A new Anthem

Oh say can you see, 

That we’re not really free

Until no citizen 

Is still met with aggression

From conception through death, 

Let us use all of our breath

To renounce our divides 

And build up our connections.

Then the sacrifice made

By our ancestors brave

Will not be obscured.

For equality we must implore

We must stand resolutely 

To demand a more perfect unity

For this land to be free, 

we must all become brave.

Jennifer D. Behnke 06/04/2020 

Starfish

Monday night I had a crazy idea. 

I have been thinking that I wanted 10 starfish on my Christmas tree, for some time now.

But on Monday, I decided I wanted to sit down and actually order them for my tree.

While surfing the internet in my usual state of stupor/interest my brain kept processing the connection.

Why Starfish on a Christmas tree? Many of you are probably familiar with some version of the "Star Thrower/Starfish Story". My favorite youtube explanation complete with motivational background music can be found here: 

I wanted to have 10 for my tree. One for every refugee has come through Sacred Heart since we started our unique partnership with the Archdiocese of Newark Catholic Charities Refugee Initiative.

Anyway, then I thought... what if we could get the starfish to be the symbol of Catholic Charities Refugee Initiative and convince everyone to get a starfish for their tree. And then I called Maria at Catholic Charities and she loved the idea and thought we could get volunteers and maybe do it larger... and she told me that we need to find an ethical source for starfish.

The next morning, I asked my incredibly crafty friend Ana for help, I was overwhelmed in google and pinterest wormholes. Ana cut through to the core of what I was asking. Fast, cheap, handmade, something that anyone could have a hand in creating.

She found a salt dough recipe and a cookie cutter. I tracked down 10 cookie cutters at my local mall for $1.50 each. I have 8 more for use by anyone in NNJ who wants them.

Salt Dough: Mix 2 Cups All-Purpose Flour, 1 Cup Salt, and 3/4 to 1 Cup of Water .

When the dough resembles pizza dough, roll it out and use your favorite cookie cutter. 

Starfish cookie cutter from Sur la Table 

And then the director of Religious Education at Sacred Heart asked me to make enough for the CCD families to decorate and talk about refugees and the empty manger during Advent wreath workshop and have kids decorate starfish.

So, now I have made 22 starfish and am thinking of making 978 more and there are volunteers from at least one other parish helping us on Sunday November 26 at 1:30pm and there may be more, and there is a meeting tonight about getting local nuns to help us...

Cut out starfish drying

Last night, I bought acrylic paint with a gift card that some of my choir members gave me to Target over the summer, and some tags for the words "It matters to this one" and "Thank you for Supporting Archdiocese of Newark Catholic Charities Refugee Initiative"

The tags come in packages of 30 for $1.

And then I thought, well maybe a little holly and berries would bring the season effect without being too overly decorated to the whole thing and A.C. Moore had sprigs of tiny holly for $0.50 per spring (enough for 11 ornaments)

This morning, the starfish were still a little less than fully dried out, so i put them in the oven and cranked it to 200degF for about an hour and presto... done and the impressions from the toothpicks looked more distinct.

The first prototype in 20K gold acrylic paint.

One in each color:


Additionally, my daughter took the last of the end of the first batch and made a Sanddollar "so that people 'Sand more dollars' for the refugees, mommy."
















And we can drink wine and make starfish for less than $1.15 and sell them for $5 and give the money to CC? And maybe get the Cardinal to talk about starfish... and see this is what happens when I get 8 hours of sleep.

After the Funeral

Loneliness
Like the bitter cold
Seeps
Under the door sills
And fingernails
And window frames
And eyelids
And settles
Deep
Into the marrow of my bones.

And good deeds
Of the day
blown
Like the dried leaves
And prayers
And bare branches
And tears
Away
From the recess of my heart.

At midnight
I have nothing to offer you,
Nothing that I can give back.
I am a dry well,
And an abandoned cellar.

So, fill me Lord.
Pour out Your Spirit on me,
And make me Your vessel.

For of myself,
I am nothing.

All is gone out of me,
Like the guttering flame
Of a single taper.
One
last gasp,
And
Darkness.

Jennifer D. Behnke - March 5, 2017

Flint - Christina Rossetti - (1830 - 1894)

"An emerald is as green as grass; 
A ruby red as blood; 
A sapphire shines as blue as heaven; 
A flint lies in the mud.

A diamond is a brilliant stone, 
To catch the world's desire; 
An opal holds a fiery spark; 
But a flint holds fire."  

Christina Georgina Rossetti

Hunting the Phoenix - by Denise Levertov

Leaf through discolored manuscripts,
make sure no words
lie thirsting, bleeding,
waiting for rescue. No:
old loves half-
articulated, moments forced
out of the stream of perception
to play “statue,”
and never released —
they had no blood to shed.
You must seek
the ashy nest itself
if you hope to find
charred feathers, smoldering flightbones,
and a twist of singing flame
rekindling.

