Showing posts with label Cellars of Words. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Cellars of Words. Show all posts

Friday, January 16, 2015

Resurgences (2 tenWords)

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winter garden
tiny grave beds
(tu)lips are whispering,
come, spring”

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tracing her scars
like braille, mouthing,


© 2015 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse, the tenWord, a form created by Brian Miller.

Monday, November 11, 2013

Simply Jesus

your blood blooms still 
© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

When there’s not enough hyssop
to cleanse me of all these flaws—
I think I must live with them,
make slow improvements
with the
tick tick tick
of time’s cruel elements.

I know too well this unruly thing
inside me is me,
but there, too,
is the me that hungers for her first love

somewhere buried beneath
bruising, hardening, scarring
it throbs,
however disjointedly.

I am not a girl of
ritual, rules or religion.
I only know that at fifteen
I just wanted
to hold Your hand.

And now,
beyond church
and the things they add to it all,
and bitter politics
and the things they take away from it all,
and morality,
and all these rules I break—

I stand here today
when did I ever get the idea
You were not enough?

In dark,
in cloud,
in lightless days,
Your blood blooms still.

And I remember
I never needed
anything else anyway.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

1 Corinthians 2:2-5.  And I, brethren, when I came to you, did not come with excellence of speech or of wisdom declaring to you the testimony[a] of God. For I determined not to know anything among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified. I was with you in weakness, in fear, and in much trembling. And my speech and my preaching were not with persuasive words of human[b] wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, that your faith should not be in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.

Saturday, August 17, 2013


© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

I searched and searched
for the sun, but could not find it.

So I traveled east to where your arms
grew soft against mine, softer.

The full bloom scent of electric blue
burst within the wild

to chase that dark day wisp of cloud to white—
white like night when just past black,

and into new day dawning
to find and enter that centered

rose of sun,
asking where I’ve been.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Friday, July 12, 2013


Organic Brandywine Tomato Sprouts

I’m going to buy an orchard
and pick fruit, waving flies away.

I’ll wear a straw hat
and a sleeveless shirt.

I’m going to garden
and bake pies—

thick ones, full of hearty chunks of tart fruit.
And I am going to walk in the evenings,

when it’s still light,
after grilled chicken and sliced tomatoes.

And I’m going to forgive myself
when I remember all the things I never did.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner


Monday, June 3, 2013

After the Thunderstorm Night


When you
look at me like that,

as if I’ve hung the paper heart moon
with artistic hands,

a lavender morning mists softly
against my skin, each cell brightening,

stretching toward a living,
growing new day.

All I want is to breathe,
to breathe in this sky of moment, deeper,

to feel each evolving hue as it rises
like milk and sugared tea on my tongue;

to hum my birdsong notes
back to you,

and your arms
of encircling sun.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

“Birds sing after a storm; why shouldn't people feel as free to delight in whatever sunlight remains to them?”  -Rose Kennedy

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

The Carbon Dioxide (of Poetry)

when all the shapes of dreams
flew by outside your window

and you couldn’t catch one
to call your own,

when every
gnarly, blighted

branch of life’s undoing
rotted right up through your soles,

those pieces of poems called out,
laying dormant in blades of nevermind grass,

for you to crawl
across the grit of unholy floors,

to find grace through
time-smudged glass

and see them
beneath the soil, coiled

and waiting for you
to breathe them into birth


Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

A sort of tribute to poetry itself, as it is National Poetry Month, and how poets are given poetry and with it the ability to turn pain into art.


Sunday, March 10, 2013

Maybe She's Shy

crimson grapes, image:  public domain

there’s a musical
on the back of her tongue
never sung
but it tastes
like vintage pauillac bordeaux
if you let her
do the talking

Copyright © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

*The wines of Pauillac are rich, full bodied and tannic, while gracefully combining elegance with power coupled with complexity.  They have the ability to age and evolve for decades. It has been said the best Pauillac wines taste like “An iron fist in a velvet glove.”  The Wine Cellar Insider.

For Grace's Sunday Mini-Challenge:  Poets in the Kitchen at Imaginary Garden with Real Toads
and for the Poetry Pantry #141 at Poets United.