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Janway - Jubis (2)
Parse The Time
by Tiffany Janway

I found the day too late to rise
and the night too soon to sleep.
Now I wander about tomorrow
looking for lost time to keep.

I burrowed lately upon a path
burrowed before by many a lass.
But now I look where I lay
forward and back in aged dismay.

What if it rhymes but doesn't chime
and only adds paper to a bird's nest?
Does it mean I've lost it still
and by who's eyes unseen?

Not the birds for they care not
for such other than easy prey
and some such nurturing instinct
we all know and feel but don't trust.

Can I go on about me as you
go on about you promising to
someday leave memories of
your passing this way.

No it is not time and your
time is not my time and we
both should have better things
to do and think than to parse
the time and dribble out loud.

Copyright © 2008 Tiffany Janway

Sage Femme
by Vanessa Jubis

I must wait for present to become past

As the wind blows and I watch the heavy showers

The day becomes dim and the skies overcast

My body takes over and I begin to fall

I tumble into the land that they call “out there”

Time is still and meditation takes over

The only breath that I can watch

Blowing like daisies from my mouth

My full womb is speaking nothing but “surges”

The pain is like watching the departure of birds

They come and they go and they sing

I chant “let it go” and “let it be”--

“let it go” and “let it be”--

I must be patient and the patient

That does not watch the clock

In this meditative hour--

I trust the process…

And the sage femme simply waits.

Copyright © 2009 Vanessa Jubis

Intuition Of The Beat
by Vanessa Jubis

The raindrops pound the roof above me.
The whistling of the wind brings a familiar sound.

Have I been here before?
I may stay a while longer…

The white sheets are crisp
ready for sweat.
The scent of lavender is hypnotic.

My skin is brushed upon,
with the caress of his warm breath.

Tiny hairs are standing.
Skin is familiarly bumpy.

The sweet rain sheds its tears upon the fruitful womb of mother earth.
The cyclical seed is waiting to be fertilized.

The rise of expansion and contraction

a friction of steamy flesh
burn to fruition.

My sacred space is reserved.
The vacant spot waits for its tenant.
The intuition of the beat.

I offer myself to the instant
of the pulsing throb.
I am the vessel upon which a new breath will emerge.

I can hear the flawless cadence of his presence.
I have arrived at my destination.

I am complete.

I am in union with the shadow of my intuition.
I share my sacred space with bliss.

Two beats become one.

Copyright © 2009 Vanessa Jubis



© copyright 2008 - Last Updated: 09/19/2021