Passing Colors

With already November,

Month last passing

independently

left behind

it’s fall-ish exterior

 

thousands of yellow and red

leaves still due for tear, fall,

landing.

 

Perhaps I shall pick one

to keep, then wonder

why it is not green

for it was when I turned around.

Dream

I dreamt I married
I awoke alone
my concious shouted
“you won't ever!”
I will I say
I can dream
and what I dream
I cannot predict
but it predicts itself
whilst I wonder
with a finger against
my chin.

Generation of Birds

Grandpas love for birds

is clearly expressed; with

at least four houses

and enough baths

for each it seems, they

are amused and always welcome.



Mom wished for a bird bath,

and more bird feeders;

she wanted a piece of her father

close by and in sight;

binocular, also like him.



Sister now

has a bird house hanging from

her tree, possibly telling

her daughters of their great-grandpa’s

love for birds. She loves them too,

like mom.



I would like a bird house someday.

In Thought

take my poems

and seal it with

bound or spirals,

dedicate it to the

dear one who inspired

me.



read it, and in my voice

picture the

drive in which

my hand recorded

for I cannot write

and feel at any time

in daylight



I need sunlight and birds,

dark room and fan

my heart and my interests.

Grocery Birds

first, one bird rumored and threatened

then I spy another; this other bird, at least

it has company, but no feed.

They flap rapidly, sending them

across the enormous

ceiling, without smashing and breaking.



Birds don’t belong in retail;

shoo them out of their unrealistic habitat

hide away the slingshot and hope they find

the exit with light.

Eight Days

eight days 'til the train whistle
strikes our ears,
like the 'ol mice
who skip up and down
the fifty five year old
main

eight days 'til the singin'
soars, the dancin'
swings you 'bout;
the want, the need,
the pleasure
to join in every direction
fun.

Eight days 'til
our cash becomes magnetic
to magical merchandise
even to dreamy
steamy churros

c'mon eight days turn
into one, then we enter into
those cheery gates into the
adorned park
and hollar out of excited lungs!

Ode to Tennis

Meet racket;
The balls tutor.
Teaches how to
Send and return
Back.

Meet ball;
Held firmly
To be tossed
then transported.

Meet net;
The balls rival.
Goal is to soar above
Not to.

Serve
Swing
Grunt

Racket is pleased
That ball takes on
Such a task.

Logan Cemetery

Second time
All together
Now sunny
Then, murky:

ironic the rain,
stricter mood;
With loved ones gathered
Eyes on U.S. flag
Blanketing custom bed
Tears blended from
Falling wet.

To stay a while longer
Though the time would come
To join the earth,
Not him, but his body.

One year after
Stone of his favorite things
We gather in the sun
Much lighter mood.

June 5, 2010

Reel Cereal

Not popcorn but
Cereal in all
Varieties
For the reels

The least we could do
In loving return
Of the green bills

Chex squares-golf
Cinnamon toast crunch-prizes
Bran-plane rides
Raisins-dollar bills
Corn flakes-scrabble
Big bowl-big life

That is why our hands
Swim through
Mixing it all
For we share them all

Unzip bags
To hold all memories
zip, hold, later eat;
become part of him.

1555 River Bank

Come and see
the rivers shelter
each step aged
engraved weight of kin

Forest protecting the old
wood;
Its name is solitude
Its sound is beauty

Only company
Are birds, bugs
possibly fish.

They tell me what to write
not lost in this wilderness
but in creativity


June 10, 2010

Remember Me

Early year offered two lives.
One I knew, one I didn't,
I heard you were in it
I took it.

We became friends.

When I left from
two long months
I hoped to hear you

in my sleep, in the dark,
while humming the lullabies
we made;
being away makes me feel incompetent

my empty arms.

The life I knew greets me
I take it though I don't want to,
I miss you.

When you visited with
older eyes and ears
bottles fell out from open
smiling mouths,
did you know?

I remember.
My little friends
I often think of you.




June 1, 2010

He is The Bird

He is the bird; the same whom she spoils
with feed in her palm.
He travels to and fro the bird baths and
dinner plates.

He is each one who furthers her
knowledge of natures winged
messengers.
She is the fairy,
he is the bird.

He is the bird that flew past the
new front yard, she said, “I think he likes it”
she must know he is the bird.


Britney Jensen
May 25, 2010

Sweet Little You

To my future child



Images of you

Inside of me

growing to fit in my arms,

little everything to create.



born to cradle you

I am anxious every moment.

You and Him only know

when I’ll mother you.



Baby of mine

I am waiting like you

though not in me

I still love you,

feel you.



I have learned baby;

I fed and patted

comforted and hushed

and when you come

I will know

it was for you.



One day daddy will

find me.

In time you will be ours

dreaming in our arms

quiet



sweet little you.

Chilly Moab

It is the perfect day
she said; after
so called paradise,
visiting surprised
us as
inopportune:

sun hidden and
chilly gusts.

Now, day we depart
sun lives,
wind proves ceasing;

here, we found
true Moab.

