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Horse corrals
Picket fence
Slanting rays
Fallen trees

Wood fire smoke
Ancient pines
Beaver dam
Swampy marsh

Narrow Bridge
Fall Clean-ups
Parsonage
Old Snufftown

Sagging barns
Rusted cars
Piled rock walls
Lonely hearth

Crooked cross
Secret graves
Wagon ruts
Iron mines

6 mile thread
Winding road
Pathway home
Solace found

Jennifer D. Behnke - July 10, 2013 - On driving to my current home from childhood home, with my own children in the backseat with the same views 30 years later.

Hiking Crow Peak

On the blade of a knife
she walks into unknown
there is no other path
but this, her own.


Desolate pit below
a bloodied stumble lies
there is no light ahead
save from her eyes.


Does she walk stooped, trembling?
Fists in rage or fear clenched?
No, arms are heavenward raised
Soul in love drenched.


She clings to Love through pain,
doubt, scorn and betrayal.
Burning, breathing, hoping
ever faithful.


Maiden knight, armor clad
heroine of the world
What you carry in you
Mercy unfurled.


Jennifer D. Behnke - July 2, 2013. 
On returning home from Spearfish, SD, finishing the diary of St. Faustina, watching the Passion of St. Joan, and singing some Wagner.

Secret Garden

Moss covered passage slumbers  entangled in dense ivy.
Door long forgotten or ignored immured in lush walls of green.

Decades passed without gentle gardener's care.
Overgrown or withered in grief thick with brush and storm ravaged.

Years, hence fallen oak's lightning smashed limbs, den for vermin or barren plot, once rife with roses and lilies.

But a skilled farmer glimpses possibility, wishing to rebuild with persistence and grace, hinges creak, he assesses devastation.

Brambles and rot cleared off, reveals moist and rich humus. Sun shines yet and rains fall, but the garden must heal herself.

Jennifer D. Behnke - June 3, 2013 - Illustration by Russell Barnett

Alone but not Lonely

I haven't a reason, a clue or a sign, I haven't the slightest idea of the shape of your heart or the state of your mind, Do you ever let anyone near? Do you ever reach out with arms open wide?
Do you ever jump in closing your eyes?
Or are you one of the fortunate kind, Alone but not lonely

Everyday on the street I study their faces, the ones who rush on through the crowd, towards their own quiet worlds, their separate places, somewhere I'm never allowed. 'Cause I've always been one to say what I need, And than the next thing it's done and I'm watching 'em leave, And I'm thinking, I wish I could be Alone but not lonely

So which one are you tonight? Do you change with the morning light?
Do you say more than what sounds right? Do you say what you mean?

There are moments in time that are meant to be held like fragile, breakable things
There are others that pass us, you can't even tell, such is their grace and their speed
And this one is gone in the blink of an eye, You can ask me the truth but tonight I will lie
Unflinching I'll tell you that I'm alone but not lonely

Mary Chapin Carpenter - Time*Sex*Love  - Alone but not Lonely

The Net

She brings them in
with outstretched hands
and pounding heart

She brings them in
with eyes raised
and full voice

She brings them in
with firm stance
and fixed gaze

She is the net for the fish
Cast her out into the seas
She will return you a full yield

Again and again
Throw her to calm waves
or angry seas.

She is made to last
of strong weave
and wondrous craft.

Stay alert
for signs of strain
Mend her or lose her.

She asks no share in the catch.
No meal in the evening.
Her reward is the use.


Jennifer D. Behnke  - May 28, 2013

El pozo - The Well by Pablo Neruda

A veces te hundes, caes en tu agujero de silencio,
en tu abismo de cólera orgullosa,
y apenas puedes
volver, aún con jirones
de lo que hallaste
en la profundidad de tu existencia.

Amor mío, qué encuentras en tu pozo cerrado?
Algas, ciénagas, rocas?
Qué ves con ojos ciegos,
rencorosa y herida?

Mi vida, no hallarás
en el pozo en que caes
lo que yo guardo para ti en la altura:
un ramo de jazmines con rocío
un beso más profundo que tu abismo.

No me temas, no caigas
en tu rencor de nuevo.
Sacude la palabra mía que vino a herirte
y déjala que vuele por la ventana abierta.
Ella volverá a herirme
sin que tú la dirijas
puesto que fue cargada con un instante duro
y ese instante será desarmado en mi pecho.

Sonríeme radiosa
si mi boca te hiere.
No soy un pastor dulce
como en los cuentos de hadas,
sino un buen leñador que comparte contigo
tierra, viento y espinas de los montes.

Ámame, tú, sonríeme,
ayúdame a ser bueno.
No te hieras en mí, que será inútil,
no me hieras a mí porque te hieres.
_________________________
At times you sink, you fall
into your hole of silence,
into your abyss of proud anger,
and you can scarcely
return, still bearing remnants
of what you found
in the depth of your existence.

My love, what do you find
in your closed well?
Seaweed, swamps, rocks?
What do you see with blind eyes,
bitter and wounded?

Darling, you will not find
in the well into which you fall
what I keep for you on the heights:
a bouquet of dewy jasmines,
a kiss deeper than your abyss.

Do not fear me, do not fall
into your rancor again.
Shake off my word that came to wound you
and let it fly through the open window.
It will return to wound me
without your guiding it
since it was laden with a harsh instant
and that instant will be disarmed in my breast.

Smile at me radiant
if my mouth wounds you.
I am not a gentle shepherd
like the ones in fairy tales,
but a good woodsman who shares with you
earth, wind, and mountain thorns.

Love me, you, smile at me,
help me to be good.
Do not wound yourself in me, for it will be useless,
do not wound me because you wound yourself.

Etiquetas: Pablo Neruda

I just purchased a copy of "The Captain's Verses" today, after a long and trying week. This is where the book 'hit me where I live'. #grateful

Twilight

Stillness comes
with the sun's dying rays and gold dissolves into darkest cerulean.

Suspended breezes
And prismatic jeweled plain. An expanse of sky and stars where I would remain.

Trees silhouetted
At once comforting and grotesque, taciturn anchors that mark my shipwreck.

Cloudless skies
Without bulwark or storm distraction, Only placidly suffocating grief of my own creation.

This is all that remains
Between me an eternity.
Acceptance. Absolution.

Jennifer D. Behnke - May 18, 2013