Emeralds of the Morn

Emeralds of the Morn

Leaves like emeralds 

glitter each day

rushed by God's benevolence

to quiver in excitement 

and glow in the light 

of early morning blessings

in His name.

Photo & Poem
Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

Reveille

Reveille

If starlight came wrapped in song

or soft winds rushed to murmur,

would it move my heart so much

as a tiny bird's reveille

outside my window?

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

Hovering

Little towns

with wide streets smiling

graced by tall trees hovering

over little secrets, tiny lies

whooshing through tall tree branches

like birds on the fly

out of hell.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

The Swimming Hole

The Swimming Hole

Mountains sing chorus

while breezes strum alto songs,

tones cradled in clouds.

Baptismal waters rushing

downward, pristine, clean

smoothing cliff sides, making love

in bubble rushes,

cleanse me, sooth me, sing out loud

sweet circling waters,

transmutation blues scream fest

spinning water ripples round.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

The Dog's Life

The Dog's Life

(A Perfect Day)

Walking green grass nature pathways

stopping to sip from velvet streams,

they cleanse, they cool, they make me stay

and rest perchance set free my dreams.

I hear his call or so it seems,

home to sleep in dogged pleasure

where cushioned comforts make more dreams,

happiness beyond all measure.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

I Spied a Violet

I Spied a Violet

I spied a violet 

as soft glowing sun

warmed its petals...

in green dewy grass

on a morning long ago...

which I consider

a miracle.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

Promises

Promises

Sweet dream promises,

soaring on butterfly wings,

streaming clouds of hope.

I spy gracefulness at play

fluttering out of my reach.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

Rushing

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

Do we dare to dream?

Rushing

Wrapped in winter's cloak

I shiver, wander, adrift

unknowing, 'til Light

brushes my cheek, rushes me

with warm fragrances of spring.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

Beyond

Beyond silhouetted trees, reaching, welcoming,

luminescent, pearly, rounded, grounded. 

Could you murmur like that Final Light speaks, inspires ... 

movement, seeking me like a chorus of angels, 

offering tributes, following me all day, quieting down when night falls,

all the while asking me to take unsung hymns to sleep  

and remember in my dreams.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

To Bean or Not to Bean

A hot, dusty day, as hot and dusty as any Cook could remember, and he'd been traveling these parts all his life. They were camped along the river and its gentle waters cooled his fellow cowboys' overheated spirits as well as their smelly feet. And the trickling waters came in handy to clean Cooky's dirty pots. Such was the life of four travelers, a scruffy old collie ironically named Dusty, and an abandoned Conestoga wagon put to good use again.

"Cooky, that bean concoction last night was the worst damn thing ever found its way to a pot." The man speaking, Spencer, never liked the grub Cook made.

"Ah, take it easy, ya old goat." Enright, Spencer's best friend, chastised him, as was his habit.

"Shut up, Enright! I got enough gas boiling inside to kill me!"

"You kids quit fighting amongst yourselves!" Cook threw in. "I must admit beans can be pretty fretful, but it's all we have left. We can't get to Culver City soon enough to buy supplies."

Enright, a tall man, leaned back on his pack and stretched his long legs toward the fire. "When we get to Culver City, I'm gonna find me a woman, a real pretty woman!"

"You already got a woman!" The softer voice emanated from Belle who had just returned from the river after watering her horse. The task had taken its toll, saturating her pants from the knees down and leaving her boots slimed with mud.

"What woman?" Enright asked.

"Me!"

"You a woman? I hadn't noticed."

It was true. Belle rode and shot like a man.  Growing up with six brothers  taught her that. And yet, beneath that battered hat and baggy pants, she was gorgeous. Beautiful blond locks were squashed under a dusty Stetson and dirt smudged her clear bright-eyed face making it gray and weary.  Her beauty hidden, to the others she quickly became one of the guys.  She had found it wise to dress sloppy from the very start to assure they let her come along. A prissy girl would have no place on the trail, and she needed to get to Culver City by the earliest conveyance possible. The stagecoach didn't come through for another week. So she hitched a ride with this motley group. The lady was going to Culver City for a wedding, but that didn't mean a little fun along the way couldn't be enjoyed. And Enright, the cowboy, was one colossal perk. 

Dusty, the collie, rushed to her side, his tongue dangling and dripping, tail wagging, as though to let her know he appreciated her if no one else did. She stroked him, all the while studying Enright with quick little glances so he wouldn't notice.

"Damn beans!" Spencer said, rising and rushing from the camp. He disappeared into the nearby woods. 

