
In the ‘it-doesn’t-matter-anyway’
A heart yearning for all that matters.
In a sunrise of possibilities
Purpose caves to the drab of sameness
~
Is not a Fool known to tend the fire
of surprise in the unexpected?
To poke at the skin of life ?
Leap into the known unknown?
Tumble the Joyless in to laughter?
Inspire the disheartened to wake up?
Jump into the void?
Embrace the untouchable?
Splay open the day in sudden abandon?
Show the way to foolish rapture?
~
Foolish lays on the park bench
While Spring dances on her frown
And Sun fires her closed eyes
She inhales at the edges
of the crumbles of her fate
That is no Fate at all for the fearless
She takes in the loss of her Way
That like fate is no good way at all.

Copyright, Jeanne Adwani.   2017

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30 DAYS OF A FOOL’S JOURNEY day 1


National Poetry month 2017.   Day One…30 Days of the Fools Journey.

I am attempting to tell a poetry story in 30 days about the Fool.  Perhaps it is a bit foolish of me to attempt such a foolish excursion into poetry.  Join me and see.  comment if you will.  I’d like that.

  “““““

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Foolish lost her way

She gathered her hoard around her

Buried herself in Things and stuff

Enshrined herself in the useless

In the overcrowded full of emptiness

Idle chatter filled her brain

in the nowhere to go without it

~

She wore the appropriate lonely

and the thin heels of  sorrow.

The crowd pushed at her ghost

Another no-one clambering nowhere

Making that jump into life

Into a cube of artless monotony

~

Freedom cloistered around her

Spaciousness a grey gloom

She had forgotten the wild sea

She had forgotten how to shape shift

bird to sky,  naked paws on earth

She had forgotten the deep inhale

of Spring rain and green rising.

She had forgotten the caress of love

She had forgotten the rage of fear

She had forgotten her Joy

She had forgotten how to let go

And Jump

~

April is National Poetry Month … NaPoWriMo.  http://www.napowrimo.net/   30 day, 30 Poems.

Thanks for your visit.

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ONE BABY BOY


It seemed like it was all about one little boy

Held fast to the chest, rocked in the rhythm of tender and joy.

Ten fingers and ten toes moving to the giggle and flail.

Just one baby boy all new  and sparkling,

Smelling like morning dew and Spring rising.

Soft as pony’s nose or the inside of a puppy’s ear.

Yawning for sleep in the early evening

Sobbing to be held in the wee hours of the morning.

It seemed like it was all about him

This mourning of his life taken

Nearly two decades later on the side

Of a New Hampshire road

A Police bullet through his neck

Covered in a white sheet on the side of road

A cradle of asphalt and rebel gravel

Soft and limp, breath-less, broken

Even in the not seeing I can see him there

Urging my inner vision to gather another memory

Of his baby self all new and wanting

Helpless and needy in that crib, shimmering.

Picking all that hungry life up

Gathering him to my open heart

Cooing and smiling at his magnificence

~

Sobbing for the loss of him

Sobbing for the loss of Orlando

Sobbing for the insanity of suicide bombers

Sobbing for the whole planet and all of us

Held hostage to fear and righteousness

It seemed like it was all about this one baby boy

When giving all my unshed tears to him

Might some how free up space to weep for the world

Weep for all those that I now gather to my heart

I let it all matter, ALL of it

It all matters starting with one

sweet, new baby boy.

Rest in peace.

copyrite .. jadwani

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The Ending is a New Beginning


Day 30… the last day of National poetry Month.

Thank you to those who have followed and read my work.

I deeply appreciate that.

As is my favorite style of poetry, I give you a pantoum.

I will be gathering my pantoums for a poetry book.

Stay tuned.

~~~~~~

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BE HERE NOW

A day comes to sunset, a story ends, a loved one dies.

A relationship meets its closure, a beginning finds it’s end

And endings make a place for a new possibility

Life is woven in spirals, cycles of starts and finishes

~

A relationship meets its closure, a beginning finds its end

The in-betweens hold the reactions, the bitter and the sweet

Life is woven in spirals, cycles of starts and finishes

Curves and turns, betrayals and losses, the heart breaks

~

The in-betweens hold the reaction, the bitter and the sweet

The re-start is out of reach in the crush of life’s take away

Curves and turns, betrayals and losses, the heart breaks

A new day gives rise out of the dark night

~

The re-start is out of reach in the crush of life’s take away

And endings make a place for a new possibility

A new days gives rise out of the dark night

A day comes to sunset, a story ends, a loved one dies

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