A New Day
(like music plays)
In whisper quiet
winds rush, like symphonies play
to flee dark of night
and see dawn's alarming sun
shoot music rays each morning.
Copyright 2012 JO Janoski
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Friday, March 23, 2012
Best Intentions
Intentions,
like cool, soft morning,
they whisper innuendos,
confronted by doubtful breezes and
stale winds of experience...
but still they glide by
like angels.
Copyright 2012 JO Janoski
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Please Don't Be Afraid
Blue like a frightened violet,
with only a whisper remaining
of your beauty, made speechless
by the cold.
Copyright 2012 JO Janoski
your face turned from wind's icy stare,
color muted and message denied,with only a whisper remaining
of your beauty, made speechless
by the cold.
Copyright 2012 JO Janoski
Monday, January 09, 2012
Hesitancy
Hesitancy
Inspirations, like crystal waters flow
cascading over waterfall mind sweeps
down to a grounded world,
next to splash up in diamonds
forceful and glimmering
swimming through air
dancing for the utter joy of it
while considering implementation,
only to disburse by the hand
of quick stepping evaporation
absorbed back into lazy vapors
undone by harsh realities of time
except for those few determined drops
who run fast and break free.
Copyright 2012 JO Janoski
Inspirations, like crystal waters flow
cascading over waterfall mind sweeps
down to a grounded world,
next to splash up in diamonds
forceful and glimmering
swimming through air
dancing for the utter joy of it
while considering implementation,
only to disburse by the hand
of quick stepping evaporation
absorbed back into lazy vapors
undone by harsh realities of time
except for those few determined drops
who run fast and break free.
Copyright 2012 JO Janoski
Friday, October 21, 2011
She Gets It
Car ride with the top down
like a risqué, open blouse
and blond hair
streaming translucence,
while sunshine bullets
skid silver sparks across chrome bumpers,
Sunday free electrification
in super high speed,
a spaniel on her lap shifts head out window,
getting orgasmic in sweet breezes
and a beagle rides passenger,
content in this unrealness
grasping the moment,
freedom-seeking trio.
This girl knows how to live.
She gets it.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Sunday
Sunday
Sunday comes creeping
nudging me, murmuring words
like arise, get up!
She has big plans, this Sunday.
Doing gentle deeds,
speaking words of devotion
to all things common
to me, to everyone,
we start in prayer
and end in the sun, shining
on this good and pleasant life.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Sunday comes creeping
nudging me, murmuring words
like arise, get up!
She has big plans, this Sunday.
Doing gentle deeds,
speaking words of devotion
to all things common
to me, to everyone,
we start in prayer
and end in the sun, shining
on this good and pleasant life.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Morning Illumination
Morning Illumination
In morning
like spring flowers bloom
my whole world illuminates
with golden-haired thoughts and fresh air dreams,
reaching from ground to cosmos
with joyful dancing
towards God.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
In morning
like spring flowers bloom
my whole world illuminates
with golden-haired thoughts and fresh air dreams,
reaching from ground to cosmos
with joyful dancing
towards God.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Friday, June 24, 2011
Smile
Smile
...a poem for the sycophants
Smile at me,
lips upturned with vague
intentions
denying
your fervor, loyalty, love.
Your mask is slipping.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
...a poem for the sycophants
Smile at me,
lips upturned with vague
intentions
denying
your fervor, loyalty, love.
Your mask is slipping.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Friday, June 03, 2011
On a Spring Morning
Across emerald lawns
sunshine stutters through
fan dancing leaves
making music ...
while the birds sing
in perfect harmony,
and it's all so gentle
it makes my heart leap
in sublime appreciation
for something so rare.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Monday, May 30, 2011
Friday, May 13, 2011
Any Port
Three girls, giggling and immersed in conversation, strolled along wide and appropriately named Maple Street. Trees lined the avenue splattering pockets of shade like patchwork, with limbs outstretched in an elegant ballet. The leafy ceiling shielded the friends' raucous conversation, submerging their laughter in a gentle blanket of coolness. The teens moved, stopped to giggle, then walked again in repeated steps making their way down the street.
