Within The Light...

One Sunday morning
i found myself
walking a path
i hadn't walked before..
All alone
(there was no one around)
so, i used this time
for talking to God,
Just Him and me..
like it's supposed to be...
i found myself
asking him why
oh why, did I
have to live
the life i lived..
always depressed..
what purpose could
he have for me?
My life is nothing more
than a daily struggle.
I asked him why
When He gave others success
was i chosen to fail?
How do I receive
this blessing of a good life..?
I aked Him
Why did i find
all the wrong roads???
As i looked up
I saw a light
shinning down upon
the trees above me..
And a silent voice
within my soul
seemed to be saying
Keep your faith
I do know you..
I am here
witin the light
listening....
I am here.
suddeny it all became
so clear to me
I could see
the light on this tree.
I meen i really saw
this light on the tree..
Something changed in me
It broke something free
that held me back
kept me praying
over and over
again and again
for the same thing
to happen..
to find the right roads in life
the prosperous roads
the happy roads
the kind and loving
always success roads..
Yet, this road i'd found
today, this Sunday
had become
a road to God..
a road to light..
for each time i prayed
each time i called
upon God to lead me..
i asked that i find
the right roads in life..
I suddenly felt
remorse,
i felt selfless and dirty..
so many things
i could spend time
talking with God about..
and i talk these things..
When i walked this road
i did not intend
to venture far..
benieth the light
shinning on this tree
i found myself saying..
I found the road Lord..
I see the Road..
I'm on that road today..
I see th light...

Silent Poetry....

Deep in the woods
on a tiny hill
overlooking a stream
I long ago found
what seemed to be
a foundation..
a definate sign
that something
once was there.
the open well
not far away
said many things...
I often go there
to sit upon the rocks
in the late summer sun..
Alone with the wind
listening to Her poetry....
(the wind is A poet you know.)
She whispers on dew drops
sunsets and snowflakes..
rain intoxicates her,
she dances with lightening
as thunder roars around them..
The wind writes poetry
that has no words...
it needs no words..
to hear it
one needs only
to listen...





poem and picture by Conntta jen..

Within The Silence...

Looking out the window
of the old church
i felt a message was there
as if waiting
for me to hear it..
yet i could not find
this silent voice..
it seemed to be
laughing at me..
as if Mother Nature
Herself
was playing a game..
When i saw the feathers
resting upon
the weatherd wood
the silence was broken
and i could hear
the comming of Autumn..
the sounds of time
when summer is passing.....

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Katiedid...

The old cabin sits
nearly hidden
high on a Ridge
overlooking a lake..
there are no roads
only paths
made by deer
and a woman
called Katiedid.
they say
she left home
30 years ago
wouldn't go back..
lived off the streets.
her grandma Lydia
died in this cabin.
in Late Autumn
Katiedid can be seen
walking from town
carring a blanket
a frying pan
a fishng pole
and suitecase..
throughout the summer
i'm told she prefers
to sleep beneith
the 6th street bridge.
Once winter sets in
smoke will be seen
from across the lake.
if you get close enough
you can smell
fresh fish frying
and sassifrass tea...
strangers leave
fine cloths
fresh fruit
milk and bread
on sunday mornings...
with notes
inviting her
to church..
as she hides
in the attic...

Keeping distance...

The old house

tucked away in time..

seemed to be trying to hide.

I did not invade

her space this day....

maybe it was nervous thoughts

of snakes and mice(and things not so nice)

that kept me

keeping my distance..

i have come to trust

my first impressions...

the sky promiced rain,

as i sat upon

the huge rock

with my camera.

i could see small animals

looking out windows...

watching me

as if checking to see

what i was doing...

Dodging my harmless

Just missed shots...

Birds cried out

from the trees

as if awaiting my departure..

They say a old man

who lives by the county line

brings them cracked corn

and scraps ......
.

The Bouquet...

high in the sky
beyond the clouds
past the moon
Angels pick flowers
made of prayers..
giving them
to God.
I have been told
(in my dream's)
the flowers cover
all the land
in Heaven...
And God
keeps all flowers
the Angels bring Him
pressing them
In sacred books
like treasures....

First Impressions...

i found Him sitting alone
between 2 sets of trees
hidden from view
near a public hunting sign
off a gravel road...
He just seemed
to appear there...
in the middle of no where.
his one eye
seeming to glare
at me intruding...
i felt as though
He seemed
as suprised
to see me
as i was
to see him..
sunrays fell
Like a rainbow
all around Him..
as if they'd come
to visit...
i did not look inside
the old glass
or touch his door..
I did not see his other side..
someday i will
but not this time..

The Fading of July...

