It is amazing to see the changes in the same piece of sky. I run out after supper each night, camera in hand, just to see what He has painted this time! I think He used cotton candy for the last two pictures.
Author: women who think too much
Bird In A Cage
Bird In The Cage
The bird in the cage can’t fly
She can’t spread her wings
and soar through the sky.
There’s always somebody
who lusts after her beauty
someone who captures
her bright feathered booty.
With a few dirty pennies
and cruel lies she is bought.
She does not dream
never free, she is caught.
She doesn’t live
she just grows older.
Cripple winged bird
crying on your shoulder.
The bird in the cage can’t fly
she’s bound her own wings
but if he puckers his lips
to make a kiss, she will sing.
Their Song
Their Song
She came home today
lipstick on her lips
suitcase in her hand
knowing it went
against everything
she had planned.
She’d left for good
then that song
hurt her so bad
smashed her to pieces
pierced her with sad.
And so she went home
back to a place where
she no longer belonged
led astray by her memories
betrayed by her heart
manipulated by their song.
by Jeanne Marie
Our Prisoner Of War
prisoner of war, can he ever forget what he
heard, what he saw?
turns on the TV, slams his bedroom door
still hears their shouts, damn their stupid war!
love has been beaten wrong side out by thoughtless acts,
lost to words that pound like fists,
scream and shout!
no hands were laid upon her, twas conflict that stripped her bare
naked soul withering, disintegrating, until she didn’t care.
bruises fade to yellow, begin to melt away
fresh sounds assault the soul, raising welts of colorful array.
she slips in to say goodnight, he pretends he doesn’t see
whispering to herself, a trembling hand shuts off his blank TV.
secrets confront his ears, unrelenting silence surrenders up to him her fears.
my angry son, when you grow up and are a man, will you take prisoners of war?
will you beat them with your voice, bruise them with your anger and never
lift a hand?
will you use their love to build a prison, design each brick to beat them down,
enslave their trusting hearts?
when she cries, will you turn your head, slap her face with words instead?
will your harshness sting and blind her eyes, cloak the disorder you disguise?
when she sobs herself to sleep, wondering if she’s insane,
will you kiss away her tears just to strike again?
prisoner of war, can you ever forget what you heard, what you saw?
when you leave this house can you wash clean, shed the stench of in between?
can you ever forget what you heard, what you saw, can you ever be released,
our prisoner of war?
by Jeanne Marie
Butterflies Pose
Butterflies were waiting for me when I woke up this morning. I go out on the screened porch with my coffee and they hold on to the screen waiting for me to come out and play. I had five flitting all around me.
Butterflies Pose
Where I Am Less
Where I Am Less
Knew coming through the door
happy, relaxed, smiling
there would be a price to pay.
Saw the tension on your face
waiting for me to take my place
beside you, where I belong…
on the couch
where I am less.
Went out on my own
played all day with a friend
not depressed, not alone.
daring to smile,
shut off the phone.
foolish woman
I am back home…
on the couch
where I am less.
by Jeanne Marie
She Was
She Was
The grief encompassed her soul until the elements of her former self were nothing.
Nothing.
Destiny squeezed her guts until she splattered all over the floor.
She was, she was, but now she isn’t, not anymore.
Wait.
Amidst the wreckage of her shattered, twisted dreams perchance a gem remains?
A shred of what was, a stair to climb on, a hand to reach beyond her agony,
clutching what still could be?
Carefully, small slivers extracted of what value they weren’t sure
held up to the light by white coats who thought they knew the cure,
the cure for secrets that had hammered her to her knees
events which paralyzed the frightened child she was before.
Men and women who only added their putrid slime to the illness
then when her hour was up they shoved her through the door.
That of course was just good business, nothing’s free,
no matter how she did implore.
Secrets torn asunder, gaping holes dripping vulnerability,
not unlike her veins the night she’d gashed them open wide.
The dirt, the filth, the grotesque, no longer could she hide.
Naked, restrained, unfamiliar shocked eyes did see and several faces
as familiar as her own beheld the tragedy.
But surely they could have done without, her agonizing screams, her blood, her shouts?
“You have no f…… right, let me die,” she’d screamed that night until no voice remained.
Perhaps that was true, yet they had to consider the fact that she was quite insane.
What else could they do, what else would have been right?
So, they saved her anyway, forced her to breathe another day.
Clothed in anguish and shades of gray, doomed to inhere, she haunts the nights,
a ghost of the woman before, who was, who isn’t, not anymore.
Spirit lacerated, black with pain, red with rage, you would not recognize her aura.
A kaleidoscope of mistrust and betrayal determines her movements.