Fábula De La Sirena Y Los Borrachos - Pablo Neruda (1904 - 1973)

Todos estos señores estaban dentro
cuando ella entró completamente desnuda
ellos habían bebido y comenzaron a escupirla
ella no entendía nada recién salía del rio
era una sirena que se había extraviado
los insultos corrían sobre su carne lisa
la inmundicia cubrió sus pechos de oro
ella no sabía llorar por eso no lloraba
no sabía vestirse por eso no se vestía
la tatuaron con cigarrillos y con corchos quemados
y reían hasta caer al suelo de la taberna
ella no hablaba porque no sabía hablar
sus ojos eran color de amor distante
sus brazos construídos de topacios gemelos
sus labios se cortaron en la luz del coral
y de pronto salió por esa puerta
apenas entro al rio quedó limpia
relució como una piedra blanca en la lluvia
y sin mirar atrás nadó de nuevo
nadó hacia nunca más hacia morir.



All those men were there inside,
when she came in totally naked.
They had been drinking: they began to spit.
Newly come from the river, she knew nothing.
She was a mermaid who had lost her way.
The insults flowed down her gleaming flesh.
Obscenities drowned her golden breasts.
Not knowing tears, she did not weep tears.
Not knowing clothes, she did not have clothes.
They blackened her with burnt corks and cigarette stubs,
and rolled around laughing on the tavern floor.
She did not speak because she had no speech.
Her eyes were the colour of distant love,
her twin arms were made of white topaz.
Her lips moved, silent, in a coral light,
and suddenly she went out by that door.
Entering the river she was cleaned,
shining like a white stone in the rain,
and without looking back she swam again
swam towards emptiness, swam towards death.

The Mermaid and the Ranger

Entombed in a glacier,
The mermaid hung suspended,
Gazing out over her cerulean prison,
locked away from the very thing that brings her life.

A blizzard had come an October day,
It's wild winds and tempest waves,
Icily crackled through her taut muscles,
unaccustomed to the cold, native to balmy climbs so far hence.

Against her will, the chill seeped into scales
and gnawed at her golden tresses,
her strong arms grew slack with the encapsulating frost.

A tear still frozen in her widened eye, she waited three long years.
The flutter of a pulse growing dimmer,
as mutely she floated immured in the impending doom
of an eternity of this ice tomb.

At the solstice, when the long nights ceded to the silent march of the sun,
A single faint sun's ray chanced to fall across her gelid face,
as a solitary ranger noticed her from a distant mountain.

Picking his way slowly towards her across the expansive seaway struck solid,
he lifted his oil lamp to shine toward the stoic beauty,
so strangely posed as if in mid-drift.

The warmth of the lamp, or was it his smile, melted the tear from her eye,
brought the chance to blink. The opportunity to be seen
and gazed upon and admired ignited the pulse within her once more.

Her flagging heartbeat crescendoed to a cascading drum,
though she had thought it beyond hope.
Little cracks ran and dislodged around her fingers,
and near her cheek the ice splintered.

Revived, her arms grew stronger, her smile wider, and yes,
her laugh began to tinkle through her lungs.
The foreign sound created a cascade of tiny balls of ice
like a tempered glass window breaking.

Hair yet wild with snow, her eyes blazing for hope renewed,
she stared amazed at the ranger, his wooly cloak,
his twinkling eyes, his kind smile.

She moved forward towards him and realized her tail had become legs,
her nubile knees weak, she stumbled into his arms, then pulled away.
Too soon, she feared...

She had never had relied on anyone,
and yet she reached out first and he had caught her.
Curious. How can she trust herself to fall into a man's arms,
 and yet... isn't it what she has always wanted?

Will he vanish? Will the ice pull her back again?
Or will the waxing sunlight be enough for her to walk forward into life?
Will she allow herself to trust the ranger?
Her heart beats like a drum for this new dawn and a sincere friendship.

Jennifer D. Behnke - February 11, 2017 - 1:30 am

What if?

What if
I don't have the strength
To stand in front of another man
And say
"Here it is.
See the scars?
See the bruises
and the dark patches?
The parts that look
deflated?
The parts that
may never heal?
See what it is?
A swirly
gushing
overactive
bleeding,
leaking
exhausted muscle?
This vault of the dreams and needs
of those who came before you.
Who promised to take care of it,
and instead
poured in their pains,
their lies and their fears,
and took all it's
vitality and
warmth,
until it almost collapsed.
It's a mess.
It is healing.
It is still beating,
because it is absolutely
unstoppable.
But it is very fragile.
So, do you want it?"

What if I can't do that?

August 27,  2016

As I continue to heal, I am slowly posting old
Poems from the past year. Especially as they become more and more a part of my past. 