July is ending....
fading out fast...
August is ready to show us
That summer won't last.
She don't feel like spring,
Or winter and fall..
August isn't Autumn
(And She's no summer at all..)
Some call her "late summer"
the "dog days' and such...
she comes in blazing hot
but leaves behind a cool touch...
i don't know if i like her
she seems so out of control...
she can't make up her mind
she's hot then she's cool..
Septembers much like her
( some say she's her twin)
But where August starts hot
September brings A chill in.....
So please if you read this
enjoy July''s fateful end...
it will be twelve long months
Before she's back again.....

Whispers ....

the old road
leading back
to resting bales
of fresh cut hay
spoke of time
spent farming...
minnows swam
in the small creek
lined in dancing trees...
the old fence
seemed to move
with the wind..
rusted by time
her fence posts
of weatherd wood
(set by hands
that long ago
grew old and tired)
seemed to be weeping.......
the little road
gently whispered
but i cound not hear
what it was saying....
i felt a passion
to take a picture
to capture
the poetry
that need not
be written..
words
that need not
be said..

SEEDS

Once i awoke within a dream.
to find that peace had come.
All the world had freedom.
there was not one evil done.
Every war had ended,
and hunger was no more.
life had so much meaning,
when, it never did before.
Yet, I was the only one.
left upon this earth
for death had come to everyone,
who would not give peace birth
i saw about myself no sign
of modern mortal men
yet i remembered yesterday
and how the world had been.
I screamed a God to tell me why.
Oh why He did not hold
peace within the hearts of men,
treasured more than gold?
"it was then i heard a silent voice,
come from it seemed the sky
"if everything were perfect.
one would not need to try
there shall be the hungry ones
as well as those quite full
there shall be the loving hearts
as well as those quite cruel
there shall be the fortunate
as well as those in need
peace won't come till everyone
plants a peacefull seed.
it was then i asked the silent voice
to tell me one by one
where had been the peaceful seeds
to plant by everyone?
the voice became a whisper
then it quivered than it cried
search your heart and soul each day
for they are there inside
if everyone quite fortunate
helped out just one in need
the full would feed the hungry
but that's just one peaceful seed
i awoke from that dream to find ,
some follow some shall lead
but one thing that we all can do
is plant that peacefull seed.

When Parents die...

when parents die
some familys
grow apart...
things change.
those who would
not give up
their time
or money
are first in line
to inherit something..
they take more
they care less...
once it's over
often times
we find
they took more
than we knew..
I have seen
those who did nothing
end up with it all.
greed sets in.
they shy away
from the rest
( thinking they are better)
never thanking those
who did
the dirty work.
once parents die
the true self
of family
can not be hidden..

Falling.....

Down a gravel road
over a hill
up in the woods
I saw her..
weathered
and worn
torn apart
by the wind.
fading fast...
reminded me
of old people
in rest homes...
i felt a sadness
deep within
for i too
will grow old...

Don't go down the lane...

Up on the ridge
off a gravel road
there's a lane
most people
do not go down.
they say a old man
with one eye
and a hook
for a hand
lives in a shack
3 miles down the road.
He loves his cats
and just for fun
shoots at shadows
With his Grandpas gun........
Once a month
he goes into town
in a 76 chevy pickup......
buys matches and salt...
Flour and bullets...
I've been told
he sits on the rocks
at nightfall
overlooking the lane
waiting for his dog
to come home..
twenty years have passed
yet still he waits..
calling out in the darkness
"Here boy..here boy"..

Welcome friends..

If you found me a stranger may you come back as my friend....the following 20 poems or so was written over the last several months...I've just discovered this new found joy of putting poems to pictures....i enjoy letting the picture paint words upon my soul...it is much easier than puting pictures to poems...
if you enjoy my backroad pictures you might enjoy my Flickr site and blogs...
just click on "welcome friends" at the top of this post to take you there...

The Falling Of Time....

At the top of a hill
close to the county line
i found her falling...
A house
that once held
laughter and tears...
so silently she seemed
to be dying..
surround by fencelines
and weeds...
the old barn
stronger than her
faithfully stood
at her side...
His memories too
have been many.....
the rust on the silos
spoke of time
standing still
against blue skies...........
and the reaping of
seeds once sowed
on furtile land.
.

The Sacrifice...

there's a place
within the woods
behind a pine forest..
I call my room...
it used to be dark
and shadows
greeted me.
dancing about
as i sat
upon A mossy stone...
(Nature long ago
decorated this tiny space
with a foot stool
and two end tables..)
Last winters ice storm
sacrificed a tree
and light
now flows
upon the rocks..
I go there at sunrise
and sunset.
I'm told that sunrays
are like rainbows
only the pot of gold
is not coins
but words....