Such a thin line between yesterday’s grief and hope’s beckoning tomorrow.
One baby step at a time she forges a reality where wounds are but the mortar
between her bricks and angels guard her entrance from Knights in Dirty Leather.
This saddened woman who holds within her a tiny, unhealed girl
this woman who endures the anguish her ignorance invited into her world.
Coloring innocent lives with confusion and bereavement evermore.
She was, she was, but now she isn’t, not anymore.
by Jeanne Marie, 1989
Dance With Me Woman
Dance With Me Woman
He yanks the crippled woman
Out onto the slick dance floor.
As he stumbles over her heart, he asks,
“Don’t you like to dance anymore?”
Her brown eyes vacant, not unlike a corpse
She silently gazes up at his handsome face.
Her words are lodged in her throat
Obstructed by injuries that time can’t erase.
There’s no crazy glue that’d bind her
Or mend her tattered faith
She’s just a fragment of herself
So, they waltz, standing in place.
by Jeanne Marie
Promises
There are no promises unbroken
And there are no guaranties,
Still, I need something to hold on to
Because I’m falling
Back under your spell.
I’m so afraid and you know
Love and fear
Blend like fire and water.
Every time I feel
That old familiar burn,
Ice cold rain puts out the flames.
by Jeanne Marie
Verbal Abuse I Say
October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month.
Why not everyday?
I can’t be anyone but me.
I can’t see anything
That I can’t see
Until my eyes are opened
Then I can’t look away
When you call me a bitch
I want to move so far away
When you loudly call me
F—— pathetic in Denny’s
I eat my stack of pancakes
Covered in syrup and butter
Even though I want to run home
But home is where we live
So honestly, home is no better.
As I yearn to be alone
Syrup and tears
Taste familiar together.
Where is the woman
I thought I’d be?
Where is the man
I thought you were?
The perfect couple
They always said
But if this is love
I’d rather be dead.
You say it’s my fault
When you yell
Swear and scream.
I make you so mad
That’s why you’re
Being so mean.
Verbal abuse I tell you
No, it’s not you…
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My Daddy’s Legacy
A frightened child
Puts the pillow over her ears,
Daddy screams so loud
He doesn’t hear her tears.
He says that his family should die
They drain his very life,
He calls her mom a whore
But she’s a “Stand By Your Man” wife.
Daddy lurks over the small girl’s bed
He’s so quiet she almost wishes
That she could hear him scream!
Is that really a gun he holds?
Dear God, she prays,
Let this be a dream!
He never pulled the trigger
But he killed her just the same,
All the years of fearful waiting
Have drove her half insane.
The sun rises and she can’t wake up
Daddy ranted and raved all night,
How can she go to school
And pretend that she’s all right?
She watches her mother
Who plays her part so well,
Unlike the girl who doesn’t understand
Why she was born into this hell.
The years have gone by
And now a woman grown,
Still shackled to that frightened child
When the night falls, she is alone.
He said that his family should die
The woman often wishes that they had
Because living with her fears,
Has proven twice as bad.
by Jeanne Marie, 1969
October is National Domestic Violence Awareness Month. Why Not Everyday?
Other’s Eyes
Butterflies flit around my face
morning does not stay
minutes turns to hours
as I duel with weeds and play.
I go out front and gasp
stock-still, in awe I stand
loving flowers of every hue
petals are caressed with hand.
Sun sets, splashing orange
and yellow across the sky
stunning, breathtaking
fiery colors fast-slipping by.
“Dear God, is this all just for me?”
“Child of nature, thumbs of green
butterfly whisperer, home garden queen,
send your pictures to other’s eyes
and they will bless all who see.
by Jeanne Marie
Go To Sleep
The angry feelings
shove at the door
that I want closed.
Let us out!
Let us out!
Go to sleep
is my sorry answer.
Go to sleep.
They wait
for me to fall asleep,
they wait.
I hear a woman crying.
“No!” she cries out,
“No, I don’t love you!”
As she sobs
I reach out
to comfort her.
I touch a face
wet with tears.
