It’s All Happening Now, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

It’s All Happening Now

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Your awareness

Of your immediate

Surroundings–this

Moment, and

Your breath

Breathing presence

Into the world–

Is valid. Your pain,

Your falling asleep,

Your heartache,

Your little conversations

About how beautiful

The sunset is,

Your worries,

Your looking for your keys,

Your rising, glowing

Body—fluttering

With coming—

All of this—

Is valid.

 

And can you

Imagine–now, this

Moment–somewhere far

Beneath the ocean’s surface–

A whale drifts—

An acorn-barnacled

Monolith–singing

Light through forests

Of kelp and the bodies

Of a million fish—

Echoing in your very

Own longing—can you

Imagine?

 

Can you imagine–

Now, this moment–

Somewhere deep

In deep-green leaves—

Leaves as big as faces–

A panther, a shimmering

Piece of the night,

Licking its great paws,

And staring—all the way

From Indonesia—

Directly

Into your eyes?

 

Oh, can you—

Can you imagine?

It’s all happening

Now.

 

 

 

 


 




The Art of Blossoming, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

The Art of Blossoming

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

 

The art of blossoming

Is simple and yet

Riddled with struggle.

First you find yourself

A seed full of darkness

Surrounded by darkness,

Then you gradually begin

To realize you are full of light,

A light yearning to shine

In the open, remarkable sky,

Next you begin feeling

An even brighter light

Gently tugging, calling,

Singing you out of the earth,

Passed roots and rocks, until,

At last, you break open–

 

Into the full pageant of the day,

With your light illuminating

Your own life and the lives

Of everyone you touch,

And other lights

Stream through you,

Like liquid sweetness,

And you draw sustenance

From lightning and the rain—

 

And the fragrance of all

Your efforts–all that darkness,

All that time spent

Wisely unseen–lifts

Into the wind, and your beauty

Weaves through the day

And the night, and other seeds,

Through other gardens,

Through other fields

Awaiting this coming out,

When the world, and the mirror,

Are blessed.

 

 

 

 

 


 


Clear as Day, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

Clear as Day

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

One never knows until never is up,

And then you know whatever it was

You didn’t know before never ran out.

 

It’s kind of like this: A firefly

Turns its own light on and off

In an effort to get your attention.

 

Certain questions act the same way—

Bobbing up and down, elusive—

Hints flashing among the dark trees;

Every so often, and often again—

Someplace different—a little to the left,

A little higher, and sometimes, seemingly,

Rising to the moon, all in an effort

To be followed.

 

Trick is—and it is a trick—keep watching

For the lights—they can bloom anywhere

In the fields of summer darkness;

When you see one, follow its green-tinted

Ribbon where ever it goes, as best you can,

And if you lose sight of it—disappointment,

Frustration—are perfectly valid responses.

 

Try and remember this:

When you fall asleep, and answers

Lift through the trees—out of reach—

Do your best to not give up.

 

Your dreams–along with a gathering of angels

And shadows—will ponder the questions for you,

And when morning comes, and the dawning sun shines,

It will all be clear as day.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 


The Frog, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

The Frog

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

The frog with gold-flecked sclera and black, almond pupils–

Sloped back–green, gleaming with brown moons—

Waits until the last second before leaping

From the half-submerged log into algae-murky waters.

 

Once I am up the road aways, mind thinking through shafts of light

Of what it would be like to be so smoothly elusive,

Its head inconspicuously breaks the surface of the pond,

Scoping it out, making sure I’m good and gone.

 


I Don’t Know What Else to Say, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

I Don’t Know What Else to Say

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

The Friesian horse of the night approaches,

In an extended cantor.

When it finally slows to a halt,

May it nuzzle my face and neck,

May the mist of its breath shroud my body

So that I may disappear into the moon light.

And may whatever it was I wanted to say

Be swallowed up into the ground

Only to reappear years later—

As bones wrapped in flowers.

 

 

 

 


Ghosts of Spring, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

Ghosts of Spring

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

The spring breeze haunts me,

Every flower calls my name,

Winter holds me fast.

