Don’t Blink, Mama – It Goes by Fast

By: JANA GREENE

So you’ve joined the club of Motherhood,

You have a sweet baby at last.

Your body still groaning from birthing your child,

Don’t blink mama, it goes too fast.

When you wake for midnight feeds,

Bleary-eyed yourself,

Savor the world where only you two

Are the world, there’s nobody else.

To every coo and cry and smile

You quickly become attuned.

Memorize those dimpled hands,

They’ll be holding a crayon too soon.

Before you have the time to think

Your baby’s a ‘terrible two.’

Hold tight, Mama, this too shall pass,

The trials always do.

Tantrums in the grocery store,

And before you can blink,

The Tooth Fairy is coming to call

It goes by faster than you think.

Milestones come rapid-fire,

Kindergarten’s here,

Drop her off at school and then

Go home and shed a tear.

The early years go by so fast

You scarcely have time to know

That your baby isn’t a baby now,

Who told you how fast she would grow?

Before you know it, she’s a tween

“Who IS this child?” you’ll say.

Buckle up, Mama, you’ll get through,

Tomorrow’s another day.

The next thing you know, she’s a teenager,

Full of angst and woe,

It will harken the days of the “terrible twos,”

Take heart, she has time to grow.

The early days of dimpled hands

And nursing by moonlight,

Those memories will see you through,

When parenting feels like a fight.

Oh to watch her find herself,

The pride in who she’s become!

Members of the Motherhood Club,

You’ve officially come undone.

The secret that nobody says

But I’ve found is very true,

Is that your baby is her very own person,

And not a extension of you.

You’ve nurtured, taught, and guided,

And now it’s her own turn,

To figure out this thing called life,

On her own (and very different) terms.

Now you’re a veteran parent,

Battle-scarred and rife

With sweet assurance that she still needs you

In her grown-up life.

Dynamics change, my friend, you see,

The stages never last,

But one day you’ll call your child ‘friend,’

Don’t blink, Mama. It goes so fast.

August 26, 2024 0

13

Photo by Karolina Kaboompics on Pexels.com

I wrote this poem for my daughter when she was thirteen. I’ve been going through some old notebooks and all of the poetry, journaling, and stories I’ve written over many years. It was such a tender, painful age. It was really hard on her. I am happy to report she is turning 29 soon and has bloomed into a super cool woman. I am so grateful I get to be Mom to all of my girls.

By: JANA GREENE

She sees herself in dimmest light,

all shadows that she doesn’t like,

the other kids make her feel small,

predicting every trip and fall.

She feels alone in a mass of crowd,

and tries to hind behind a shroud

of bravery lest she express her mind,

afraid of what she herself will find.

She sees herself as in the dark,

insecurities seeming stark

contrast to all those around.

So, feeling small, she makes no sound.

She got the memo that life’s unfair,

that “perfect girls” with flaxen hair

and flawless looks, and stellar grades,

sometimes feel the very same.

Those walls she’s built so she can hide

behind as if they’re set in stone

Only like to lie to her,

she isn’t falling, and she’s not alone.

Her eyes are knowing but can’t yet see

all the things she means to me.

For when her growing-up is through,

her big brown eyes will see it, too.

One day she be comfortable in her own skin,

and will never have to be 13 again.

August 14, 2024 2

Menu for Dreams (a little poetry jam)

By: JANA GREENE

I wish there was a menu for dreams,

so I could order

the Puppies and Kittens Special,

and not the heartache of dreaming of old

people, places, and things.

I would choose to dream

of a trip to the mountains,

just as an appetizer,

and dream of all the blues

in the Blue Ridge,

instead of dreaming

I’m lost somewhere,

and alone.

I would choose the

Soaring in the Sky entree,

and dream of flying high

over the earth,

and above all the chaos

And for a side dish,

that dream where I’m a mermaid,

breathing underwater,

instead of the nightmare

where I can’t breathe at all.

For dessert I shall choose the

Dreaming of Heaven,

the sweetest of all dreams.