It is my own.
by Jeanne Marie
The Milk Carton
Cold Winter’s Bite… by Jodie Lynne
No matter how much I put in…
How hard I did try…
Right back down
this mountain I’d slide…
I’ve climbed and
I’ve crawled…
Had faith, I believed…
How well I took life’s test
karmas from Eve…
Told myself never quit…
or never I’d gain…
Worth it this fight…
I bore all my might…
Picked thorn woven weeds
filled purely of pain…
Maybe I went too far…
Took a wrong trail or two…
Left…I am here…
Damning fate who already knew…
Foreseen was my future
she holds in her grip
same end it does seem…
Maybe my character once questionable…
Maybe my motives once unclean…
Surely she sees greatest all efforts
this queen all unseen…
I put all that was left…here…
I went out on a whim…
Judgment’s cold harshness
tears through my skin…
Stuck…in…
hells…I created…
Life battles again…
Falters and falls… seems the only win-win
this damn endings forever…
lost in the cruelest of winds…
Forever this fairy tale needs simply to end…
F—Cinderella and f—Snow White…
I’m left here alone…in fate’s cold winter’s bite.
by Jodie Lynne
Deadly Friend
A young girl picks up a drink
Her fear and pain melts away,
She found a magic cure
She found a best friend today.
She takes that friend with her
Where ever she has to be,
The friend gets her through,
But she’s no longer free.
Hiding her new friend from the rest
It’s true, somehow she always knows,
That this friend is dangerous.
But caution? To the wind it goes.
Years slip by and some begin to see
That she prefers this friend,
People criticize her drinking
And other friendships end.
The bottle becomes her center
It directs her every move,
But what once brought her relief
No longer seems to soothe.
The friend who helped her through
Now cripples and blinds her sight,
Alone she drinks and she cries
Dreading tomorrow, hating tonight.
She gave up all her friends
To keep the brown bottle close,
Now she has lost them all
Betrayed by what she trusted most.
She reaches out to God
During a desperately lonely hour,
He sends her back His love
And fills her with His power.
She ends the deadly friendship
Stands strong and free again,
The black fog begins to lift and
Sobriety is one fight she does win.
Jeanne Marie
Wet
Tears drops splashed on
my smart phone today
My smart phone remained silent
It didn’t have a word to say.
The thin ice
I walk upon
Has begun to crack
I don’t care. I keep on.
If I am submerged
I won’t float back.
Under the ice
escape will allude me
I will drift away from
The hole I fell through
I will not struggle as
my lungs fill with water
my heart washed of you.
Jeanne Marie
Mama Said There’d Be Days Like This
The Secret
“Your life is a physical manifestation of the thoughts going around in your head! Think positive, attract positive.”
The Secret
Today
The past looms ever present, but this moment is God’s present to me. I won’t ignore my present by holding yesterday’s regrets in front of my eyes. I cannot change the past, but today, the present is mine. I will create good memories. I will hold this moment, I will laugh and I will play. I will live today, I will love me today and I will appreciate the precious people who love me today. I will share my present with you today. Jeanne Marie
Flaming Sunsets, Florida
Florida Nights
Catching Sunsets While The Moon Watches
One More Time, Again
One More Time, Again
Let’s not fight when the sun goes down and the shades are drawn.
Wouldn’t you rather call back the tender fury, the passion that we once wore?
Time was on our side and ever so trusting I gave me to you
only to be lost, a forlorn girl standing on the edge of nevermore.
Drew back the covers, flesh ablaze, unashamed, nothing to hide,
fell in love, lost my head, I was so sure.
Recreate the euphoria of that first night, devouring each other
between the worn cotton sheets on my antique bed.
Use your fingertips to chase away the years of struggling
the hurt and the anger that screams wild as savage beasts inside our heads.
Play make-believe, pretend that it’s yesterday
and the bitter deeds did not destroy the tenderness instead.
Pursue me like there’s no tomorrow because I can not see beyond today
then, when tomorrow comes…
I promise to set you free, stand on my own two feet, find my own way.
Hands could caress, bodies could recreate, satisfy this insane yearning
as you travel back with me, waltz me back through past’s gate.
Touch my soul once more with longing and desire, force the winds of change
to stand stationary while you re-ignite my skin’s desire.
What would I give to travel back and never have been betrayed?
I scarce remember when there were no walls
and I did not know how to be afraid.
Perhaps tonight you could help me to forget to remember if I promise that
I won’t run away when the dawn comes, I won’t run away. No…not yet.
We could try, one more time, again. What could we lose, what could we win?
Cradle me in your arms and recapture me with reckless hunger,
pretend thirty years have not transpired.
It would be so easy because fingertips have no memories and
they don’t know how to hate, they will pursue passion’s flagrant fire
unlike a broken heart which hesitates.
No movement forward from here so we could journey back to then
before the illusions were shattered and we could try, one more time, again.
One more time again, as if you read my mind.
Still, the heat that rises in my loins concedes to grief, collapses beneath regret
too wise to be enchanted, too stupid to forget.
Good-bye. No, wait…not yet. Maybe we could try…one more time, again.
Jeanne Marie
Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie 
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