Showing posts with label jeanne rene watson poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label jeanne rene watson poetry. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 20, 2026

upon the axis of perfection & to give (two poems)

by jeanne rené  

~upon the axis of perfection 

the sun rose
rivers fell into the oceans
oceans fed the heavens
and on our day
before this day . . .


Her
Times tossed out of rhyme
Sight defined ~
The blitz around the corner,
Upright pedal rush.
Speed bump curb into the driveway
Wheels dumped in crash abandon
Five-steps in a two-step sprint to the front door.

Vibrations radiate~
The marathon up the stairs,
Jumbled sensations of enthusiasm.
Baying forever feedback,
Manic
mad
unmelodious beat.

Cold stepping out
From refrigerator door open,
Banging.
Winged kiss on the cheek,
Spoiled
Devil-eyed wink
"Hi mom."

Time
Passages
Life
Toss of the dice
Visions undermined~
The cold shuffling down
The body torn.
Life pools a red halo
Conquering the weightless dust .
"I’m cold. . . so cold . . ."
Winged kiss on the wind
I love you, mom.

I love you, mom,
Carried home.
Spoils of war
In her womb.

She shakes . . . dreams tossed
Out of time. Out of life.
A hand wakes her sleep.
". . . It's time to go."

and with
this day new
rivers fall into the oceans
oceans feed the heavens
and the sun will set . . . .


the sun rises

the sun sets
Our sons die 

Daughters die
With our rising.


Copyright jeanne ren
é  

 *****************************************

To Give

They give their lives at nineteen . . . twenty.
Give their lives in years which do not hold the measure of evolution,
Lives that fly the course of intimacy with a definitive breath.
They give
    years whose run will no longer chase a callow heart,
    till that heart finds again a promised path.

To have
none but these unpolished days.
    Faithful silence,
    hold time before their sealed lids,
    the measure of what road laid ahead before this hour.

arms wrap around
a chest pounds
trickle of water over lips
     High sun blinds as he’s tossed into the air.
     Wiggling,
     laughing too loud
     he lands in his father’s hands.
     One more time Daddy. . . One more time.

sands sift through fingers

Give
Your tears.

Give
A prayer of evolution.


copyright jeanne rené  

Monday, November 25, 2024

Every Son

 by jeanne rené

Marty Jr.
 

His eyes were soft
A careless light blue
Hair just plain brown
Tossed about his shoulders
And swept across his face
In the morning’s flurry

He crossed over a lane of traffic
With baited anticipation
Looking, so in character
Vintage, dirty way-baggy jeans
Dragging under his boots
Fatigue jacket, swollen backpack

He was young
And old
In maybe some nineteen years
His smile white-washed
Whatever pain he felt
From the thorns in his side
And the pebbles in his shoes

Thank you, ma'am
To the five I held out the window
I looked at him, in explanation
I have two sons
and smiled back
Perhaps
He knew what I left unsaid

He spun around quickly
A hotfoot back to the island
Between life’s metered routine
Of off-ramp or on-ramp
Cardboard and marker prayer
I want to go home
Please help

-------

Marty launched himself on the couch
Disturbing my peace
What ya’ doing, mom
Leaning against my side
With a calculated grin
So seldom done anymore
His shoulder length hair
cast across his face



jeanne rené 10/03


 


Monday, March 11, 2019

Ahh, humanity!

by jeanne rené
photo jeanne rené




They’re bruised and bony
but …

I’m down on my knees today
to converge upon the living
who scuttle between the common garden stone
and shelter under forsaken rose petals,
Focusing my manufactured lens
on the honey bee zig-zag
or zooming in and out on the finer, more intricate subtitles
of scaly appendage or iridescent thorax,
I try to find the gleam, glint of fragile wings
capture it, post it, paste it
segments of sanity
membranes of memory to linger upon God’s finer points of creation.

I’m down on my knees today
looking for my prayers,
God’s finer course of dialogue
for I grow gray and cracked, as time shuffles haphazardly
between yesterday’s perception and today’s reality.
I need the camera, its shameless sight
to clarify my personal perspective.

Outside the camera my garden agonizes,
blundered, burdened.
The hydrangea withers, its flower-head bent.
Untethered the dahlia snaps.
Barren,
I cannot heal my children,
cannot exhale after inhaling.

… I covet the compound eye
lenses in triplicate times triplicate
mankind in mosaic medley 360 degrees composition
I beg,
let me hover with the house fly above brow and bed,
and squeal … antennae twitching enthusiastically “Ahhh, humanity!

Today I cannot heal my children in portraits black and white.
I’m down on my knees
digging for daylight.


jeannerene 8/2010