Meg, the tallest, boasted sunshine eyes that never wavered. And Pat, the grounded one, pushed brown-rimmed spectacles on her nose and glanced to the third girl, Josie. Josie always looked rustled and discontent.
"Josie, do you believe what Meg said!"
Josie looked back, perplexed. She hadn't been listening. She rarely did, being the odd one in the group and always off base with her surroundings. Normally, she found their conversations silly, but the other two made good company, or at least it was better than being alone. It got her out of the house, that asylum house. She ran trembling fingers through her Medusa hair and looked to Pat with large, dark eyes that hovered over her tenuous lips.
"What did she say?"
"Josie, do you ever pay attention? This idiot just said she's asking Butch Hartley out? Do you believe that?"
"Who is Butch whatever?"
Pat threw her arms up in exasperation. "I'm a genius between two morons!"
They reached the intersection and stopped. On the opposite corner the town "character/nut job"--known simply as "Daniel" hovered, muttering and shaking one fist in the air, engrossed in earnest conversation with an imaginary foe. If he did it only this one day, he might not have built a reputation on it. But Daniel spent every afternoon in the same manner, cussing and hopping around on that corner in a rage. Constantly disheveled, hair spiked, his haunted, red eyes looked to a curious world of demons. Close up, where you could taste the effluvia of his nightmare, he presented a frightening spectacle. But from a distance his antics remained harmless, even comical.
The vacant corner of Maple and First was his regular haunt. One would think, assuming he was drunk, he'd want to be near a bar; unless you were one of the people who knew he actually didn't drink, that Daniel was simply crazy.
Josie knew. He was her brother. But not many people were aware of it, certainly not her girl friends. She kept it secret. To let it fly out and be announced would humiliate, blacken, destroy her. People would match her up with him like they belonged together, like they were both crazy.
"Oh God! There’s Daniel!" Meg declared. "Don't cross the street! Let's get out of here!"
Josie's mind blasted into a thousand pieces as she tried to slow her thoughts and find her bearings. Her burning cheeks! Would her red face give away her secret? It felt like her face must be apple red.
"I wouldn't want to interrupt that lively conversation he's having with himself!" Pat added, a wry smile passing her lips.
Josie caught her breath. They didn’t know, did they? That Daniel was her brother? He seemed bad today, obviously off his meds. She never knew what he'd be like, minute to minute.
"Josie, are you coming?"
The other two stood importantly, hands on hips. Josie's mind raced. Those girls' biggest problem was who to ask for a date. So easily they could dismiss the fellow on the corner! The dull thumping in her head eased and the burning in her cheeks cooled.
"I'm coming!" she said. The sooner, the better. Besides, didn't they say any port in a storm? Any port. A hell of a storm. She’d just keep walking with them...keep walking. They didn’t know. She was safe. Get out of here. Any port.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Monday, May 09, 2011
Waiting
Translucent
lily pad thoughts float
aimlessly,
gurgling by
on restless waters humming,
waiting to begin.
Photo & Poem Copyright JO Janoski 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Lost at Sea
Lately I skim along time's glass surface.
Indecision, confusion fill my days
as I wonder what is my life's purpose.
I slip, I slide. My mind is in a daze.
My feet walk on ground with no real design.
My being boasts no guidance through life's maze.
My fate is clear. To wander I resign.
Anchors away! I'm truly lost at sea.
I'll splash. I'll flounder til the end of time.
Is this it? Is this the essential me?
But wait! Do I sense your dear presence near?
Remembrances! Of how we used to be.
In a flicker, in a light, one so dear,
spinning dreams in rainbow-sparkled starlight,
My soul ignites as clarity appears.
Dear one, you come when darkest is the night,
to light the way to my illusive soul,
where necessary wisdom knows what's right.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Saturday, April 16, 2011
To Linger
Your voice, a hymn
sprinkling yellow daffodils
on a brown, ugly world.