Unforgettable State

We finally found it our turn to visit. We walked in the old
quiet house. We were told he was downstairs;
feeling a little nervous I looked at my sister
then we both went to see.
Grandma greeted us with a smile, energized like her life and
the care she performed. She sat on a chair
in the corner of his room never to leave
her sweet heart in his difficult state.
Hard to come into realization, we looked at superman;
us knowing that this was our invincible grandpa,
the one who took up all our memories.
Too fatigued, his granddaughter gripped his hand to the spoon
and gently lifted it to his mouth.
I sat there watching not sure what to say
or what to do. This wasn’t a visit where
we un pack our suitcases in the rooms we called;
we weren’t going to go play ping pong and
start a game of pool; this was different.
This final visit would rehearse repeatedly in our thoughts
for the rest of our lives. I held his hand looking into his
half shut eyes to find my grandpa who
portrayed so quiet. I smiled because I love him
and said “I’ll see you soon.”

My Grandpa

My Grandpa

in black and white

hands in overall pockets,

rowdy hair

eighty years past.



Things we know of him

stay, become secure.

Heroic attributes worth

life changing

among a person



Once he passed came

sudden recollections of it all.

Fifteen year old memories

were as clear as

a recent winter visit



At goodbyes, anxious

to receive locked up

wonders-

He gave prizes from

his secret silver box



He’d reveal

George Washingtons

from his cash keeper

and reward to

young bulging eyes,



A vivid summer setting

outside his river home

plays repeatedly;

brief one on one

just Grandma and me.



Memories irremovable

on each grandchild's lane

His voice so clear

saying our names

All a keepsake.

Tears In Their Ears

We exchange sighs of relief
as the distant crying fades
not sure how to live life
due to such a big change.

We learn to savor
longed for silence;
only an hour from now
they'll break
and call with all their
lungs for us

Hush babies we've rescued you.
hold you tight
against my shoulder
kiss the rained on cheeks from
tears streaming into
their ears.

Opening Night

Yes, I'd like to make
a reservation
for the showing
of my childhood.
Preferably the
Christmas episodes
where the
traditions started.
My brother will
be joining me,
he and I grew
close as we grew.
There will be
no cancellations.

Moms Mom

Moms mom
gracefully retied
the ribbon on the
toddlers gown.
With a childrens book
in front, she'd go on
to read and point
giving her time
that would make her
feel like she was the
only child on earth;
she always gave time to play.

Dangling Earrings

On occasion of our lives with the triplets
February 12, 2010

Dangling earrings;
our reason for sanity.
Glamor among
binkies and rattles;
amusement hanging
from our lobes.

Grandma's Paint

October 17, 2009

The sun gives
ideal source
for drying acrylic;
perfect for her pages
on which she pastes
thoughts and pleasures.

Light breeze ripples
on hardening liquid.
Cool eases heat
that hits her forhead
but even then
strokes of stained fingers
on crinkled paper
ignore unsettledness.

Birds afar conquer
allowing new ideas
to enter book;
cars hum, them also
implanting a new head title.

All now that is heard
are dogs, birds, faint bugs
and grandma's brushing,
paper crackling.
The king of creative
could not even compete.

She closes book;
cracking of new and
past entries.
Thicker than a brick,
she'll return on inspired ideas.

Child Christmas

December 25, 2009

Lined up,
smallest I stand in the back;
from oldest to youngest
big brother always sees first.
Only one sneak peak:
Tree lights flickering,
echoing through the glass doors.

Scent of new pajamas,
a combination with butterflies-
How cosmic our urge to
bust through that weak door.

Mannheim music
softly heard from out of
a small boom box
blending and creating further
harmonies with the fire crackle.

Outside, black as a caved in tunnel,
falls frozen rain, flowing in
a diagonal motion;
street lights reveal such bustle.

Golden door knob rotates;
Dad tells us
Old Saint Nick stopped by…
Quickly! Let’s enter
before the sun beats Christmas morning
in Pleasant Grove.

The Wonder

In honor our Disney Cruise, approaching in two weeks.
October 23, 2009


Just over the bridge
there is a ship of red and blue.
Larger than ten houses,
there will be nothing you won't do.

We pull out our tickets;
our passport of dreams
and anxiously make way,
hastily it seems.

We are greeted by smiles
asking our names
then ringing through the ship
we catch a glimpse of fame.

Through mazes we find our rooms
then interest soars;
tall and wide we roam
up and down twelve floors.

Three pools on our left,
a movie theater on our right,
mickey mouse passing by,
cuisines at every sight!

We cannot help but smile
when smiles are all we see.
The horn blows strong and clear
filling our bodies with glee!

The water begins to hustle;
a view with no end.
The Florida breeze cools,
the Disney ship has begun to send.

Falls Ending

April 2009

Post rains visit,
as drenched leaves follow,
gusts seem to speak;
recollect on
seasons haste;
memories among scents.

It is your crimson,
not white, I wish to see.
Vibrant skies,
harmonizing with all
you have given
to my ground.

Now comes white world.
Fall last seemed to pass
Devoid of farewell.
Frozen rain raids,
layering your colors.

Here, exodus
of this glorious setting;

Ode to a Disneyland Churro

I have arrived.
Through heaving crowds
I rush eagerly
and approach
with perspiring brow.


There you are
priced at $3.00,
sitting in a diminutive booth
ran by an employee
who knows nothing
of your genuineness.
I hand over gas money,
then handed to me is you.
I gently grip your long body.
Sugar flakes
falling lightly on my pants.
My fingers attract
your shiny tiny cubes,
soon to be
covetous of my
tongue's pleasure.
I open my mouth,
eyes closed,
hearing the crushing,
collapsing sweet bread,
taste buds thrilled
of the
luscious sweet.
I wipe around my mouth,
lick,
clap hands
to release excess sugar

Oblivious to fatigue,
I am done, content.