Sunlight gently falling
On blue,
Lighting the green
Branches that support you,
Leaves that frame you.
Blue the color of
Heaven on good day,
Framed by a green
Limes would envy.
Sleep eluded me and
I was there at dawn,
Witnessing the splendor of
Heaven,
Stolen for a few brief moments
And illuminated by the sun.
Hydrangea © Connie J. Jasperson 2017 (author’s own photo)
Stolen Heaven © Connie J. Jasperson 2017
Filed under #FlashFictionFriday, Poetry, writing
Morning came
Along with the bandages and healing,
Along with your frustration and helplessness.
Morning came
And I, as your mother, tended your wounds.
You didn’t ask for this burden.
You didn’t do anything wrong.
You didn’t cause epilepsy.
Tomorrow will be better.
Tomorrow your wounds will be healed
Even if your ego isn’t.
Tomorrow Will Be Better, © Connie J. Jasperson 2017, All Rights Reserved
Photo credit: After a great sun rise, Photographer: Simon Eugster, SSA CCA 3.0 Licence: {{GFDL}} via Wikimedia Commons
If you or a loved one are suffering from a seizure disorder, the Epilepsy Foundation has resources for you http://www.epilepsy.com/
Comments Off on #FlashFictionFriday: Tomorrow will be better
Filed under #FlashFictionFriday, Epilepsy, Poetry
The quiet of
An early summer
Morning
Sinks into my soul,
Warming my spirit like coffee.
At twelve past five
The birds are present,
Singing,
Songs of love, poems of war
While I appreciate my coffee.
Feathered beings
Living swift and fierce,
Passionately,
As summer waxes into fall
And I enjoy my coffee.
Quiet of an Early Summer Morning, by Connie J. Jasperson © 2017 Connie J. Jasperson, All Rights Reserved.
Depiction of the Socotra Sparrow, from its description in the Proceedings of the Scientific Meetings of the Zoological Society of London. Female above, male below. Joseph Smit 1881 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Comments Off on #FlashFictionFriday: Quiet of an Early Summer Morning
Filed under #FlashFictionFriday, Poetry, writing
Jennet, she lies
‘Neath the white rose tree
And never again will she
Play false to me
T’was not my hands
Round her lily-white throat
But would that I could
Drown her deep in the moat
Her hair was as dark
As summer is fair
Her lips were for kissing
Sweet Rose of Adair
Jennet, she lies
‘Neath the rose tree white
My brother will hang
For her murder tonight
Jennet, she lies
‘Neath the white rose tree
Never again will
Those lips lie to me
T’was not my hands
Round her lily-white throat
She ruined my brother
She ruined us both
Played us like pawns
In the age-old game
Until she did misstep
To her sorrow and shame
My brother will hang
‘Neath the town hall light
And who will tell mother
What happened tonight?
Jennet, she lies
‘Neath the white rose tree
And never again will she
Play false to me.
Ballad of Jennet Adair © Connie J. Jasperson 2016-2017, All Rights Reserved
The Ballad of Jennet Adair by Connie J. Jasperson was first published July 31, 2015 on Edgewise Words Inn, as a song her character, Huw the Bard, might have written. It is a story poem, written in a traditional, bardic style, and was inspired by the Child Ballads collected in the 19th century by Francis James Child.
Bouquet of Roses at the Window, Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller 1892 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Comments Off on #FlashFictionFriday: Ballad of Jennet Adair (reprise)
Filed under #FlashFictionFriday, Poetry, writing
Rain falling on a young girl’s face,
Falling down, down,
Rolling down, down.
Went where she shouldn’t.
Broke the rules,
Broke their trust,
Broke her dreams,
And all because he seemed so nice.
Too young to drink, but drank too much,
Said no, she wouldn’t,
Said, no, he couldn’t,
Said no, he shouldn’t,
When he pressed her,
When he forced her,
When he mocked her.
Rain falling on a young girl’s face,
Falling down, down,
Rolling down, down.
Punished her for breaking the rules.
Can’t bear the shame,
Can’t bear the guilt,
Can’t face her family.
Rain falling down, down her face.
Who will raise her up?
Who will sooth her pain?
Who will say “It’s not your fault?
“He had no right.
“He had no right.
“You broke the rules, but He had no right.”
Rain falling on a young girl’s face,
Falling down, down,
Rolling down, down.
Rain Falling on a Young Girl’s Face © 2017 Connie J. Jasperson
National Sexual Assault Hotline (No matter who you are–woman, man, or child–you are not alone: click https://www.rainn.org/ or call 800-656-HOPE)
Image: Here Comes the Rain Again, By Juni from Kyoto, Japan (Flickr) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons
Comments Off on #FlashFictionFriday: Rain Falling on a Young Girl’s Face
Filed under #FlashFictionFriday, Poetry, writing
Old man walking to the tavern
No license, mumbling.
