Happy Mother’s Day — 2 Poems


20170623_065439 (1)My Grandmother & I @ The Detroit Zoo circa 1983



My Mother // by Jennifer Patino


My mother,

she taught me love of virtue
& not of wealth,

how to be strong
even in ill health,
& most importantly,
how to mother myself


~~ * * ~~


Nookomis // by Jennifer Patino


I’m sifting through ashes early;
July is on the horizon and I
will miss you again
I can’t blame death
when you taught me
that it doesn’t really exist
I see your spirit too
every time I dare to glance
at my aging eyes
I notice your hair
is growing underneath mine
like crimped crow feathers
I hear your voice
when I speak on things
the Creator whispers to me
Nookomis, can you see me?
I’m here still, hanging on,
alive and dreaming


I can’t seem to find any photos of my mother & I. 😦 I think they’re on another drive. Anyways, I wanted to share a couple older poems in honor of Mother’s Day. I spoke to my mom on the phone today & I hope she always knows I love her even though we’re far away from each other. I miss my Grandmother every single day even though she passed years ago. I’m feeling sentimental today. I just miss too many people.



Poetry – 2 Poems – “The Lowly Place” & “Prayer”




The Lowly Place // by Jennifer Patino


I have scraped
the bottom of my barrel
to summon strength
to express
the fear I know best,
that one day
my illness will defeat me,
that I will be forced
to retire my pen
to eternal rest


I think of my muses,
my inspirations,
the best ones
who weathered
their own tribulations


I do as any sick poet would do,
submerged in word, struggling
against the ailing, failing body
to create anew,
I write to survive, to have a reason to
stay and play being alive


Giacomo Leopardi,
nearly toppled over,
arm dangling over
a creaky-coiled bed,
wishing he were dead
to end
the suffering
of being held back,
trapped in every aspect
by what the world saw
on his outside,
his true thoughts
on paper he never dared hide


Frida Kahlo, from her sickbed,
masterpieces, her tired head,
Her arms, strong to hold
the details,
Her heart, her pulsing entrails,
on a canvas overhead;
Beauty in suffering,
grace in despair,
life of torture,
breath of art,
return to air


Jackson Pollock painted his
pain on the floor, his
splatter poetry,
his constant cries of
more, more, more!”
and then,
no more!”
His demons banging
on his locked door,
The lowly place,
the floor,
where all poets,
artists, human beings
find themselves


And Edith Piaf,
the little sparrow,
singing to salvage,
and for salvation,
though her voice
did quake,
though her nerves
did shake,
I hear you in
the background,
my hand trembling,
my own blood
slowing at the sound


This is my sickbed,
my lowly place,
beyond the 10th Circle,
through the 9th Gate,

This is the darkened space
beyond the shadow
of my eclipsed face

Here is where it all lies,
surrounded by the voices
of every lamenting artist,
soothing my own cries

The end of the page is near,
my inkwell nearly dry,
All I have is here,
written visions
for a wandering eye




Prayer // by Jennifer Patino



I was taught the body
is equated to a holy vicinity

I can only hope to attain perfection,
a desperate attempt at mimicry

of the life of the Savior,
and His goodness,

I am not worthy to be called
a genuine reflection

of the Blessed Trinity,
Still I cry to Thee,

O, Lord, deliver me
unto Thy protection

as I suffer through hardships
to greet Your glory, Your resurrection



#MicropoetryMonday – October 30 – November 5, 2017

Greetings, everyone. I’m keeping it short today because I’m trying to take it easy. I was having a really good week and then got knocked down by another nerve pain flare up. It’s much better today than yesterday, so I am thankful. I’m happy our weather is turning colder here in Vegas as well.

I must say I am really sickened by the state of our world today. I’m tired of waking up to news of one horrible and senseless tragedy after another. I know I’m not alone, but it doesn’t make it any easier to watch. I’m only one small person with no power to do much of anything other than pray and vote accordingly. It makes me sad when I see people attacking others for not being able to do anything other than pray. I’m disabled. I do what I can. Every single human being is doing all they can. Lay off each other for a minute. Stop seeing everyone as an enemy because gah, this is beyond horrible. It’s getting harder and harder to focus on the good.

Alright, I’m exhausted after typing that little bit out. Love each other a little extra this week. Try to understand that everyone sees and experiences this world differently than you do before you attack another because they might have a different view. If a person can’t be reasoned with or spoken to nicely because they’re too riled up or filled with hate, then be the bigger person and step away. End the conversation. Even online. That’s not cowardly, that’s smart in my opinion. No sense in getting yourself just as angry or fired up as they are. None of the constant arguing is helping. It’s really not. Trolls can’t be reasoned with so why bother?

Ok, beautiful people. Please send me prayers, good vibes, and good thoughts for this Wednesday as I undergo two loooonngggg MRI tests. I’m not looking forward to them at all. I have been writing, in case you were wondering. 😉 I’ve been working on the slew of short stories I have started. Adding little bits here and there. My poem that I have until the 17th to finish is coming along. It’s just something I want to get right so it’s taking me longer. Enjoy this week’s bit of micropoems. Be sure and check out my Twitter for more. And now I’m really exhausted so I’m really going to go now…




Will we make it
to morning?

Muted lamps
signal a passing

An answer
no one wants to hear

A charcoal sky,
blue flame & ash

#SenseWrds 331


I stayed
Tried to outrun the night
Knew the house was crumbling
Could smell the ground
–the decay
Tear your eyes
Lead away



in the stillness

Night frogs
silence their snoring
to warn of night terrors

Lurking guardians,
surprise symphony



Floundering in the spoondrift

This maelstrom,
an aftermath

We’re heart-tossed vessels
shaky on new sea legs
thrown ashore



Saints & Sinners,
a little dive bar
clothed in leather
Pushing curfew,
waiting outside
to remind you
of relapse
Save yourself



My past is ash
My notes thrown to fire
It wasn’t enough
Those words are still in me
Smoking apologies
for all this space I take up



I take shelter
in your smile

You’re losing balance,
I fall too

I can’t keep up
with losing sense

of myself
and losing you