Poetry – “Ides”




Ides // by Jennifer Patino


Beware the Ides

“A toast
to all the slaughtered messengers
harboring secrets
for breeding centipedes,
wriggling pests,
Cowards who eat
their own festering nests”



Quote the best
visionaries in the soothsayer’s
make your speeches,
curse the salivating leeches,

do not cry in the
public eye

Instead, raise the dead,
find how to
put off mourning
by detaching
from your own head



Deadlines and headlines,
sales, highlighted fails,
click bait, checkmate

The fallen kings, the terrible things,
martyrs, blood in blessed waters,
killings, parts of Earth heating,
parts of Earth cooling, parts

Terror tightens,
stifles voices
with truth knives
and one-sided
choices, with
lives and
fabricated, ego-driven
and fountains of lies

Type faster,
the cyclone
moves on
and around,
leaving no time
to even bury
the dead underground


The Fallen

A golden adornment
glitters with diamonds
in the vast darkness

Betrayal slips,
a windpipe snips

and death tastes
like lost vices

Blood drips
and worshippers
of the idol’s corpse
bathe in it,

they cast his garments
upon new shores,

make new vows
of resistance

and sacrifices sound
like false belief
and insistence



The masses
raise glasses
and drink
to achievement

The widow
in shadow
struggles to show
signs of bereavement

The soothsayer,
the ruler,
the suicides of the assassins,
all ghosts
holding hands now,
having known
all this would happen



Poetry – “When They Said I Couldn’t Drive Anymore”




When They Said I Couldn’t Drive Anymore // by Jennifer Patino


The driver’s seat

is a space

occupied by control freaks


I gave it up,


without a fight


I focused on the lines

& how they blurred

into every other back seat


Newly upholstered, covered in trash,

from the ceiling, from crouched down on the floor,

from turning around to glare


High beams are too bright

& I am tired of having to explain

how I can only see in the dark,


How I can see the white deer

dart out in front of me

when I am stationary,


When I am pretending

to go out walking

because I gave up that seat


I told you I gave up control

to whomever took up most of my attention

& to whomever felt the need to be free


That day there was a crash

& I wasn’t in it, but I

felt it, & at times I still hear it


I can picture it

in every crosswalk

& in every blue flashing bulb


Someone once told me

that he lost someone in an accident

& I thought of that unnamed girl, too


I thought of my mother running

to check on survivors,

(were there any survivors?)

& I was frozen & smashed


Front bumpers, back bumpers;

To whomever wanted to go too fast,

or complain that I was too slow,


Again, you’re back in control

& I’m out of it;

I’m out of fuel for the fire of this memory



"Ad unum corpus humanum supplicia plura quam membra." — Three Poems

Three Poems
by Jennifer Patino


Ad unum corpus humanum supplicia plura quam membra.

One human body is liable to more pains than the members of which it is composed.”

(St. Cyprian)


Chronic Deterioration, Or,

The Sound the Paper Covering on the Examination Table

Makes When I Lay Gingerly Upon It

And they don’t believe me

when I tell them

I can feel when liquid enters

my body and I can feel

when it leaves me,

filled with toxins,

filled with shame

My ears will pop

at pressure changes

that happen when I am still

They are always fine tuning

Angel Radio Network

Am I coming in clear?

My bones will crack

because I am always frozen,

even loosed, I’m tense

underneath a smile

and underneath

all you can’t see

X rayed, cat scanned,

I am filled with abominations

Foreigners who should not be there

I am infested

I have organs with permanent scars

I Google kidneys in jars

wondering if one of them can be

mine’s replacement someday

Still they nod and tell me

You’re ok, you’re ok

because this is just the beginning, baby

and I’m still considered young

even though my body says I’m ancient

and it’s always possibly going to be worse some day



This Is

Like being in a room full of your own things but nothing is recognizable.
There’s a gold shoe in the corner when I always felt better in silver.
Silver is cheaper. Less pristine. Stainless steel is even better. It has no weight of importance. No one would be tempted to steal it right off of me.

