Insights into the world around us.

Yeah right,
like I have any insights into anything
except stir frying oriental food.
I have been struggling 42 years
with my existence on this earthly realm.
I am no closer to finding out the answers
as I am of ending world poverty.

I speak mostly through poetry
or more correctly Prose,
cause my words to not rhyme,
I find it tiresome
to always try to find just the right word,
when Prose gives you the freedom
to just let it roll off your pen.


Tell Me

How will I ever know?
if the choice I made was right?
Who will tell me
if I did the right thing?

I had no support
in making this decision.
I was all alone,
held captive
by invisible chains
made of steel.
Not wrapped around my heart,
but around my mind and body.




There are certain times when the creativity flows
More than others, usually when I am under stress.
So when I get unusually wordy you will know.

Sometimes I am on top of the world
Flying on eagle’s wings.
Eagle’s Wings




Golden sun,
Shine on my upturned face.

West wind,
Blow the tears from my cheeks
and softly ruffle my hair.

Little stars,
Twinkle and smile at me
from the midnight sky.

Light golden glow of the moon,
Guide my path,
so I can find my way.

Oceans breeze,
Cool me, when things get to heated,

Tiny wild flowers,
in the field, calm me with your light scent.

Snow capped mountains,
Give me the strength to carry on.

Eagle's wings,
Give me speed.



And sometimes I am on the edge of a precipice
Waiting to dive off.

The last Thread

Her shrouded form, is hidden from view.
Behind the ancient oak tree,
With it’s gnarled fingers, reaching into the night.

The dark hood masks
her beautiful auburn hair , and her tear stained face.
Ethereal clouds obscure the radiance
of tonight’s moon. As if refusing to witness
this event, on this hallowed eve.

The fine silver thread symbolizing
the last bit of hope for her future,
dangles from her trembling fingers.

The evening breeze plays with her hair,
as she removes the woolen hood,
Hearing the waves Confidently crashing against the rocks,
as she walks to the edge, gives her courage.

The clouds relinquish the moon’s prophecy.
As she holds her delicate hand up for the offering.

Sobbing quietly as she releases
the last of the fine silver thread.
It catches upon the wind’s current
and is carried over the sharp cliffs
into the sea forever.


Someday I will find all the answers to my questions.
But will it be too late to act upon them.
Or is it a good thing that I can’t.

Take the ride with me!

Jeanne