Old and New Year Ditties - Christina Rossetti (1830 - 1894)

I. New Year met me somewhat sad:

Old Year leaves me tired,

Stripped of favourite things I had

Baulked of much desired:

Yet farther on my road to-day

God willing, farther on my way.



New Year coming on apace

What have you to give me?

Bring you scathe, or bring you grace,

Face me with an honest face; 

You shall not deceive me:


Be it good or ill,
be it what you will,

It needs shall help me on my road,

My rugged way to heaven, please God.



II. Watch with me, men, women, and children dear,

You whom I love, for whom I hope and fear,

Watch with me this last vigil of the year.

Some hug their business, some their pleasure-scheme;

Some seize the vacant hour to sleep or dream;

Heart locked in heart some kneel and watch apart.



Watch with me blessed spirits, who delight

All through the holy night to walk in white,

Or take your ease after the long-drawn fight.

I know not if they watch with me:
I know 
They count this eve of resurrection slow,

And cry, 'How long?' with urgent utterance strong.



Watch with me Jesus, in my loneliness:

Though others say me nay, yet say Thou yes;

Though others pass me by, stop Thou to bless.

Yea, Thou dost stop with me this vigil night;

To-night of pain, to-morrow of delight:

I, Love, am Thine; Thou, Lord my God, art mine.


III. 

Passing away, saith the World, passing away:

Chances, beauty and youth sapped day by day:

Thy life never continueth in one stay.

Is the eye waxen dim, is the dark hair changing to grey

That hath won neither laurel nor bay?

I shall clothe myself in Spring and bud in May:

Thou, root-stricken, shalt not rebuild thy decay

On my bosom for aye.

Then I answered: Yea.



Passing away, saith my Soul, passing away: 

With its burden of fear and hope, of labour and play;

Hearken what the past doth witness and say:

Rust in thy gold, a moth is in thine array,

A canker is in thy bud, thy leaf must decay.

At midnight, at cockcrow, at morning, one certain day

Lo, the Bridegroom shall come and shall not delay:

Watch thou and pray.

Then I answered: Yea.



Passing away, saith my God, passing away:

Winter passeth after the long delay: 

New grapes on the vine, new figs on the tender spray,

Turtle calleth turtle in Heaven's May.

Though I tarry wait for Me, trust Me, watch and pray:

Arise, come away, night is past and lo it is day,

My love, My sister, My spouse, thou shalt hear Me say.

Then I answered: Yea.

Christina Georgina Rossetti

O Emmanuel

O Emmanuel, Rex et legifer noster,

exspectatio Gentium, et Salvator earum:

veni ad salvandum nos, Domine, Deus noster.

O Emmanuel, our king and our lawgiver,

the hope of the nations and their Saviour:

Come and save us, O Lord our God.

O Emmanuel - recorded live December 22, 2015 - St. Ann Chapel at National Shrine of Our Lady of Czestochowa, Doylestown, PA.

After the Storm

Summer evening

With rain clouds clinging to the wide expanse at the top of the sky,

Even while sunset falls thick and cheerful as the crickets in the meadow,

Orangepink streaming through the emerald trees

Heavy with full leafed boughs.

I'm driving northbound,
Homeward with the windows down and a sad song on my radio

Curving through the ancient forests,

Not even tamed by the first settlers,

Left untouched, you can still find arrow heads in the streams.

The clouds above are dark, and menacing,

Threatening to burst at any moment,

Yet completely out of place in this pleasant summer evening.

The golden light of clarity encircles the horizon,

Stillness enters my being, and a smile across my lips.

At the top of the next hill, sheets of rain pour straight down from the clouds above,

Cold and heavy, I hear them pelt my little open car,

I feel the splashes on my suntanned arms,

Little daggers fall through the sunroof and jostle my hair,

But it doesn't pool.

I don't close the windows.

I don't shut the sunroof.

The rain is so fast and so hard,

I seem to drive right through it.

The sun does not blink in it's descent.

I remain vulnerable and yet unmarred.

I turn up the stereo.

I am not even damp.

The outside of the car is washed clean,

But the door insides are dry.

My hair is blown by the cool breeze that comes

in the clear blue north of the storm.

The temperate air up here is pure bliss.

My face is dewy, but streakless.

I am cleansed.

The clouds above have an ending.

I see it, now

for the first time in months.

My smile deepens.

This too shall pass.