Like making an offering. A bargain. A wager. An even trade with something less. No one is that helpless. No one barters out-of-work organs. No one serves sustainability on a pewter platter. The gift is tarnished. The present is a rusted chain that scrapes against the pudding suit. It aches with slight, sudden movement.

Like a bother. Every day. A sneeze. A tic. A tickle. An itch just out of reach.
Wellness unattainable. A health scare. A horror. A constant orbit. A crash landing into Saturn. Blood like Mercury. Pain is elemental and enlightening. There are parts of you on fire that you never knew could burn.

Like an unwanted child. A thorn poisoned and embedded. A sip of water that isn’t enough to quench. I clench with every step. I grind my teeth to chalk and drink it down to quell the acid. Like a volcano. Unstoppable. I destroy civilizations with the truth of things. I am a burden with a mouth. I am the recipient of every pitying apology.

Like a worst nightmare. Like waking up hungover with no benefit of having been drunk. Like a rushing train. Constant rain. I am drowning in here. In myself. In my unease. Like fallen leaves. I’m dead but I remind everyone of life and beauty. Like tragedy. This is disease.



These Unmighty Hands

“Who knows the poet? These days
we are all personas. Who wants
to know the poet? Does the poet want
to know you? Is the poet thinking
of you as she writes? Do you think so?”


The Bronte Sisters.
The Founding Father Thieves.
They all wrote by hand.
The Apostle Paul
with his twisted back.
In prison.
He wrote
with his withered hand.
I said,
I will never survive
if I can’t write.

Only say the word and I shall be healed.

My wrists are the oak tree knobs
we’d squeeze in between
when we were feeling romantic.
I saw a play about Tom Sawyer
so I laid in the field under the trunk
as he did. Jeans rolled up. Barefoot.
Long grass dangling from my mouth.
I bit into it
out of curiosity. I thought it tasted
how hay felt
scratching against supple skin.

This was long ago. Now my pain
medication tastes like how I shiver
when I hear the terrifying scrape
of a knife being sharpened.
Metal on metal. My nerves
rubbing together like sandpaper.

But I can still think of those days,
under a tree, scribbling sonnet attempts
in teenage angst font. I wanted to be
anyone but me even then.

I remember when eight hours of writing was a breeze.
Now I can be pulled off center,
off balance, into excruciating hellfire with the force of a sneeze.
Jeez. We started off venting then transitioned to begging please.

I will be brittle leaves. I will be bitter wind. I will pay
for uninformed sins like they say my ancestors did.
I’ll wear the road map on my back and die,
mid-metaphor, once this illness of various
necessary systems
launches its final attack.


I am a million exposed nerve endings. My own skin bare,
even air carries dangerous weapons. The pen I hold
is a flaming sword.

The book I had my mind set on reading is too heavy.
I am not looking for Cliffs notes or cop-outs. I want
to devour the whole meaty meal even if it doesn’t fit in my belly.
I am already bursting at the stretch mark seams
with all I could never let go of.

I can’t wash my eyes, speckle covered, of all I’ve seen.
My ears are clogged with harsh words
against all I’ve ever done to survive.

It is all wrong. It has finally woken up to its reality.
I’m talking about the body. I have left it neglected
and far behind. My hand is a forced phantom.
I make it all work. I lie. I lie.

To spare you, I give you flowers and hope.
I keep the truth wrapped with a tight rope.
I am the train and the train tracks. I’m that
stupid cartoon, highly inappropriate
and appropriated, “Indian maiden”
no one bats an eye to save because
“She’s got it!” Clever knots. I’m
killing myself to stop, and smile,
and please you. Beg me to live well.
Be well. I cannot.

Don’t touch me. You’ll never survive the volts.
The shock. The sudden start. Sparks in the dark.
Your softness will sting me. It will upset me.
I will feel all you carry and it could be my last straw.
My back is broken. I’m a dehydrated camel. My legs
are made of wax. Shining with enamel. Scuffed and
suffering is law. Mother Mary appears for my last act.

