When nights are long…


Garden fairies visited my garden as I slept and they frosted my Pink Hibiscus with sunshine!

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Let me rest upon these lilacs~For You Sweet Friend

Let me rest upon these lilacs~For You Sweet Friend.

The Past…Someday

Old low burning flames
memories under the bed
like pieces of an old game
at night, fast asleep
they blister inside your head.
Upon waking, you weep.
pictures of a love lost
broken glass
beneath your feet.
Regrets flash by
on your mind screen
you still pay the cost
but you’re stuck in now
lost…forever it seems.
How can that old love
still make you cry?
Was it a nightmare
or was it a dream?
Is the past ever gone
is it ever wiped clean?
Wake up, clear your mind
push old passions away
get on with your life
because today will be
the past…someday.
by Jeanne Marie




sometimes I wish, I think, I could have lived my life
without the soul stretching exercise
i could have been a dandelion floating on the wind,
at the whim of every breeze
i would have been happy blowing across the open fields
a dandelion puff scattered every which way
for a wish by a child with a grin and scuffed knees
no heart to be broken no regrets to sleep on at night
just a hundred puffs floating this way and that.
maybe a flower opening my petals for just one day
to bloom
to close, to leave
drifting on a whim as the wind carried me away.
i could have been a feather fallen from an angel’s wing
floating past your window
as under the covers you snuggled
eyes closed, not seeing me or any thing
i would have sprinkled blessing dust
across your windowsill
as I whooshed by
so no person could ever scar you
or beat you blind with lies.
sometimes I wish, I think, I could have lived my life
without the soul stretching exercise.

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