It will come to the table smartly

dressed in a ganache of peace,

just how I like it,

and I would not

miss the dreams of rejection

one bit.

Yes, I wish there was

a menu for dreams,

for I would choose

a different path

for the astral projection

we call sleep.

Until then,

I’ll wish myself sweet dreams

and wait.

Because some dreams

come true eventually.

August 5, 2024 0

Political Lies and Fraying Ties – a little poetry jam

Listen, friends. I feel passionately too. But I am writing this as a simple observer, stepping back and noticing what is happening. And what’s happening is so ugly. Blessed be, and remember that you are a light worker in a dark world. Open doors for people, compliment a stranger, be sloppy generous with the love you put out in the universe, and I will too. And hopefully we can make a difference as we flounder through this dystopian nightmare. Amen?

By: JANA GREENE

It’s interesting to me

that we gain one another

piecemeal,

one kind word at a time,

one kind deed after another,

until we call each other

“friend.”

Yet we are willing to

lose each other in whole,

all at once,

over politics,

over religion,

the two things

we were told would

bring us together,

really just cause

division and loss,

and I think we will

all regret that

one day.

July 24, 2024 0

Bootstraps, Stiff-Upper-Lips, and Other Useless Coping Mechanisms

By: JANA GREENE

Some days, I just need to have

a teeny-tiny Nervy-B.

And not have to worry about

yanking myself up

by my bootstraps.

Because,

I’m not even wearing boots at all.

I seem to be wearing

emotionality Crocs –

my feelings just as bulky, utilitarian,

and full of holes as a worn-in pair,

(a pair that is – of course –

completely strapless.)

Since the bootstrap method

isn’t working out,

shall I try the “stiff upper lip”?

Channel the ways of my ancestors,

those British stiff-upper-lippers,

And the Irish, stoic in the face of

calamities and potato famines.

Or worse, wail like a banshee

stuck in the quicksand of grief?

Slowly going under, trapped.

Or…

If my spirit feels beat-up

battered, and bruised,

shall I approach this trial

as a soldier?

Standing firm, poker-faced,

trained to tamper down feelings

and alchemize them into rage?

“I’ll give you something to cry about,”

it says,

not realizing I’ve had a lifetime

of things to cry about,

and right at this minute, cancer

is waiting for her

emotional release.

Yes, some days I really just need

a mini Nervy-B.

I’m giving the boot to

pulling myself up –

because I could really use a hand.

I’m giving my emotions

a safe place –

because I could really use

my own permission to feel.

And I’m quitting the “armed” services –

laying down the weapons

I use against myself.

Telling the rage-filled

Drill Instructor in my head

to shut the f*ck up,

please and thank you.

Because this is my Soft Era,

cancer or not.

And tears are welcome here.

Blessed be, friends.

June 27, 2024 7

A Prayer for Softness

By: JANA GREENE

God, grant us a softer life.

One where jagged words won’t

make us bleed so easily.

One that buffers against

the rough-housing

of a world throwing hands.

God, be our pillow,

a soft place to land.

Where there is anger,

and resentment,

let us not be

too big for our britches,

but grant m the softness

to extend others.

Where there is struggle,

release the ties that bind,

loosen the indignation,

and set us back to soft center.

God, I pray

we can bear our infirmaries,

even as we struggle,

and be gracious and grateful,

for each stage of healing.

And God,

where there is hate,

that sharpest of weapons,

the one we keep

locked and loaded,

forged in fire,

even as we sing our hymns,

let us be ever softer of spirit.

Smooth our rough edges,

help us to be healers,

and help us to carry

your sweet, soft light.

Amen.

May 30, 2024 0

Breathe (a little poetry jam)

Photo by Anthony ud83dude42 on Pexels.com

I’ve been learning some breathwork lately and considering the connectedness with nature that our breath allows. The trees are breathing too – everything in a constant flux of inhalation and exhalation. We literally inhale the fine air the trees exhale; and how nifty is that? Let’s take a page from nature and stir some leaves today.