Your tone is hushed
like soft winds,
brushing treetops
left scraggly
by December's cold whip.
You try to smooth the edges
with the sound of your voice.
But recalcitrant winds persist
snapping willy-nilly
at the landscape at night.
You awaken and find
the daffodils have died.
But you are Spring
and you linger,
knowing time is on your side.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Saturday, February 19, 2011
That Great Unknown
Loneliness
defines my spirit
as I walk That Great Unknown
wondering where I am to go now,
to settle on life's purpose.
Is this all there is
or will be?
In these times
I sense your shadow
but know I'll never see you.
On sunny days I foolishly think
you're walking with me, smiling.
I should know better.
You are blind.
Why should I
not have your secrets
to explain uncertainty?
I want to know all explanations,
and ascertain all reasons,
life with no riddles.
To see all.
Will you walk
with me and whisper
secrets of That Great Unknown,
fill my mind with knowledge eternal?
Alas, I knew you would not.
My only chance is
to have faith.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Sunday, February 06, 2011
Meeting by Chance
Lingering
like a full moon glares
steady and implacable
your eyes, fireworks, hang in mid air
portent, heavy, dripping stars
to meet my glimmer
in return.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
like a full moon glares
steady and implacable
your eyes, fireworks, hang in mid air
portent, heavy, dripping stars
to meet my glimmer
in return.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Inspired
Snow and ice has worn my world
down to grass flattened
by the weight of my very shoes.
Trees are chopped, truncated, blunt
like that crazy brainstorming
I used to do,
now deafened.
All is bleak until I clear my head
and note the translucence of melting snow
and ponder how white is white
if you can see through it
like an icy waterfall of doubt.
My eyes detect a movement
of grasses blowing
like a thousand hands clapping.
In this frozen abyss they prosper
taking center stage on a field of white
making noise with their movement
like fans cheering or monks gyrating
in praise to the Lord.
They call to me and whisper,
"Encore!"
Back to real life, inspired.
Photo and Poem, Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
down to grass flattened
by the weight of my very shoes.
Trees are chopped, truncated, blunt
like that crazy brainstorming
I used to do,
now deafened.
All is bleak until I clear my head
and note the translucence of melting snow
and ponder how white is white
if you can see through it
like an icy waterfall of doubt.
My eyes detect a movement
of grasses blowing
like a thousand hands clapping.
In this frozen abyss they prosper
taking center stage on a field of white
making noise with their movement
like fans cheering or monks gyrating
in praise to the Lord.
They call to me and whisper,
"Encore!"
Back to real life, inspired.
Photo and Poem, Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Monday, January 10, 2011
Ice
I feel a rush
iconoclastic
and out of place
in this winter-soft paradise.
The air, it balloons with whispers
moist, they sparkle
and drip into my very fiber
wet and expectedly quiet.
The sun pushes rays
across purified snow
like red sleds gliding
producing a line of power strokes,
orange hot yet misleading
when one is surrounded by ice.
I'm not sure whether to feel
ambivalent or blessed.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
iconoclastic
and out of place
in this winter-soft paradise.
The air, it balloons with whispers
moist, they sparkle
and drip into my very fiber
wet and expectedly quiet.
The sun pushes rays
across purified snow
like red sleds gliding
producing a line of power strokes,
orange hot yet misleading
when one is surrounded by ice.
I'm not sure whether to feel
ambivalent or blessed.
Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Sunday, January 02, 2011
Snow
Satin streaks reaching
across snowy fields
like hymns hovering
above still white ground.
Can you hear voices,
angels too humble
to show their faces
or murmur their names,
ringing out sweet songs
in adulation
of all magical.
Photo & Poem Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
across snowy fields
like hymns hovering
above still white ground.
Can you hear voices,
angels too humble
to show their faces
or murmur their names,
ringing out sweet songs
in adulation
of all magical.
Photo & Poem Copyright 2011 JO Janoski
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Minute by Minute
Her voice startles me in the somber quiet of the waiting room.
