Sitting in the dark of Mountainburg…
waiting on life’s spark to ignite…
moon hidden amongst clouds…
in trees bare of their leaves.
I write one last winterous scene…
dry counties surround me…
three shades to the wind…
no rum, no whiskey, death of my frisky…
washed out this girlie, angel dusted pixy…
awww sweet Jesus…
gave her prayers final answer…
no rum my daughter, no whiskey.
by Jodie Lynne
Wounded child
Can you hear the
Gentle flap
Of angel’s wings?
Lost in your closet
Of endless memories
Come out of the dark
Don’t be afraid.
The screaming has stopped.
The voices you hear
Exist only in your mind
The storage trunk of the past.
Come, open the present.
He will protect you, this
Angel of the Wounded Child.
You want to die
Lost in your pain
Yet, you have not lived.
Open the door
Take down the walls
Let the healing begin.
Angel of the Wounded Child
A light peering into your closet.
He wants you to
Come out and play
The nightmare is over.
Wake up! Wake up!
Sleep is not a cure.
Come out of the darkness
The light does heal
The secrets, the fears, the past.
by Jeanne Marie
Women Who Think Too Much by Jeanne Marie 
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