"When we get to Culver City, I'm gonna get some decent food like rice and potatoes," Cook muttered, "Just so I don't get any more beans. Spencer is driving me nuts." Picking up Spencer's supper plate, he placed it near Dusty for the dog to finish. The pooch dug in.

Later that night as the four slept out under the stars and tucked under blankets, a howling from the woods woke Cooky first. He jumped up with a start, his heart pounding. At first, the moonlight confused him. He forgot he was out on the trail and expected to see his tidy little room above the bar at Smithton. The shriek was other-worldly, like a disembodied spook angry and prowling in the forest, fixing to bring death and torture to their midst at any moment. It pierced the ears and cut straight to the core.

"What the hell is that?" Enright asked as he stood next to the cook.

"I dunno. But it can't be good, I'm tellin' ya that!"

"What is that?" Belle asked, joining the other two.

"Spencer is not out there being sick again, is he?" Cooky asked. But a quick glance to the campfire revealed Spencer sleeping soundly. The guy snored and rolled over oblivious to the racket.

"That man could sleep through a train wreck," Enright said. But he was drowned out by the shrill noise again. The shriek was loud enough even he, a sizeable cowboy, trembled.

"Does it sound like it's getting closer?"  Belle asked. 

It was true. The howling was making concentric circles around the camp, each new circle bringing it closer to them.

"Do you think it might be vampires?" Cooky asked. His eyes were little pin points on a pale, empty face as though the rest of him had already up and left. 

"Vampires?"

"My people, they've always believed in them...legend." Cooky looked away in mid-sentence as the howling moved closer. He darted his eyes along the border to the woods. 

"I'm frightened!" Belle said, hugging Enright in spite of herself.  Her hat fell off in the process and released abundant lengths of hair to cascade down her back. 

"Darlin', don't worry," Enright said, pulling her close. 

A tiny smile graced her lips as she snuggled against his chest. Enright's fingers tangled in her cascading blond locks, and he looked confused.  Lifting his hand to run some strands through his fingers, his eyes widened.

The shriek again. It was getting closer. This time the trio jumped, startled out of their wits.

"Maybe we should hide in the wagon,"  Cooky said.

Enright would have none of it. He had a gorgeous woman in his arms. Now how would  it look to cut and run? It would look like a coward, that's what. "We stay right here," he declared. Belle's hair felt silky running through his fingers. But he pulled his hand free to get his gun ready, grasping it from his gun belt.

"Uh, if you say so." Cook look unconvinced.

Shriek! Roar! The creature came charging from the woods. Tan and brown, a blur to the eye as it ran at furious speed straight at them. Enright aimed.

But Belle suddenly stiffened. What happened next was worthy of legendary fame right up there with super-heroes and saintly men. She swirled and drop-kicked the gun out of Enright's hand with the speed and grace of a ninja. The startled cowboy stood looking at his empty palm. Cooky's eyes darted from the cowboy to Belle and back again as though trying to make sense of things. 

In the meanwhile, the creature barreled in,  stopping at their feet and commencing to lick Enright's boots. The frightening beast was Dusty, the collie! The animal looked up and with bewildered eyes released a toot and a cloud of flatulence that sent the others rushing back, covering their noses and coughing. 

"I shouldn't have fed him those beans!" Cooky declared between gasps. "Damn gas sent that dog screaming into the woods."

Enright and Belle barely heard his remarks which is the point of this story. Having fallen into each other's arms, they were off to the side smooching up a storm. And that, my friends, is how there came  to be a surprise double wedding in Culver City. And also why beans can be a good thing, bringing people together one way or the other, at camp outs and parties! And they're a good source of fiber, too. 

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

Elusive

Truly two by two

movements blended emanate

love's devotion song

murmured soft sung melodies

on elusive streams.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

Morning Soft

Morning Soft

(A Salute to Morning)

Morning soft footsteps

tugging at my saddened heart

your Light graces me

with its sheer simplicity

and emanations of love.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

Sunday

Quake (Poem inspired by News Photo)

A restless soul moans.

Fist formed, electric bolts fly.

Shaking up my world

Destructive swirls collapsing

Everything comprising me.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

Hesitancy - A Triolet

Hesitancy

A triolet

Whispering, pulling away white

revealing brown, forgotten days

I'd carefully covered in light.

Whispering, pulling away white

demanding I plant hope despite

how hesitancy comes and stays.

