A Poem: "My Breath, Taken Twice"

My Breath, Taken Twice
By Jenna Reimer

My breath, taken twice
Is all I have to tell today.
Once, kissed by a soft wind,
My cheeks flushed a rose-red-
Twice, that breeze parting
Into an eternal distance-
This is poetry I cannot write.
This, and my heart, and all the trees,
And all the fields wide,
In time I may forget-
And never a pen will speak
This feeling so fleetingly.

Serene Saturday... A Poem

To Sleep
By Jenna Reimer

I must sleep – though my body will not allow.
Waves of wind draw shadows of dead leaves
Strewed about my window,
Drifting in a breeze singing of tomorrows;
Leaf upon leaf, leaf upon earth.
Birds cry in the blustery breeze
Thundering crossways that once held them
Suspended in the air.
An untamed chill steals my essence
Falling into a bittersweet place.
The roar of a furnace, the fleeting traffic,
Heavy feet treading the walkway:
It lessens my limbs and softens my brow;
All to release me into a feathered slumber.
An opened door rattles and swishes
In the final spray of that very wind
Who disturbs the resting.
My eyes fall into my mind, my mind
Falls into a troubled state of dreary;
Lips slightly open, enough for a breath of wind-
Let me dream while night goes by,
And never goes by.

That Night of Time, Beneath Breath of Wind

My vision rapt by a calm presence;
a truth so untouched and clear
has unearthed a weakened essence
far removed from this body of fear.
Night has casts her blackened shawl;
all begins to take shape of a form
so unfamiliar and dull.
Sorrow wept through vicious storm;
clouds cursed with a thunder
that shakes a sleeper’s eye.
The screams of weathers wrath
eats my will in dire time.
Such hardened rain pounds my door.
Strikes of lightening damn the skies,
softening a grip I held before,
all lost in angry battle outside.
Have I found a lucid kind
during a raging wretched gust?
A refuge born by heavens rage;
a squall in which appeals my trust.
My truth; naked in sweat of fear
in a defiant second birth.
An absence of love held so dear
was revealed by an angered earth.
It was that night of tranquil time
beneath a haven; breath of wind.
An undoing of my mind
had spoke only by way of storm.

The Last Summer part II

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-
now hoary in a lurking mist.
Not today, I’ve learned to understand
the love of summer storm,
but it were worthless to tell her so.