#MicropoetryMonday – September 11 – 17, 2017

Me, Vampire – Courtesy of Snapchat filters

Hey everyone! Are you feeling Halloween in the air like I am? My decorations are going to have to come out soon. The nights here are leaning closer to sweater weather so I’m getting Autumn vibes. I miss up north and seeing the colors change but I can still visualize in my mind and write about it. It’ll do.

My nerve pain is officially the worst it’s ever been but if I type slowly I can manage. I’m faring better with a pen some days but mostly I sit here frustrated. I want to do more. But I should be happy with what I have produced. And I am. Believe me. I am.

I’ve been reading Anne Sexton poetry this week. I haven’t really sat down and read her for about ten years and I of course found the way I read her to be different than how it was back then. I’m in love with her still. I also find most of her work to be more relatable to me now than ever. A new found appreciation for an old flame. I’ve read a few novels this week too. I’m trying to tackle Michael Schmidt’s “Lives of the Poets” but it’s so huge and I can’t lift it or read it comfortably at the moment. I should get a book stand or something. Or just get the Kindle version. Little annoyances from this big annoyance known as being sick forever.

I’ve been sucked into The Vampire Diaries and starting to watch whatever horror is on Netflix. I’ve been pleasantly surprised by some I’ve watched. My brain lacks the name of titles right now. It’s my way of getting that Halloween feeling like I mentioned earlier. I want so badly to feel well and I’m not and it’s disheartening but I can do things to make myself as happy as possible. If not, I’m going to wither away in my mind too and I don’t want that. I spend enough time gritting my teeth and staring at walls. At least I can imagine in there. Rest is not so easy to come by when you’re born creative.

I’m here though. I’m doing what I can. I’m going to try to go see Mother! with my husband this upcoming weekend. I’m going to have to make doctor appointments again soon. (I’m so tired of doctor appointments that don’t seem to matter really.) I’m listening to good music. I’m relying on God and prayer. I’m trying to make some decisions about what to do with my writing. I don’t think I want to call it work anymore. It takes the fun out of it. 😉 I’m toying around with releasing my chapbook in print form. I’m toying around with a lot of ideas really and I don’t know if any of it will really happen. I don’t know if I’m just going to be “someone who wrote a lot of online poetry for her entire life” or “insert something cool and authorly”. I don’t know if I care or if I should care or if I’m supposed to care about this as a writer. It’s not money. It’s never been money. I would have quit a long time ago if it were about money. I just don’t know anymore. I just know it’s becoming physically more difficult to do much of anything for too long. I’m ill. I can’t deny it. I just have so much more to write.

Alright, I’m going now before I end up deleting all I just painfully wrote. Take it easy this week everyone! Love and be love. ❤


Losing count
of wake fires,
years smoldered
still burn bright

Each flame
deep set
in the eyes
of my family

to remind us


My secret heart
forgives your emotion based mistakes

Concealed truth
out in open plains you tried to overtake

Justified actions
bend & break


broken bond
so torn up
& apart
we used our remnants
to cling to
to keep afloat
in distant rivers
to return to
the ocean together


instead of looking
we applied to be
mannequins behind
glass windows
we stopped passing
became the passed
this was transcendence


Rosemary’s Baby (1968)

Watching Rosemary’s Baby at 6 AM


Mia sits like a china cup
chipping away at French manicured nails
Wild printed woman, 30 years her senior,
speaks with a table shaking voice


it’s serene
familiar scene

i’m the red clad lamb
being led to slaughter

time ticks
i reminisce
what did they give me?


polished & forgiven
too yellow morning awakening

accusation lingers on the skin
marked & bitten

tea bag evidence
an open window invitation


Parts of my mother

I found them
in headstones laid on my chest

In sobbing breaths,
in appearing statuesque
when being yelled at


I caught you crying in the jade garden
Don’t worry
No one can keep an orchid alive
You held my face like an apple
You’re my core


People can’t fathom
how patient I’ve been

for identity

for answers

Silent mother,
who is my father?