Saw too many things
Knows too many things
War is one of those things.
Old man riding to the tavern
A young boy’s bike.
Lost his license
Lost his mind
Lost his self-respect.
Old man walking to the tavern
No license, mumbling.
Old Man Walking, by Connie J. Jasperson, © 2017 All Rights Reserved.
Head of a Bearded Man (Manner of Rembrandt) after circa 1630 [Public domain or Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
If you or a loved one are a wounded veteran and are struggling with PTSD, call Vet to Vet Assistance 888-777-4443 or log onto the National Veterans Foundation https://nvf.org/about-national-veterans-foundation/
Filed under #FlashFictionFriday, Poetry, writing
I often think about the home where I grew up. While I didn’t realize it at the time, I was fortunate to live at the edge of a rural lake, surrounded by forests. Nature was everywhere, and I grew to appreciate the beauty of the world in which I lived. Perhaps that is why I have such a fondness for Irish Poets, and the songs of Thomas Moore.
THERE is not in the wide world a valley so sweet
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet;
Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must depart,
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.
Yet it was not that nature had shed o’er the scene
Her purest of crystal and brightest of green;
’Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill,
Oh! no—it was something more exquisite still.
’Twas that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near,
Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear,
And who felt how the best charms of nature improve,
When we see them reflected from looks that we love.
Sweet vale of Avoca! how calm could I rest
In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best,
Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease,
And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace.
Performance of The Meeting of the Waters, Tommy Fleming, via YouTube: https://youtu.be/ABy3GUcLTXc
Song: The Meeting of the Waters, Thomas Moore, PD|100
Image: The Meeting of the Waters, Bartlett, W. H. (William Henry), 1809-1854.|Source=”The scenery and antiquities of Ireland, Vol 2”. Published: London, G. Virtue |Date=1842 |Author=J. Stirling Coyne |Permission=Public domain |oth via Wikipedia, accessed April 28, 2017
Comments Off on #FlashFictionFriday: The Meeting of the Waters, by Thomas Moore
Filed under #FlashFictionFriday, Poetry
Talisman
The evening sun lingers,
Red, golden,
Unwilling to set.
Time seems to stop.
This moment
Will be a talisman,
Hanging in my heart.
Warming me
When winter’s fist is closed.
Talisman, Copyright © 2017 Connie J Jasperson, All rights reserved
Puget Sound Sunset, By Vladimir Menkov (Own work) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html), CC-BY-SA-3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/) or CC BY 2.5 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons
Filed under #FlashFictionFriday, Poetry
There was a time when we talked,
A time when words connected us the way kisses join lovers.
You mind amazed me as much as your body did
And I knew them both better than I knew my own.
You still amaze me but years have wedged silence between us.
Not the stony silence of anger or hurt—thank god, not that.
It is the silence of comfortableness,
The soundless speech of two old people
who sometimes read each other’s minds.
The quiet sharing of a back porch in the summer.
Side-by-side on a second-hand settee with a blue cushion,
You reach for my hand, and I am swept away.
Now when we speak, it is a more cerebral sharing,
Mind to mind, heart to heart,
Two old people still in love, but with little to say.
Did we say it all in the young wild days?
Did we spend our words the way we spent our kisses?
If so, then many more remain, waiting to pass between us.
No. We were learning each other, discovering truths
and facing our self-deceptions.
Now it is a calm sharing.
I still know your mind and your body
and love them better than my own.
I still love it when you hold my hand.
And when we speak it means something.
And when we kiss it means something.
And when we hold hands in the silence
Of an evening on a back porch,
Side-by-side on a second-hand settee with a blue cushion,
It means everything.
Silence and Love © Connie J. Jasperson 2015–2017, All Rights Reserved (First Published Nov. 13, 2015 on Life in the Realm of Fantasy)
Sun in May, Józef Mehoffer 1911 [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
Filed under #FlashFictionFriday, Poetry, writing
Tales, dreams,
Shadow-truths…
The fabric of the multiverse.
One universe touches upon another, and
The dreamer dreams.
The faerie queen leads her court though the forest and
One more mortal falls in love.
Books are evidence that once upon a time
A mortal slept, and dreamt.
Within the pages of dusty, leather-bound books
Lies proof the philosophers’ stone
Exists in the realm of imagination,
Spinning words of straw into gold,
Bequeathing immortality to those who possess it.
The multiverse is yours for the taking
If you believe, and
Are unafraid to dream.
Open a book, and
Step into a realm
Unknown.
Dreams and Shadow Truths, © Connie J. Jasperson 2015.
Fantasy Digital Painting, By Boxiness (Painting using tablet PC.) [GFDL (http://www.gnu.org/copyleft/fdl.html) or CC BY-SA 3.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons
Filed under #FineArtFriday, #FlashFictionFriday, Poetry
Life in the Realm of Fantasy 