Naked Trees...

One thing i missed, once winter split
is the bare and naked trees..
Mother nature waited, paintently
to dress them up in leaves.
I love to see the shadow of
their trunks against a sunset sky...
(Naked trees are sexy things
but for what i don't know why...)
I love their branches laced in snow
up against a sky of blue...
I love them dressed up in ice
with a bright sun shinning through..
Once their dressed, i must confess
they don't do a thing for me
though i do love the spring time buds
that change the secenery..
I love them best, when their dressed
In the beauty Autumn's brings..
Still, Naked trees, are defiently
one one my favorite things...
I know that lots of you will say
"she's talking about a friggin tree.".
But do one thing,for me next spring
check out a naked pregant tree

Silent Whispers...

tucked away
in a thicket of trees
off a gravel road
down a 2 mile lane..
she stands idle..
broken and worn
rusted and sad
she struggles to stand..
her time
on earth
is fading...
Her windows
once held
shinny glass...
And her doors
opened to warmth
and smells
of fresh baked bread..
her sidewalk
long ago
hid nieth the grass...
her memories
are many...
she speeks
but only the wind
can hear her voice..
tree branch's seem
to hold her gently
as if to protect
her dying frame...

Waiting....

The tiny lane,
see's little traffic....
it leads to a old cabin
that sits near the lake.
every day at four o'clock
a red haired woman
can be seen walking..
checking her mail..
her husband Johnny
went to work one morning
and never came home..
no body was found.
his car was abandoned..
3 years have passed
and still no word from Johnny...
When she calls the police
desperate and crying...
The Cops just tell her
it's under investigation...
reminding her
He might have just left ..
and doesn't want found.
Noboy knows
for sure.
Some say she sits
on a rock
by the road
for hours...
as if she's waiting.
Her parents are gone.
her childrean are grown.
sitting under a tree
she reads cards
sent by old friends
that smell of mothballs..
and waves to strangers
passing by..

The Old Homestead...

the old homestead
over grown in trees
forgotten...
seems to be waiting
for my return...
a sadness sleeps
in her weatherd wood...
slowly she lost
her strength..
yet she stands
upright and proud.
time has taken
her youth....
In my pictures
she smiles....

The Intrusion....

The old cabin door
stood open...
as if waiting
for my departure.
I've come to know
the old house
much too well..
sometimes
i feel welcome
other times not..
this was a time
i felt I was
intruding...
the first of Autumn
was touching
late summer trees..
summer was passing.
To know Autumn
is to believe
Winter's her lover..
for soon she will fall
into his grasp
their courtship is cold
and short....
first she must
redress the leaves
green is not
a Autumn color...
She will paint
Natures canvas
gold and red,
purple and orange...
before she's done..
Trees will stand naked.
This late summer chill
made me feel
winter was here...
flurting with Autumn...
they've been lovers so long
time can predict them...
the old door open
said many things...
as i left i watched
autumns first leaves
dancing across
wooden floors...
I did not
close the door.

Nature and Luck...

In the woods
Benieth honeysuckle vines
i found a bucket
tattered and torn..
(i did not disturb it's time there..)
small animals know
the sound of rain..
tapping a tin roof....
cool in the summer
benieth the foliage,
a safe place to hide.
soon it would be covered
in brier's and twisted vines
hidden from sight........
through summer
and Autumn..
Keeping warm and dry
through winter's time....
frozen in ice
and snow...
where large teeth
and claws
can not carry it away.....
how could i disturb
this resting place
created by Nature
and luck...

A look inside....

Looking inside
the dark tomb
i saw a window...
it's beauty was not
for eyes
outside the walls...
twenty four handles
for
twenty four graves.
a family united...
by death....
100 and ten
years
of sleeping.....
the old broom
in the corner
i'm told
is for sweeping
away the sins...
a stone sculpture
of a angel
rests
above the door
as if to carry
their souls
to heaven....

The Power Of The Pen...

There was a time
when i loved
the mail man....
Much in the way
I now love
my computor...
the mail man
was my link
to people
who waited
to read
what i had written...
family and friends
had long before
stoped pretending..
(they didn't understand.)
the point of poetry
to them
"was pointless..."
waisted time.
yet the power
of the pen
can not
be turned down..
or ignored...
that's
impossiable.

Unmarked....

At the graveyards edge
by the woods...
i found this sculpture...
no tombstone....
the grave
was lined in bricks
with flowers growing.....
it was wide ..
like 2 people
maybe 3
lay sleeping......
no names
no dates...
just a statue
of a barefoot man
holding a bird..
the look
on his face
bid me to go.
i did not feel welcome.
his eyes
seemed to say
the bones
benieth him
was sacred.