I’ve grown


All the beaches blend together
A mouth full of sand, salt spray, tears
Gulls shriek, blocking out echoes
Of screams that won’t go away


as if we were objects
as if we were metal & wood
but livewire flesh
blood spilled (accidents happen)
& bone thin holds well


Vapor calm

I make myself a wisp
so I can fade to a soothing scent

These dreams
are sedation induced
because I can’t move


Made of the icy sting of metal
Under heat, under pressure
Born in distress, boiling over
A scorched servant of suffering


You’ve made me

the stones
of your house
I have a skylight
& firm foundation
I’m a view of a yard now
watching you
in the moonlight


I want to ask if the Falls
held a spectral mirage
like grandma said,
but you don’t believe in ghosts

Just how to haunt like one


when the water’s high
go to the attic
you said
the higher we are
the lower the rest

wind like a whale song
sings of change


Laid out
Laid in
Skin like
surface of a cutting board
Like every hand
they forced you to show
Laid down
Bet it all
Clear the table


Blame is shed
Here is
fragile acceptance
& a delicate surrendering
to the deterioration of your well being;
Still, we live as well
as we can


A decade of stormy weather

I sit
waiting for light

with a spirit so alive
it can’t be contained
inside this shell


It may take
my whole lifetime
to recover
from being born

I’m remembering
the celestial chute,
fluorescent fear
& how to scream


Sing of your blurred dreams
even if they’re not completely yours.
Is anything really yours? Do you know
ownership? You’re letting go of it.


Leave the scenery outside
next time
There are desert mountains
in your eyes
Painted flecks of gold
like the sunrise


I follow a snowstorm
under my skin

An avalanche tremor
of muscles
A rabbit twitch

With my little
bone finger

& believe in healing


Summer’s end proving to be tumultuous
Brisk winds hint of better days
They soothe me at night
I want to fall completely this time


I can trace death in my open palm
Creases keep changing
Feelings run deeper
Follow these streams
Veins of disease

I can swim
if I keep calm


Death drama today

It isn’t my fault that the lightning
within me wants to take me

I like the grey clouds
most find threatening

Muted pain


The light comes to you
when you’re too afraid to
speak anymore

I can feel the knocking
softly on my door
but I can’t hear

sounds so near


Strength in the tides,
in the changing,
the unstoppable flow,
forces of healing moonlight,
eroding me like sand,
making me new


This overactive cage,
so tender, so finicky

I struggle against
forced immobility

I pay for it too heavily
in eyelids, and frustrated rage


The quiet is calling
I’ll find peace in it,
retreat into it


Recovering from falling
into the chaos noise
still ringing in my voice


I saw vital organs blossom,
take over bellies
& every step walked

I’ve seen one consumed
from the inside;
Here I am at the mirror


We charmed her like Wendy
She drank deep,
merrily chasing the green fairy
French girl sings from a piano
Her smoke rings look scary
Don’t go


I saw angels in the funhouse mirror
I saw my cousin through five layers of glass
waving wildly
my stuffed souvenir at his feet
He rescued us


A kind of betrothal
between old & new

I’m piecing past & present
together to save a future

I don’t really believe in
tomorrow, only now


I found your rain slicker auspicious
Aloft, gulls warn us away from the water
Back to your boathouse
Tea mugs warm us
Ever closer


I wake up
like the stage magician’s
assistant turned victim

He’s left me
sawed in half
to try to find myself again


I dreamt of the green clad lady,
electric and dying

There was a race between who would
plug her in first

Fiber optic dust follicles
lit up


Let’s watch the sunset
Wild rose will settle & still for that
I worry about her losing all her petals
In this light she buds again


Alone in this
I summon bliss
Floating in starlight
Waning crescent kiss
Back to the body
The pulse of nighttime
Alive in the abyss


VSS (Very Short Stories):

One’s misfortune, another one’s success.
Gift wrapped in guilt. Accepted.


One foot in the ocean on the brink of a tropical depression. She crosses a moment off her bucket list, longs to be swept away.


WIP (Works in Progress):

I wrote of birth and sorrows earlier. The beginning of creation and transformation with every brand new day. Yesterday’s you is over.


