A Poem: "For Once"

Once again, another beautiful morning has lifted my spirits into an enlightened wakefulness. I cherish the wee hours of the morning when all is still asleep, waiting for the sun to break and spread its warmth, as I am in my most lucid state of mind. Everyday I am up at 4am and, although I could use a bit more sleep, love the quiet tranquility I am able to embrace in a welcomed solitude. It is just before daybreak where my mind is clear of any future intentions and I write in a naked bliss (not literally of course haha) and this morning was no exception.

For Once
By Jenna Reimer

Though many blossoms sway in the morning breeze,
Their roots remain as one.
I breathe this summer wind, transcendent;
Yet, I discern my mind and body beyond this picture.
It is this picture, hesitant and uncertain,
That has never given me a shining reflection
Of a lighted vision of deeper clarity.
Much like the surface of a well’s water,
Whose contents are hidden inside a murky grave,
I whither into my own intentions.
Looking outside the window
Discovering a nectar-like truth,
I begin to sway my own leaves and flowers.

Entrance into the Field

Here I am amidst a wave of dying wheat
swaying in a fragrance of burnt oak.
My feet heavy within a listless gut;
an inconclusive body
in a realm of bitter soil.

Malicious clouds observe a ruin,
unnourished and dim-
a pith of a steeped soul.
A boundless dream once
hidden within your broad mouth.

Earth of sweet marrow,
embrace me to a life.
To your death,
To your trodden pasture,
where a neutral path blazes,
and is still, and breathes.

Let us be destroyed by fire.
Let us be silent.

Haiku #1

A magnolia’s
withered petals avow
its soulless rebirth.

The Breath

The breeze comes and reunites us all,
singing alone, giving rise to all of our songs;
The songs being the law of vivid life-
It is our very essence,
an essence which holds our substance,
advancing while detaching in night and day,
in man and beast.

Here is where silence becomes it’s own unwinding-
Transitioning into a wholeness
where words become fruitless,
where our eyes become our words,
where to speak is to die then to not speak; a movement
into a truer human form.

Everything in birth and death-
awareness, oneness, clarity, stillness,
become a blended existence amongst us all
where vibrant beauty is understood,
not through language,
but sensed in a shared breath.

Where the eyes give the lucid quality to glass,
breath in breath,
the essence, in essence itself.

While Boiling an Egg

In harrowing fears the wind works against us.
Branches build within the confines of our mind,
the roots of our soul;
the harrowing fears of our very heart.
Snow pelts windows and withers trees
waltzing along the sodden pasture line
forgetting the profit and loss.
Here is no soil but only water,
no water but soil in a bogged road
where pebbles drift from mountains
who too once were the pith of a stone.
The desolate, the heavy earth,
the faded sky is loved by those
who are gladdened by simple beaten grey,
a hoary now with a lurking mist.
Not today, I've learned to understand
the love of summer storm,
but it were worthless to tell her so.