Whispering, pulling away white

revealing brown, forgotten days.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

The Unrepentant

The hot seat. I was on the hot seat being grilled again, relentless questions, borderline vitriol, my interrogator becoming obviously frustrated with his lack of success. In the dim, tiny space, I could sense his cumbersome frame shifting on the bench. Poor fellow had a tremendous appetite making him a giant man in tiny shoes.The wooden seat relayed his every impulse with skittish movements and a tiny symphony of squeaks. These were the motions of a restless soul, well beyond foot-tapping, movements longing to be a palm slamming on the chair or a head banging against the wall. Wonderful, he was making nervous twitches, and I was not. I was the one being questioned, and I was cool.

"How many times did you do that?" His voice had no energy. It was by now reduced to a raspy whisper, a weakling feature that still attempted to slash and hurt with its last strength.

"As often as I pleased!"

A head bang. The man was exasperated; I remained on top. I smiled in quiet satisfaction.

"Have you no guilt, no shame?"

"Guilt for what? For doing what comes naturally. Man is an animal driven by impulses to survive. Money, power, sex..."

"Shut up! I will not have you lecturing me about morality." Creak, squeak, bang!

"You're not God!" I said.

Swoosh! Clang! His hands clawed the screen between us. I could hear fingernails rattling along rows of metal. "I'm the closest to God you'll ever get!" he bellowed.

Silence. A lovely pause where he gathered his resources and I, well, I gloated.

"Your penance will be three Hail Mary's and an Act of Contrition recited daily until you see the evil of your ways."

With a swish the tiny curtain closed, and the murmur of another confession wafted over. I sighed. The fun was over. I couldn't help but wonder why they expected me to do this every year. It was so hard on Father O'Leary, Ah well, I had impulses to service before I'd be back next year.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

Word Catalyst Magazine, A snippet...

A new issue of Word Catalyst is out. A snippet and a link for my column:

Joe Schmo

Joe pushed his fedora back off his forehead and his hand lingered, fingers wrestling with strands of hair. The newsstand was a busy place with people pushing and shoving behind him on the crowded sidewalk. It was hard to take the time to peruse the glossy covers in the rack. One old lady banged his ankle with her cane as she passed.

"Find anything?" Smitty, the proprietor asked. Obviously, he was anxious for Joe to make up his mind, pay and go to make room for more customers.

"No!" He growled the response. Smitty had a point though. Franklin could show up. That's the last thing he needed, his worst enemy confronting him smack dab on Fifth Avenue. His eyes scanned the rack again. Esquire, GQ, Newsweek. Truth be told, he didn't have much interest in news magazines. He picked up Esquire, handed a couple bills to Smitty and took off.

Scanning the sidewalk, his quickened pace indicated a man in a hurry, long stride after long stride taking him home. What a hell of a way to live, always looking over your shoulder. But Franklin wanted him dead. Read more.

Surviving Winter

Sitting here gazing out the window, I'm overwhelmed at the mounds of snow. Twenty-three inches+ have pummeled the area in the last week. And although the last two days have melted away several inches, there are atrocious stacks remaining, some higher than my waist.

It was when I stumbled for coffee this morning, pouring but missing the cup, I realized my brain was as snowbound as the rest of me. Yes, it's true. In my skull there is a snowstorm brewing--flakes are flying, scattered willy nilly and refusing to formulate into anything solid...just swooshing and swirling, fragmented pandemonium, stacking up but only in chaotic heaps.

Ah, I just heard a bump and a crash. That would be more of the white stuff sliding off the roof. My flaky brain feels kinship with the fallen heap. It reaches out to its brother. I find that worrisome.

But on to solving the problem. There are ways. Perhaps I could find a quiet corner and embrace a good book transporting me to another time and place. Or I could vegetate on the sofa with a good movie. Same fix. A game of solitaire? A crossword? Anything to get the neurons shooting, firing off and melting the flying flakes in my head.

A Sudoku! Now that's the ticket...a mind-boggling crash of numbers who refuse to obey. They torment, frustrate, inspire rage. And with rage comes fire, fire to melt the flakes and pump the blood...clarity, not so much. If I had clarity, I would solve the Sudoku, and we all know that isn't going to happen. But the effort will make me alive again. There's nothing like a good Sudoku to set the brain afire. That's the ticket.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

Healing

This winter weather demands some inspiration:

Healing

Blue marble skies spanning my dreams
across green fields filled with surprise.
Thoughts flow gently like sparkling streams
to sprout and grow before my eyes
like planted seeds of enterprise.
Inspiration shines, draped with sun.

Nature's healing powers arise

in waves of comfort one to one.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski

Ruffled

Ruffled

feathers aghast

like a bird on a limb

a lady waits

to dance.

Copyright 2010 JO Janoski