Pain so bad
soft sheets leave scrapes
Someone has replaced
all the cotton threads with needles,
lined my clothing with thorny barbs


#MicropoetryMonday – September 4 – 10, 2017

I’m looking forward to a new week. This past one required a lot of soul searching, releasing of frustrations, patience with myself and others, and combating fears and anxieties. I’m in pain. No sugarcoating. It hurts a lot. I take advantage of the moments it’s not so bad. I try to do things I want to do and will stop if it becomes too much so that is much better than where I was a few months ago.

I’m thankful for friends and family talking to me about things right now. I’m glad to be listened to. This week I’ll be working on my new blog design and then we can really have some fun. I’m excited to share new writing with everyone. I’m also very glad that so far all of my friends and family are doing okay with Hurricane Irma and it ended up being not as bad as anticipated for their areas. My heart is still with other parts of the world that did have a major and devastating impact by Irma and those still struggling after Harvey. What’s happening in St. Martin is so sad and I pray for peace and relief for them. ❤

I have changed things around a bit in my apartment. When a new month or new season comes around I like to switch things up. I haven’t broken out the Halloween decorations yet but they are on their way! The new led lights Jackson and I got for our bedroom are more “blacklight” purple than the other purple we have used in the past but they’re still cool. Gives a “spooky Halloween” vibe. I also have a lot of pink in my decor and my red bulb in my lamp (which shows up more pink so it’s not as angry as red, haha)I’m sad one of my strings of star lights went out but the star covers are reusable so I can put them on other lights. I like that it feels like I’m in a calm, rosy glow right now.

I tried drawing a bit the other night and it caused my nerves in my hands to act up but thankfully it was better by the next day. I feel I’ll do better with a paintbrush. I’ll be getting started on a piece this week that involves some collaging and painting so that will be fun. I have been reading Platypus Press chapbooks mostly this week. Some Yeats. Some of Plath’s journal entries. I also started a novel called, “Salvage the Bones” by Jesmyn Ward and it’s amazing and gritty. A book you have to read slowly because the story cuts that deep and you don’t want it to bleed to death in your hands. At the same time, the book is so real. Too real. Books like these remind me of how awesome it is to be alive.

Have a good one, everyone. A lot of cleaning up will be happening this week. Stay loving, helpful, and filled with gratitude. ❤


Space and land,
very ancient

Before the lush,
the verdant grass

From the dust,
from the Mighty Hands

Untainted by
so many hands


Trust your soul
because what you see
may be distorted reflections
Remember what you do
when no one’s looking
Think what they’ll do


End of summer means preparations
for sparks of life crawling to my surface
A break from the pains
A dance in creative rains


across a sapphire sky
I see my sister
head a new way
on a jumped plane
fulfilling promises
I wait for her to come back


We’re partial to the nightlife
An hour away
city lights dazzle us,
entice us  We recall
the fallen who got
swept away in the haze


you took
that big risk

the leap
two dangerous mountains

but you couldn’t
be bothered
with taking
my call

so I fall


A celestial place
wasn’t needed
to awaken
Next to a fire
in the backyard,
that’ll do
The trees were cut last summer
I lost sleep


Uncertain forecast
is nothing new
They say under this sun
we can’t help but look the same
Harmonious voices
& identical lost hope


I didn’t see
all that fell from me
until I felt crumbling
beneath my feet
Too late to save
what I couldn’t hang onto
Too far past
to retreat


Sensitivity superpower

The weight of it all
on an unlikely hero

One who shields eyes
with a cape, punishing themselves
for being so small


Your forehead, forest damp
as you talk of fire
I know it’s the fever
I change the images
to beauty
to combat this
rage sickness


Tiny sparrows, eyelashes
Your melancholic confession
Truth pill swallowed, overdosed
You cry too much
You’ve said too much
And I forgive you


your beautiful chaos
has a rhythm I can’t let go of

rear view mirror serenade
backseat singer

every song you know
in one chorus


Nothing I could say
would soothe the wound
of the world
I am silence(d)
so I hear
so much
it scratches my torn apart heart
to make more room


When I came back to myself
I saw no separation
between The All
and how I see me,
how I view reality,
but I could feel
my inner wall decaying


Watch the pain disappear,
blend into the background
Periwinkle twilight
Dream symbols
on canvas
Focused foreground
Art therapy


They pushed me to trust in masks
to hide what’s real

Bottles of tricks
to fool myself with

Names of Muses
for sleep & false pharma gods


Sometimes I hide because I just don’t want to be sad anymore. Beyond the walls hurts too much right now. Peeking over pains just as much.


