Friday, October 19, 2012

Friday, October 12, 2012

Troll Bridge

facing the winter
of a hearse driven life
you soldier on
with skeletons in the closet
clacking along

the last frost covered leaf
curled and brown, laced with silver,
blows away in the wind

the wind,
there to bite you
sting you,
 remind you

of regrets and demons without, within—cackling
in the still-deadness
where your still-living questions
ask if you have left
them behind

they pick lustily
at your flesh, with tempting,
at your mind, with amoebic doubts—
troll-like, in a present-day quagmire
on one side of the bridge; whereupon crossing
you hear a voice
which says to Call This

The Bridge Where You Rename Yourself

                                                    And Forgiven, And Worth

                       Overcomer                                                                        Being

Names like                                                                                                                  Loved

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Inspiration: Isaiah 62, Revelation 2, and a dream that woke me up

For the prompt at Poetry Jam and for  Poets United Poetry Pantry

*Note: this piece doesn't read right on most hand-held devices.  For accuracy read on a larger screen.

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Baiting Hooks with Luke

At 9 years old
it’s funny how
half the bait slips off the hook
before it hits the water.


A lonely barely-bit of bait,
not worth a triploid trout’s time, really—
makes it
into Rufus Woods Reservoir.

He shrugs, though, good enough—
just to get it out there,
sits down on the dusty rock
and waits
for a pulse on the line.

He owns this moment
as I watch him
smile a bit,
flick his foot in the water,
and gaze at the opposing hills;
while I wonder
what he’s thinking.

No more than half a minute goes by, and

‘Got one’ he says, not surprised, at all—
and begins reeling;
the rest of us look at each other,
shake our heads,
and laugh a bit in disbelief.

Something about
the faith of a child
to know you don’t have to
be perfect,

sometimes fish
are just hungry.

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

to be linking up with the amazing poets at dVerse Poets Pub this week

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Inconsequentially Rotating the Ball

yoga, green tea, SUV
pop culture, church, reality TV
and don’t forget trips to Ha-wa-ii
raining down words
while sitting fat
like Jabba the Hutt
on a throne
of carc-ass-es

children of the same god

Mother Teresa should send us all to our rooms
to think about it

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

i like some of the things i’ve listed here, so this is not meant to offend anyone if they like any of them too…it’s just thoughts about what’s important on this big ball we live on and what we do, and don’t do, on it…

Monday, October 1, 2012

Never Lose the Ability to Get Lost

blonde and brown
heads bobbling
with energy
they, like arrows,
pierce the earth
with exuberance
never losing
their silly, boyish grins
as i watch them
jumping, bouncing
wrestling each other
on the trampoline
where they forget
brotherly offenses
i hope they never lose this
ability to get lost
in the moment
with laughter
and forgiveness
like dollops of rain
drenching the
thirsty onlookers
and me the memory of it

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

my boys and how they work things out, my favorite people to watch…meant to link up to Brian Miller’s people watching poetics prompt, 6 Billion Others at dVerse, but got busy and was too late…so I’ll be linking it to openlinknight

Friday, September 28, 2012

Falling - A Set of Haiku

old country road
blanket of pine needles
your cheeks ruddy


my cold hand
in yours


smoke rising
flames bursting
scent of leaves


sweeping over
shades of dusk
black crow moon


cattle lowing
a song
for autumn


cinnamon swizzle stick
hints on my lips


crème brûlée,
and the salt in your kiss


Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

recuerda mi corazon and Poetry Pantry

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

Newly Fallen White

Her skirt of scarlet pulled
from the ankle;

as she hastened her steps
breath rose in forms of smoky blue.

Stopping cold on broken twigs
frozen in fairy tale,

she peered upward. Snow fell
with no cloud in the sky.

How soon lovers forsake the
faithful whispers of moonlight;

cooing birds shutter, flutter
and blur the lines with tears.

She’d only wanted one to love her,
but tragic oaths of mutilated promise                 

breed an anemic beast hungry for
a burning, scorching bite.

The milky air
washed invisible the copse of antiquity

while her lips turned aubergine
against the newly fallen white of frosty vows.

She squeezed the fruit and
licked the juice of indiscretion

with no pleasure.

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

dVerse OpenLinkNight Opening 12pm Pacific Time

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

9:11 am

Shift ends at 8am
and I look over at the clock

It’s odd to me he often arrives
at 9:11, post commute

I try not to think about
that nightmare

I had struggled to get
out of my mouth

Shaking and choking
as I tried to tell him about it;

The one where I am at his funeral
with our sons beside me

I just enjoy the moment
of being a firefighter’s wife

Enjoy his smile and laugh
full, when he bursts in the door

Sounding like the Ghost of Christmas Present
rich and deep, full of all things good

Today is the day I think about those photographs
with the towers in calamity

The firefighters rushing to, and in
while others are running away, and out

The looks on their faces
telling bravery is not without fear

It is committing to give
in spite of it

Not withdrawing
courage to save someone else’s spouse,

Someone else’s children
while praying someone will remember theirs

And I do

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner 

Posted to dVerse Poets

Friday, September 7, 2012

Russet and Gold

russet dreams
in flax and gold
spun through my fingers

crisp and cool
and bright
the mornings of disappearing mist

crunch of apples
sliced and sprinkled
cinnamon and sugar

little fingers
licked clean
i kiss their cowlicked heads

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner

Autumn Series Haiku 

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Purple Shoelaces

She is
hiding behind black everything—
hair protruding from a black hoodie,
covering all but one eye.

Headphones are pumping sounds
into the darkly shrouded form;
I see the wires that must lead to an iPod
—hidden somewhere.

Staring down, so as not to
greet the oft-dismissing world, she walks
with slow purpose, counting the steps,
within the walls
where she keeps her fear of rejection.

She looks at me, despite herself,
as if she doesn’t want to be seen, but does—
and she can’t hide it
soon enough
that she is happy
to be noticed.

Hers eyes are pools of wounded gray,
deep, and soulful.
And I keep looking—eyes tell stories,
and dreams,
and everyone should have one.

Then I spot them—her black Converse shoes
have purple shoelaces,
and this bespeaks
the truth.
She doesn’t want to be disregarded.
is just waiting
until it’s safe
to be seen.

I smile, at them, at her;
and she grins, lifts her chin,
and walks on.
While it occurs to me
we’re all
wearing purple shoelaces.

Copyright 2012 Jennifer Wagner