 

 

The ghosts in the spring

Flow through the weeping cherries,

Then fall to the ground.

 

 

I saw the ghost child

Wandering through the garden

Wishing it was fall.

 

 

Spring ghosts whispering;

The dogwoods acknowledge their voice

Weeping white petals.

 

The dead follow close,

The daffodils bow their heads,

Blessing as we pass.

 

 

Dearest magnolia,

How can it be you are there,

Fancying up the sky?

 

 

Spring wind chases by,

Stirring my hair as it goes,

Leaving me behind.

 

 

Someone mows a lawn,

The sound drifts through the window,

Melting through my mind.

 

 

Children’s spring laughter

Fluttering through the window,

Waking up the ghosts.

 

 

Rain-scented pavement

Permeates my feeling life,

Understands the tears.

 

 

 

 

 

 


No Matter What, by Jennifer Angelina Petro

No Matter What

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

At some point or another

One of these poems will be my last.

Whichever season it lands in

Holds a key, or, better said—

A gesture as to how it will unfold

Into your life.  No matter what

 

Wind will be blowing outside,

Roots will expand and contract,

Night will come, and the moon will be phasing

Behind the clouds, and blue screen lights

Will dim under your hands,

 

And floor boards will creak beneath

Your feet as you step into another room—

Thinking: What was being said between the lines?

Where does it all lead anyway?

Will we meet there? What will she look like?

Will there be a river and cherry blossoms?

Will there be angels, and, if so,

Will they be silent or singing?

 

 

 

 


Pockets of Possibility, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

Pockets of Possibility

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Expand into this

Moment, like

Sunrise into day,

Like green shoots

From dark husks,

Like yeast in bread,

Like movement

Through the dancer’s waking limbs,

Like motion in the resting

Curtains, like momentum

Into a good idea, like breath

From your whole body,

Like an octopus unfurling

From its dark lair.

Spread into this

Moment, like

A child’s fingers opening

Into your hand–

To guide you to touch the kitten’s fur,

To feel the lips of the goat nibbling feed,

To feel the weight of the fork

As it lifts from the cake,

To find the stone that acts like

A talisman in the pockets

Of possibility.

 

 

 

 

 

 


 



Ocean of Praise, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

Ocean of Praise

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

It is my hope you’ve seen

Water carrying light,

Reflect on walls, ceilings, trees—

The way it dances, shimmers, like

A visible breeze rippling

Through curtains in spring,

Easing the eyes and spirit.

You know your body is

Made of water.  Think of that–

Water is in your every cell,

Carrying light, reflecting inside

On every part of you, like

A bowl filled with wonder, like

A temple touched with fingers

Of reverence, like your prayers

On an ocean of praise.

 

 

 

 


 




Inside the Inside, By Jennifer Angelina Petro

Inside the Inside

By

Jennifer Angelina Petro

 

 

Inside the inside

Of her breath,

Where songs live,

And praise,

 

There is a space—

Round as the cup

Of a nightingale’s nest,

Hidden by a thicket,

Wing covered,

 

Where she lives—

This little one—

Holding the uncorruptable songs,

The unmolestable poems—

Inside, like water roots

Of lilies,

 

She sits, tracing spirals

In the sand, watched over

By Euterpe and Thalia,

Terpsichore and Polyhymnia,

 

They cannot keep her

From being invaded,

From years of her life

Being stolen,

From her innocence

Being crushed by night

Predators and shadow-

Dappled afternoon monsters,

Though they try with all

Their might to stand

Bracing against the door.

 

What they can do

Is protect the breath

Inside her breath,

Where songs live,

And praise, where poems

Sleep, like nightingale’s eggs,

Where drawings manifest, like

Treasure maps,

Where dances unfurl, like

Galaxies, where music flows, like

Ribbons and rivers,

Where rhythm lives, like

The wing-beats of every

Rising phoenix. That

They can do.  And will

Continue to do until she walks

With them to the seaside,

And points towards home.