Slip away
between layered glass cracks
Catching sunlight
Illuminating all shades
of your spectrum
& your beautiful flaws


To the edge–
I leapt fires I wasn’t sure were real
until I felt heat on my face
An empty pit–
overwhelming soul sadness


Squeeze out meaning
until your hands are bloody
See that you’ve depleted
the point
No one’s remembering
the argument in memoriam


Seasons turn

Gift of change
wrapped in winds & snowfall

but nature can’t deliver
if I’m hidden away
where she can’t reach me


It’s not a facade
It’s a censored display
A projection of what’s
the least likely to get me hurt
& it’s not your fault


Under the clouds, the dove feathers, the peace of the sky,
the September moon shines, a dull outline, protecting us tonight


I struck a bargain
Never made it off the crossroads
Undecided, in the middle, neutral is the path
that I am forever pulled from


Our time
in the Light
Can you see
the minutes tick
in falling stars?
Can you watch
the hours pass
from a moonbeam?
Do you care?


Follow the streams
where your eyes lead you
where they meet the rivers
where the green blue pools
fall into flowing life force


No more teasing, sky. The lightning means I’m in the storm. Your dark clouds are making perfect sense.


Carefully navigating
thin tightrope

Eggshell linoleum
but only around you

We can’t escape our downfalls
No, we hold fast to them


From urgency to urgency,
dangerous moments to full blown
outbursts of secrecy

Angry rain tears
flooding my ears
with all you never told me


We woke up at moonrise

The harvest rages on
outside our tracing paper walls

Autumn calls to us
with ochre skies
& crimson air


The first five years are the clay
that shapes me, they say
Toddler trauma gloom
They spread me in doom
I’ll harden some day
Then chip away


Here we are
back to a washed away day

The air
dank & demanding,
lightning flashing

Back to the east
& our beginning


A faith untouchable
will be my legacy
after the print fades

Words on bone ash pages,
peeling skin from
frantic fingertips


Angels & elements
Streetlights fade out
as we walk down the road
to our earthly homes
You say you know
it means we’re watched over


A hand
like a feather
drifting down

‘Must be the work of angels’

His nonchalant response
was truth
from the mouth
of the muse


Trading ghost stories,
waiting for the storm

I’m here as long as
the phone wires hold us

& I’ll be a light in your hearts
in the darkness


Clear as crystal

You make me unafraid
so we lay it all bare,

become as fragile as glass
believing that dawn
will break us


ambient music
of the celestial symphony
cherubic charm of birdsong
cloud hopping
across tropical citrus sky
stress floats away


dancing porcelain

a delicate moment



Skin cage or
electric fence follicles

This is a body
on guard,
in defense

This is pain protecting worse wounds
no one should ever see


Stay to the end
Miracles born
of deep belief
En masse
Circles, squares, triangles
the same
We form ideas
from the shape of the moon


All is still
Small hours pass faster
but leave longer shadows
Branches are safe
in darkness together,
worst of the storm over



Small plates for large mouths
Bread fed, our daily discourse
Thrice a day enraged

VSS (Very Short Stories):

A dark day. Labored fruits have rotted overnight. Time to ask why is time we don’t have. The shutters are open. No one walks the streets.



Owl reminds me of every
choice I gained wisdom from.


I named my teddy bear Samson.
He was a symbol of strength who survived abuse from my siblings
and the loss of a button eye.

WIP (Works in Progress):

I like the show for its rustic colors.

Yellows, oranges, bright greens.
My dullness needs it.
I feel like obsidian
when a TV screen is off.

                      –From “The TV People”


“You said you feared we wouldn’t have beautiful things to look at anymore so I’m doing my best to keep creating for you.”

                      –line from a letter


“Yes, he’s quite a master of the art of saying things in poor taste.”
“In my world we call that a ‘dick move’.”


