Estuary

Conifers and

salmon,

seagrass and

shellfish—

where fresh

meets salt,

where the tide

meets the river

in a cocktail

of creation;

a symphony,

if you will,

of the Conductor’s hand

who sets the tempo

and shapes the Sound

I live in.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

For Poetry Jam:  Where You’re At.  Peggy has asked us to write about where we live.  I live in Puget Sound, a beautiful estuary region in Washington State.

Fourteen

Like a classic car,

or old school stuff

that never goes out of style,

like when people say, in admiration,

“they just don’t make ‘em like that anymore”

you

make me grin

and say to myself,

yes, they do.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

An instant classic.   

I know, I know, spoken like a Mom.  But what can I say?  I adore the kid.  He celebrated his 14th birthday this weekend.  

Photo © 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Osprey

Osprey

Image found in the Public Domain

Osprey is hungry—

had the niner,

tattooed and tough,

but that meal wasn’t enough.

So, says he,

it’s off to New York,

feels like I could eat a horse.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

Ok, so I am having a bit of fun.  The Seahawks beat the 49ers for the NFC Championship and are going to Superbowl XLVIII to face the Broncos!  The seahawk is another name for the bird of prey the osprey.

Old Otalgia

Compassion’s earache

sits on the tattered couch

worn thin by visitors

who came to get

and seldom returned to give.

Compassion’s earache

sips Pepto-Bismol

straight from the bottle,

waiting for someone

to take her out

for a real drink,

or at least make

her some chamomile,

pop in a DVD,

and rub her feet

once in a while.

Compassion’s earache

has thick-skinned,

broad shoulders

even when we are

too blind to see them droop,

too thin-skinned to care,

and too deaf to hear her

when she calls for us to listen too.

© 2014 Jennifer Wagner

I’m back from a little blog-sabbatical and it’s OpenLinkNight at dVerse!

Sky's Advent (a Fibonacci poem)

Stars

fill

and spill

the black orchid

night streaked silken with shimmering,

all flickering in remembrance of one so small.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

For dVerse Poetics and the Poetry Pantry

What Flavor are Your Snowflakes?

Remember when

snowflakes

came in our favorite flavors—

running to catch them

on our tongues,

delighted smiles

on our faces?

Mine’s peppermint!

Mmm…Grandma’s peanut brittle!

I got egg nog!

Cinnamon!

Catching them in our hands,

licking the

dark chocolate-orange,

licorice,

sugar plum

flakes

drifting

and catching in hollows

where mittens

dipped

and

lifted

and

savored

in the perfect snow globe

of our imaginations.

Do you think we’re meant to

carry those wishes

with us

as we grow?

And as we grow,

that they should grow too?

Imagine—

clean water

filling hollows,

a fresh well

for life.

But that’s my flavor,

what’s in your snow globe?

For Poetry Jam:  Magic of Childhood.

2.5 billion people in the world do not have access to adequate sanitation.  That’s one in three of the world's population.  Poor water/sanitation/hygiene is the second leading cause of death in children under the age of 5 in the world, sub-Saharan Africa being the top affected region.

Statistics and information:

World Vision

Water.org

Charity: Water

Water Aid

I can’t personally vouch for any of these organizations/charities as far as donations and outcome.  I’m doing research myself for our family to get involved.  Here’s to impacting our world with our dreams.  Happy Holidays!

Bloom & Float

Art by CatrinWelz-Stein

Let’s put our thinking caps on;

we can come up with something—

I’ve always longed for a way to fly.

Somehow I knew

if we picked enough weeds,

cleared enough fallow ground,

we’d bloom and float.

It’s true,

dreams can happen

when another thing dies—

like saying goodbye

is hello to something new

in another tongue.

We just have to remember

to hold on

in the dark

where we’ll finally find—ourselves

above the clouds, among the stars.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

A couple of months ago Claudia at dVerse offered us the opportunity to write to the fascinating and inspiring artwork of Catrin Welz-Stein.  I wrote this piece but had never posted it (it was my son’s birthday and a busy time).  So I’ll be submitting it for OpenLinkNight!

 

Proven

International District, Seattle WA

Photo © 2013 Jennifer Wagner

Afterward

she felt just like

the used condom,

            discarded

amidst the cigarette butts

and partially eaten food.

The refuse

stacked up,

lining the side streets

and back streets

of the insides of her,

piling up

on her chalk outline.

Wasn’t she

what had been done to her?

But the point of no return

to what               

she thought of herself

was the road less traveled,

            a cross in the path—

and the journey upward,

a process

littered

with the things

she has chosen to leave behind;

and that has made all the difference.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

A little bit of a spin off Robert Frost’s The Road Not Taken.

dVerse OLN

bliss

a love note/poem from my hubby

via refrigerator magnets

photo © 2013 jennifer wagner

a soft tangerine moon

glows there

where i put my hand over your heart,

feel your breath slow and even

chest rising, falling

            rising, falling

and i can’t catch myself, either—

from drifting off

into the green poem

of us

where you

lift me up to the branches

to catch my footing,

where the

light shines through

its trembling leaves.

i hold them tight,

let the sun play in angled drops

on my face, close my eyes to

feel the favor

of your smile,

and then open them again

to focus

on eden appearing,

in the closing

of the blue distance.

© 2013 Jennifer Wagner

dVerse OpenLinkNight 

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

wondering

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. ² For I determined not to know anything among you except Jesus Christ and Him crucified. ³ I was with you in weakness, in fear, and in much trembling. ⁴ And my speech and my preaching were not with persuasive words of human^[b] wisdom, but in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, ⁵ that your faith should not be in the wisdom of men but in the power of God.