Poetry – “Planting”





Planting // by Jennifer Patino


It’s Springtime,
I billow out
to plant roses with seeds
from a 99 cents store

I’m a puff of cloud,
a discernible mist,
and I plant
on rocky terrain

Soon, I’ll cover, I’ll cover
the pathways,
the grave stones,
the bed sheets,

the bottom
of the clawfoot bathtub,
with petals
sainted with my patience

For now, I dissipate, conjoin
with wind, buy a wicker basket,
and leave my change
on the counter

I fade, I fade
into the desert sunset,
into a sweet fragrance,
into a black and clear night,

into nothingness,
like my pots of thorny skeletons
after the last sweltering summer
put an end to my initial bloom

The bell chime
above the shop’s door
rings in effigy,
following me home



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Poetry – “The Body”


UndonePhoto by Me



The Body // by Jennifer Patino


The body,
the body

I see myself
floating outside of my body

I am above my body,
and I realize
that these things
are happening
to someone else

Some other little girl
is thinking she can fly
at the family reunion,
and the umbrella she holds
floats away from her

She is attached, always attached,
to those arms reaching out for her
when all she truly wants is to float away


I am away from my body

The body,
the body

I float up above
the girl with metal worms in her hair,
and I remember when I was above myself
surrounded by sand everywhere
while seagulls pecked at me
and kept me silent with the threat of talons

I float above a hospital bed
and into the box above my head

I seep into the speaker cracks,
and see the technician as he watches me

The girl in the bed is twitching,
and my mind channel is switching
to the last time I saw a last breath taken

“Blue Cow”
“Red Dog”

The tech is calling my name

I am Blue Cow
I am Red Dog

I am awake and wondering what he’s talking about


I am above my body

The body,
the body

on the front porch
and I see my friends encircling
a figure resembling me

I see myself open my eyes

I see myself seeing myself
hovering above my loved ones,
and they are blurry mists, colorless,
obscuring my spirit
for the last time

I see myself listening to them
at my bedside,
but I cannot respond;
I hear them say
I am the best person they’ve ever known

I leave and go back to the ghost of me
lying on the wooden floor,
and that is someone else’s head
being knocked into the boards
by a self proclaimed Holy Man
misusing his power, his weapons

I tell myself there is no danger here,
that he is not present


I am back in my body

The body,
the body

and I have to make myself comfortable
or I’ll miss
the train home

I have to stay feeling
I’m more than a carcass,

more than
used and abused
flesh and bone



This writer is a member of The Literati Mafia.



#FlashbackFriday – Poetry – “Light Beams Over Cold Concrete”





Light Beams Over Cold Concrete // by Jennifer Patino


Within lyrical strings of music
floating by on the wind’s tail,
I on the cold, grey pave lay

The night is as black as tar in the sun,
the stars shine bright as day

No clouds, no streetlamps
to block my view,

my robin’s breast hair fanning my dwelling,
my head tilted, slightly askew

All nearby surroundings sound so obscure,
yet distant calls beckon to me so clearly

The icy cool flames send chills down me,
piercing me, through and through

These bring to mind small inklings,
little thoughts of you


(I cast them astray…for you have gone away)


I shake and I shudder as I feel my own heartbeat
among layers of silk, and my lonely, cold body

I turn as I hear the first shooting star whisper
your name that so quickly passes through my fingers

To hold on to your image and presence in my sight,
I make that wish upon the next beam of light

And once again I am warmed by you, apparition of my lover
who pulls me in far deeper than the moon could ever wonder

One light for each kiss, each passionate connection
that count each reason I love you


(Please, hear my confession)


I’ve loved, and I’ve lost, now I love and I live,
and every ounce of my soul to you do I give

So come back once again, my feelings do not smolder,
for I could not bear for this concrete to grow colder


July 21, 2006



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Poetry – “Struck”





Struck // by Jennifer Patino


Starstruck.      This pastel display

you’ve painted.    The sky.    Your eyelids.

Your scarves and skirts.      You only

penciled me in.    Once.      I had to

run into you,      a splash of water

in your landscape.      A speck in your space.

Your carved-right-out-of-citrine face.

Cracks a smile.      Cracks my andesine heart.

Dumbstruck.      My greeting is an ash grey

storm cloud swirling around you.      You

shake me off as soot, then fade away.



This writer is a member of The Literati Mafia.



Poetry – “Angel Light”


angel lampPhoto by Me



Angel Light // by Jennifer Patino


My grandmother’s ghost
illuminates my angel touch lamp
& I know I’ll never stop writing
about ghosts for as long
as I’m not one, for as long
as life says I can

Even then, someone will
write automatically
one day
& it will be me, from beyond
the beyond, & a thought of me
might make something
fall from an earth bound wall

As I write this
the world is falling down,
literally, a map tacked to my wall
slowly wilts to the ground,
& I think of Poltergeist,
but only in a “that’s a good movie” sense,
for I’m sure this minor,
jarring catastrophe
is not an angry paranormal entity,
but indeed, humidity,
for this summer, like all others,
is sweltering

& maybe, I’ve accidentally
performed a conjuring
by playing my grandmother’s music
too loudly to drown out
the spirits of memory
plaguing me,

& maybe this is
the light’s way
of purging me
from all of the darkness
put on me,
& any mortal calamity
is only instilled paranoia
from TV

I’ve learned that
people are scarier than those
not living, that the un-dead aid the most
in re-living, & that no one’s close to giving
up, commending, or ascending,

& that no unexplained phenomena
can scare me quite like
a week long binge on insomnia,
when all my ghosts & demons appear
& everything blends
into all that I fear

I’ve doused this low bulb
with my mind, & all of the specters
have returned to their shadows,
their prophetic presence,
& their secrets, deep inside me
where no one can find

I sit, the dim glow in absentia,
for as long as I need to,
grieving over being left behind



This writer is a member of The Literati Mafia.