"What is that thing?" she asks.
I look over in surprise and then explain it is a Sony pocket ereader. It holds books and news.
She asks me in garbled language whether it goes online. At least I think that's what she means. It sounds as though she doesn't know much about computers to ask the question. I explain it does not, and that I have to upload books from the computer myself. She glazes over, and I turn away, back to my own business.
Three seats away, a fellow's iphone blurts out a sentence fragment--"Hello" in a big, sunny female voice that shatters the waiting room's silence like glass breaking. He stifles it and curls up into himself. I go back to my reading while particles of guilt pick at my brain's outer layers. The woman next to me. She only wanted someone to chat with. Her eyes when I look are restless, nervous. Pill bottles poke out of her hand bag. She's taken a seat too close to me. Only one empty chair separates us. That's bad form. The guy's iphone blurts out again, and once more his quick stifle.
Are we becoming a generation of isolationists? All of these electronic gizmos...with them, we can communicate in other ways instead of with those in the present. And for me, an old-fashioned book is easy to lay aside, but an electronic ereader demands respect. It is too important to lay aside. All shiny and trendy. It's not some paper book with bent corners and dirty, crinkled pages.
In the exam room, I wait some more. The doctor hurries in. He signs insurance papers for me while at the same time scans a monitor. I correct and add to some of what catches his eye. He helps me to the exam table and starts the required poking and prodding. All comes to a complete halt listening to my heart. He puts his hand on my chest and listens more. The silence in the room deafens me. He asks when I last had an EKG. He says he heard an extra heart beat. I've been without insurance for a while, so I tell him at least three years have gone by. He orders one and says he'll be back.
Later, after the test, he smiles and states my EKG is better than his. I'm released from the brief worry and switch back to regular mode, pondering as is my fashion, if the remark is from the doctor's box of standard words and phrases, like, "Take two aspirin and call me in the morning." It doesn't matter. Standard phrases mean life is normal. That's the main thing. Normal.
Copyright 2010 JO Janoski
"What is that thing?" she asks.
I look over in surprise and then explain it is a Sony pocket ereader. It holds books and news.
She asks me in garbled language whether it goes online. At least I think that's what she means. It sounds as though she doesn't know much about computers to ask the question. I explain it does not, and that I have to upload books from the computer myself. She glazes over, and I turn away, back to my own business.
Three seats away, a fellow's iphone blurts out a sentence fragment--"Hello" in a big, sunny female voice that shatters the waiting room's silence like glass breaking. He stifles it and curls up into himself. I go back to my reading while particles of guilt pick at my brain's outer layers. The woman next to me. She only wanted someone to chat with. Her eyes when I look are restless, nervous. Pill bottles poke out of her hand bag. She's taken a seat too close to me. Only one empty chair separates us. That's bad form. The guy's iphone blurts out again, and once more his quick stifle.
Are we becoming a generation of isolationists? All of these electronic gizmos...with them, we can communicate in other ways instead of with those in the present. And for me, an old-fashioned book is easy to lay aside, but an electronic ereader demands respect. It is too important to lay aside. All shiny and trendy. It's not some paper book with bent corners and dirty, crinkled pages.
In the exam room, I wait some more. The doctor hurries in. He signs insurance papers for me while at the same time scans a monitor. I correct and add to some of what catches his eye. He helps me to the exam table and starts the required poking and prodding. All comes to a complete halt listening to my heart. He puts his hand on my chest and listens more. The silence in the room deafens me. He asks when I last had an EKG. He says he heard an extra heart beat. I've been without insurance for a while, so I tell him at least three years have gone by. He orders one and says he'll be back.
Later, after the test, he smiles and states my EKG is better than his. I'm released from the brief worry and switch back to regular mode, pondering as is my fashion, if the remark is from the doctor's box of standard words and phrases, like, "Take two aspirin and call me in the morning." It doesn't matter. Standard phrases mean life is normal. That's the main thing. Normal.
Copyright 2010 JO Janoski
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