Lady Banks

I paused this morning
to smell the roses, Lady Banks
growing in garlands
of white and a pale yellow,
the latter, a shade closest to
morning sunlight.

With their delicate tendrils
languidly splayed
over a willing, yet
infirm cedar fence,
they called to me,
the way they’ve been
calling to me every morning.

Passing them on my walk,
I call back, not now, later,
much like a wayward parishioner
rushes by their pastor
on a Sunday morning
on their way to something busier
and consumingly more important
than praying.

And I wonder
who was Lady Banks
to have such an outpour
named for her?
Wife of Sir Joseph Banks
is all that is written.

A conjuring places her
perambulating her Victorian grounds,
the tiny stem of this rose twirling between
her fingertips,
thoughtful matron of her estate.
Or draped in her best expedition finery,
side-saddled over a wise pachyderm
who ambles her through the quite wild places
of India.

Nonetheless, I cup their clustered offering
into my lined hands.
closing my eyes, inhaling, allowing
the sense of smell to precede.
Breathing their fragrance is
as if to breathe the Madonna
directly into your heart.

Filling the well so generously,
so abundantly, so it may once again
shine it’s light out into the world.
Transmutation with one sip of a rose.

copyright 2015, Jennifer Brinn

Bay St. Blues

Waiting for you with stardust on my skin
and sunlight in my soul,
bounty is upon this table.

And yet
your pale face blank
at its sight.

Grayest matter pleading me
to flee…
though the heart
undulates at the hope
of your warmth.

Your lips now dry
and wooden,
sunken under their creaky lies,
Stories you’ve confessed never true
in the deepest shroud of midnight.

Your soul a churning bystander
at the accident of your mind.

Day breaks
your body lies aimlessly,
a faded leaf whirling
in the shallow of  a street puddle,

Gulls chant, breaching the Presidio fog
calling you to walk in sunlight.

10/2005, copyright jennifer brinn

Magnolia

And here I’ve landed
on the other side of the past.
Eyes holding wonder like a cup.
Head, heart and body drunk
with divinity
rolling,
in a bacchanalia of consciousness.

Blooming only laughter,
only beauty,
shimmering light to all.
Sword now sheathed,
with a single magnolia as my gift.
Show up! and be embraced.
show up! and celebrate
these unfurled petals before you.

Then here you will land,
cradled,
taken,
one.

copyright 2007, jennifer brinn