Poetry – “Lenormand #1”







Lenormand #1 // by Jennifer Patino


Barrier mountains,

once over,

we’ll be resting in the garden

at the foot of a cross


Much faith is required

for that which lies ahead


Tricky fox,

sly & cunning,

makes dreams come true

as seen through


death omens

in the irises of owls


Visions written,

of a rich bear

retiring to great heights,

but wealth comes in many forms,

so he’ll die penniless,

but happy,

oh, so happy


The way is paved

with strength,

& soon this will be over,

we’ll be over

this obstacle soon



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.



#FlashbackFriday – Poetry – “We Always Wear Pajamas on Saturdays”





We Always Wear Pajamas on Saturdays // by Jennifer Patino


sunshine specks

catching dust

and reflections,

magnified introspection

of busy bees

in pajamas on a Saturday,

twirling and whirling

around with their brooms


for the morning chores

are never a bore

when pianos twinkle

fleeting notes,

clever anecdotes

about the week’s

piled up junk mail


dishes beg to dance,

the floor mops take a chance,

then the old house settles,

clean and serene,

sparkling tabletops,

walls that shine,

and a scent of love

that is yours and mine


take a break,

relax awhile,

take a deep, fresh breath,

cozy up and smile


November 14, 2009



This writer is a member of The Literati Mafia.




The Nostalgia Tapes #8 – “Released”





The Nostalgia Tapes #8 – “Released” // by Jennifer Patino


Dreams. Dreams of knives being driven into me. I know the faces of my enemies, who wield my failures in front of me. Who taunt me with old lines I fed them to make them stop. I find myself here, at a bus stop. I have a brown paper grocery bag full of clothes, toiletries, & instructions from the hospital. I’ll throw these away when I finally walk to my destination. I don’t need anyone to tell me how to live my life. It started raining as I ran to the coffee shop. Waiting for the bus would have taken way too long.

I meet a couple in love & a lonely old man outside. I think they think I’m homeless, & I suppose I am, technically, since I’m this odd puzzle piece that can’t seem to fit into any mold shaped for me, but for now there is an awning above me so I am sheltered. The sad widower mentions there will be a storm tonight.




I keep my friend awake too long. She’s kind to let me stay, & she understands that some days I just won’t sleep. Some nights I’ll need stars to calm me down. Some nights I’ll need the same song on repeat. Sometimes I’ll wake up bleeding.

From the knives. I avert my gaze from them every time. They’re too tempting. I live to prove to myself that I am not dangerous. I live to prove to others that I am still very much alive. Those who wish me dead are still out there somewhere. I think too much about whether or not they’re thinking too much about me. I close my eyes. Death in a dream is my destiny.


Note: “The Nostalgia Tapes” are a collection of short prose & poetry that I’ve been working on for about three years. Honestly, I don’t know when it will be finished, or how it will be released once I do finish it, but here’s a bit of prose from it. Also, the good folks over at L’ÉPHÉMÈRE REVIEW were kind enough to publish “The Nostalgia Tapes #1 : Joyride” last summer. You can check that out here



This writer is a member of The Literati Mafia.



Omertà 3

The literati mafia

A Literati Mafia Collaboration: Part III

Silence is seen as a treacherous doubled-edged sword in my tumultuous mind. I never knew what silence meant in my daily life. Since a little girl, I have watched my family delve into anger and confusion over money and disagreement. I have seen people stab me in the back as I grow older, letting emotion cover every fiber of my being as i’m lost in my own sense of noise. I have seen those that don’t know one true fact about me, talk down about my hopes and dreams. It floods my mind in waves. For when I heard conversation behind my back, I knew it was words in which would cover me in blood and agony.  I was finally cleansed. I forgot about those that used words to hurt each other, or hurt me. I began to find silence was spectacular. I didn’t…

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