Tag Archives: JUST JEANNE

I Told You I’d Be Back




Winter gives his last snowy brilliance

Decorating the Spring green in soft white fluff

Flocking the land for a final ‘I told you I’d be back’


Sun and blue fill the morning in golden radiance

Glittering the land in a last push of winter’s silver shiver

The melt is here ready to give moist to the cold land


Spring’s lust will not be denied for her bounty to rise

She will seed it, birth it hard to give her green to the Sun

To color the earth with each step of Persephone


Winter gives his last glorious hooray and goodbye

The season has declared herself in the days longer

The land softening, opening to the call. She’s back




jeanne Adwani @copyrights 2021

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Filed under EARTH DAY, jeanne adwani, Jeanne Beauchamp, MICHIGAN POET, NAPOWRIMO




In the the tangle of roots and leaf

in the quiet of wood and bark

In the smell of pine and earth

Eyes fly wide open in a gasp

Life force resumes in the push

of breath ballooning lungs

with tingling cells in the rush

of blood from heart to head

From a slow to nothing return

Life racing, racing.

The restraint of wood and roots

ease with her steady heart beat

and the even flow of air to lungs.

What was before her eyes only

moments ago assure her

she is where she began in the so-it-seems

The Light hangs differently

Wind tickles her edges

and the silence has no voice

in the birds and scamper of

squirrels and rabbits.

“Mother, Mother. leaps from her lips

eyes darting in the familiar unfamiliar

The fine carriage and horses

nowhere to be seen,

No road, No human presence

The ocean sparkles in the distance.

Aloneness is a quiver inside rising.

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Filed under FANTASY, NAPOWRIMO, national poetry month, NATURE, Uncategorized



There is no joke to the leap

A Fool

morgan greer deck

might you be laughing.

There is no seriousness to the leap

might you be glib

Maybe it is the jump into

what seems void and empty

that stirs and provokes


Maybe what can’t be seen

or held, or appears to not be able

to be stashed, or carried

In the tunic, the sash,

the tight fitting pants,

Or that tattered pouch on a stick

slung aimlessly over the shoulder

holding nothing but stones

and poetry , a sprig of love

and a twig of fear, the sound of

Eternity’s enchantment whispering


Might these hold you to the limited belief

that what needs having to leap into Life

Is not had for such emptiness

So much unknown-ness,

So much riskiness

So much fool hardiness

into the boundless void.


Ah, for the little dog called Loyal

Faithful innocence of joy and the moment

Instinctual knowing in the

Wisdom of Love unconditional


And she listen to the talisman pouch

as it whispers the certainty of what is unseen

in the infinite beyond.

It gives call to the Alchemical

process of the impossible mixed with the



She Jumps

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Filed under APRIL FOOL, FOOL, Fool's journey, Uncategorized

Pantoum for Colliding Paradigms

Did Alice know?  Down the hole we go.  It’s not moving very slow… anymore.


A matrix of illusive illusions in call to kinship desires

Paradigms collide hoping for the win

Fear wants for the caress of love and safety

How the ease is made for these deceptions

Paradigms collide hoping for the win

Choices make way for diverse consequences

How the ease is made for these deceptions

“Only you can prevent forest fires”

Choices make way for diverse consequences

Power is not over other, it is within

“Only you can prevent forest fires”

Smokey the Bear modeled stewardship

Power is not over other, it is within

Stake your power to the Highest good

Smokey the Bear modeled stewardship

Your land needs your greatest care

Stake your power to the Highest Good

Fear wants for the caress of love and safety

Your land needs your greatest care

A matrix of illusive illusions in call to kinship desires

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I found out sometime in my mid to late 20’s that my parents were between two names for me before my birth; Angelique and Jeanne.  My visceral reaction was, “Why didn’t you call me Angelique, for God’s sake?”   Instead, I got Jeanne, just Jeanne.  I felt some serious disappointment in those first few weeks of thinking I could have been Angelique, torturing all my friends with ‘what if’.  What a special creature I might have been. When the name rolled off my tongue it seemed so much more sexy and exotic compared to Jeanne.  I could be called ‘Angel’ and it would be such a little lie.  I could feel a shimmer of naughtiness in the thought of it. What kind of Angel would I be?

‘Angie’ would never happen.  That was a derivative of Angelique that held my tongue to the roof of my mouth.  I was Not to be called Angie and then I thought, I wasn’t, I was called Jeanne. And I did prefer to be called Jeannie.

Names are powerful.  They have an energy to them, a sensation when we say them out loud; A rhythm, a pulse,  a feel of right or not.  There might be an imagining about this person’s name that we don’t think too much of when we first meet them, because we’re busy in the introductions and the visuals.   If we like them or don’t, we might be more inclined to remember their name, repeating it with a visual of their face, or something particular to them we noticed.  It might not make or break the liking of them because of their name, and some names are haunting even in their simplicity.

I imagined what kind of person I might have been had I been Angel.  I would have been different. My essence would be the same.  And I would have had some attitude that comes with a name like that:  suspiciously sweet, inherently sexy, surprisingly not innocent.  Jeanne is plain, androgynous, a name that feels safe, and holds no suspicion, it is sexless and could be boring.  I’m not boring.  I did have my sexy years.

Being Angel could have been a blasphemy to the heavens.  Some days I would have held pride to that, and others I would have felt terribly wrong and darkly deceptive.  I would have felt undeserving of a name that holds so much weight and implication relative to angelic goodness and light.  I wasn’t going to nor will I now, join that ‘fallen angel’s’ status of Satan.  I’m not a believer.

Nope, Jeanne, just Jeanne.  That’s me.