My brain is a pile of dead jellyfish. Cross wired. Tentacle entwined.

#MicropoetryMonday – August 7 – 13, 2017


We braced,
the arrival

waves of emotions

against the tide


Speak so that
burrowed in bellies,
elusive magick,
burst out
of your mystical mouth
& tickle our ears


I think
if I love
the struggle
a bit too much
it might
just leave me
and that
would be bliss


Forgetting was a gift
you couldn’t get back

I ran into memories
like spider webs in a dark forest,

the past
still clinging to me


Painted mouths
in permanent screams
I still hear
after all these years
when I see
delicate dolls
dancing in my worst dreams


Smudged inkprints bleeding
into lines
of angsty teenage poetry
& your distorted voice on a dusty cassette tape.
You never crossed your ‘T’s.


Take me to levels
of absolute ultimate extreme
Induce freefall panic
while I straddle edges
Catch me in the moment
before impact


Full Moon

Ache in the ear,
prelude to clairaudience

Where is ascension?

What destination
for a soul settled
in the in-between,

the unseen?


I know what my nookomis
apologized for
when she said
we were lonesome owls
now that she’s in the Wind

In the stillness,
I miss her
& forgive


No forcing
the crystal

No twisting and turning
of a round hole, square peg

No contrast, no blending;
Just let it all flow and be



Guardians of the Fog

in silent movement

Grandpa said they’d protect me

They said they would be his eyes


Sloshing well within me,
churning doubt,
thickening like cement
I can’t build a foundation
on this sinking desert sand
Dreaming of lush land


Fooled we were
thinking this
was just a turadh

A whole season
by summer rain


Outside looking in
I am observing myself
as myself
This is how I know I’m dreaming
This is lucidity for me
A lens to see within


The moon,
our sea queen,
guides us through
the rushing waters

we are capsized,
already bowing
to her mighty glow


First contact
Eye contact
Look away
Look back again
Magnetic attraction
Electric reaction
This is our moment
Our remember when


had its way
We’re clear here
in low budget lighting
Every voice’s inflection
makes it sound
like it’s asking a question


I will float on
green algae vapors
until I find the teal crystal sea
I will drift until
it all swirls together;
New Earth for me



I project with my eye lens
Your world is blurred
Streaks on dirty glass
Remove them
Along with mountain specks


a misplaced domino
a sudden motion
Our love was a chain
of disastrous events
A vicious volcano
A waterspout over the ocean


I was warned against
using my words as weapons

And it’s fine because I have none left

I rest my mighty sword/pen

I’m spent


We long for rainfall

Dance, pray, & sing

The desert could only promise
a sandstorm

It only made us
live harder


What do we fear
when all is still
or too dark
or cold
or lonely?

An icy wind
down your back,
the breath of death
waiting for you


The sky can’t hear me
I’m too far away

I pray
night and day

Please rain and take away
this fire within me


as birds and butterflies
or flower petals in the August winds
I am restless
a permanent fixture
on a rumpled bed


Old photograph
made my Uncle cry once
and I felt so bad    I wanted to show him
a happy memory but I forgot
that people leave


for your grief
You sang
through the pain
Those same songs
over & over again
& we let you
We remember when
we were gone



Lunar charge passes
All in her beam enlightened
Full totality


WIP (Works in Progress):

“They fight enough over the surface. Imagine showing them the deep, dark truth.”
“The thought is terrifying.”
“I think deep down they know.”


Poem – "August"

by Jennifer Patino

I know it’s only August,
but I drink harvest tea anyway

Summer days,
they’re letting the night have its way,


Humidity makes my dreams vivid
Excessive heat makes humanity livid

I see crowds of jesters, air-luting,
fingering wrong chords, screeching festers

These are dream codes

No interpretation needed,
the answer is simple:

I never asked
a question that would kill me to know the answer
I never asked
for this desert of abandonment, unhappily ever after

I’ll wake up, it’ll be Winter
Sweltering hibernation turn over

Leaves on trees, spinning dancers,
reasons to smile and roll over