Jennifer D. Behnke

July 30, 2015  - 12:49am

Winding Path

moving pictures in clouds and trees through which sunlight streams

evergreen towers in a quiet forest save the crunch of leaves underfoot

and a green so deep, i dive into the pockets of cool darkness beckoning

tell me your secrets and lead me further and further and beyond the light

past a forgotten gravesite, and a broken cart wheel

and foundations crumbled around a solitary scorched hearth

so dark i'd swear it was still smouldering

and further beyond the iron mines and the battered pines

and the streams of water and light running off the mountain

a cliff to rest, on which lies a vine long since fallen from the weight of too many swings

and before me chasm so wide the way around long since abandoned

(a pause)

the return to this place, from which I ran so long and so far...

a shaft of light appears, shimmering before me. 

A way beyond the fears and the chasm of doubt.

Beyond the forest and the mountain, and even the city where I've hid these long years. 

I drink in the light, and I bless it. I am whole, and the chasm but a memory.

Jennifer D. Behnke, May 10, 2013

A Dish That is Broken

The engine ground to a halt

and sputtered 

and went cold

And all sound ceased

And the heat dissipated

And the field was still

And the rain fell

The clock stopped

and the gears locked 

and the arms went limp

and the lights faded 

And the shadows crept

And the fear came

And the sky darkened

His heart stopped

And his light left

And my mind froze

And my bones turned brittle 

And my legs became stone

And my heart lead

And my soul ash 

Now I stand 

With no path

With nothing left

But ache

And empty arms

And dirt 

And pebbles

And silence.

Jennifer D. Behnke, August 14, 2014

Phoenix Song #2

Stretching my wings as the first rays of dawn 

Pink and throbbing burst over the horizon.

I am trembling now, too weak to walk on my own.

Yet too strong to sit amidst these dying embers

Charred remains of what was. 

There is nothing left of my old self,

That ancient and confident life of half-opened eyes
Which searched the distance for a glimmer.

She is dead, the one who stood sentinel, stoic, on guard.

Her end came with honesty at last

Not the struggle itself, but the answer
Leaving no room for hope.

So she left.
Burned up, stood up, walked out.

Made a choice and chose to live against all odds. 

Knowing that a life without hope was not worth living.

And so the path will clear.
Trust it, always. 

Emerged from the fire, newly minted
Scorched and scarred, but glimpsing restoration.

She will again grow wise and diligent 

confident and strong backed.

But she will never close her eyes again.

She has survived the crush.

She will bear the pain and bring the world love.

Jennifer D. Behnke - October 24, 2014

Naked without shame

Naked without shame

We laughing

Thought it a game

Surviving the flames

still breathing

I took your name

Home we created

and tending

the babes we were fated

Darkness not abated

and searching

You never satiated.

The road has been hard

with mourning

better, worse, scarred.

Laughter is mute, marred

in anger 

you're always barred

Naked without shame

I daring 

Now stake my claim

Can you do the same

finally

naked without shame?

Jennifer D. Behnke - February 26, 2015

One Hundred Love Sonnets: XVII - By Pablo Neruda (1904 - 1973)

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,

or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms

but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;

thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,

risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

so I love you because I know no other way than this:

where I does not exist, nor you,

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

“Hope” is the thing with feathers by Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)

      Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

      

      I've heard it in the chillest land

      And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

Repetition

I give 

I give myself

I give myself away

I give myself away to you.

you stand

you stand there

you stand there silently

you stand there silently ignoring me.

At the cradle

A manger crude, and bare

exposed to open air,

with ox and ass as witness

the birth of God's forgiveness.

At the meanest crib attended,

the Light of the World descended.

And a mother's aching heart weeps

for God's son upon hay sleeps.

Holly berries red as blood,

and pine and fir staked in the mud,

The sparrows feast on the berries

as the slanting sun ceases to be merry.

A festive holiday wreath 

for my child who lies beneath.

And a mother's aching heart weeps

for the child who in her heart, she keeps. 

Jennifer D. Behnke  - December 26, 2014 

Two Christmas Carols - Christina Rossetti (1830 - 1894)

Love came down at Christmas,
Love all lovely, love divine;
Love was born at Christmas,
Star and angels gave the sign.

Worship we the Godhead,
Love incarnate, love divine;
Worship we our Jesus:
But wherewith for sacred sign?

Love shall be our token,
Love shall be yours and love be mine,
Love to God and to all men,
Love for plea and gift and sign.

_______________________________

A baby is a harmless thing
And wins our hearts with one accord,
And Flower of Babies was their King,
Jesus Christ our Lord:
Lily of lilies He
Rose of roses, soon to be
Crowned with thorns on leafless tree.

A lamb is innocent and mild

And merry on the soft green sod;
And Jesus Christ, the Undefiled,
Is the Lamb of God:
Only spotless He
Upon his Mother's knee;
White and ruddy, soon to be

Sacrificed for you and me.

Nay, lamb is not so sweet a word,
Nor lily half so pure a name;
Another name our hearts hath stirred,
Kindling them to flame:
'Jesus' certainly
Is music and melody:
Heart with heart in harmony
Carol we and worship we.