By: JANA GREENE

My breath stirs the leaf,

so the tree lets it go.

The wind carries it gently

to the ground below,

to soften my footfalls

on the forest floor,

creating a soft place

to breath once more.

We are connected symbiotically –

the flora, the fauna,

the wind,

and me.

And you my friend

are a part of it too,

the flora and fauna,

me and you.

April 3, 2024 5

Taking Custody of the Inner Child

I know life isn’t like a Haribo commercial gummy bear commercial, where we all sit around the board table and infantilize ourselves in a quest to satisfy an inner child. But dang. Maybe we should. We should at least talk kindly to ourselves! Namaste, friend. The child in me recognizes the child in you. ❤

By: JANA GREENE

I spend time with a little girl every day.

Even the days I am very busy.

Even on the days she is a bit of a pest.

She is enthusiastic, sometimes whiny,

always craving affection and being a little clingy.

She is healing from trauma, you see.

Sometimes I don’t even know what to do with her.

I acknowledged her from time to time, sure.

But I ignored her whenever possible.

But she was mostly a nuisance,

and I used to not know what to say to her.

You see,

for the longest time,

I didn’t have custody of her at all,

which is crazy because she’s ME.

Of course I had physical custody,

but the goal was just to make sure she didn’t hurt herself,

didn’t starve,

wasn’t cold or hungry.

But mental, emotional, and spiritual custody?

She was on her own.

Now we are pals I’m happy to say.

I’m not saying she doesn’t get on my last nerve,

but she’s learning that she doesn’t have to be small,

and take up the least amount of space,

all of the time.

She is seen, and she is heard, and she is loved.

I used to bristle at the term “inner child.”

because I thought mine was gone.

I thought I was too late.

That’s the lie we believe –

that we are damaged right out of the gate,

never to be whole again.

To that I say BALDERDASH!

Please know that you can reparent yourself.

You can make your inner child feel safe.

You can make sure she feels seen and heard.

You can rediscover all the things she loved

but never got to share with you.

I love my inner little squirt now.

Get to know yours; I know she’s ready

for her turn.

March 20, 2024 2

The Driving Force

It’s okay to love all the parts of yourself.
(Mural Carolina Beach.).

By: JANA GREENE

I love the parts of me

that are most like the Source.

The parts that align

with all the Divine,

with love as the driving force.

The parts made of stardust

and deep mystery,

the parts not sullied by

my own history,.

The Kingdom of God

that’s within me?

It abides within you too.

We seekers and finders

oft need reminders

Of our identities

in the Truth.

The parts that align

with all the Divine,

make it all well with my soul.

So I’ll embrace

all the parts of me…

Not in part, but the whole.

March 9, 2024 2

Ode to the Socials

By: JANA GREENE

I crave connection.

Standing in the gas station,

getting me a tank-full.

I never met a stranger,

and for that I am so thankful.

At the grocery check out,

waiting in a line,

please tell me your life story

and I will tell you mine!

I’m grateful for the “socials,”

because they tend to shrink

this planet that we live on,

and oftentimes I think

what an absolute marvel

technology has become!

Together we grow,

together we rise,

together we come undone.

I crave human connection

because there’s One Love,

you see.

Divinity is our DNA,

it’s for freedom we are set free.

February 17, 2024 0

Housekeeping

By: JANA GREENE

Maam, that burden looks heavy to me.

I know because I’ve carried it.

And sometimes I still pick it up,

when I forget I’ve already buried it.

When I remember it’s not mine to carry

I can “clean house” again.

If I leave my “muddy sneakers” outside,

I control what I track in.

Housekeep your sweet spirit,

leave your burden at the door.

Be tender with your heart,

it’s been wounded to the core.

We can lift the heavy things,

Sometimes we all must do it.

I’ll carry yours

if you help carry mine,

and together we’ll get through it.

Yes, together we’ll get through it.

February 10, 2024 0

Paperweight (“It Seemed Like a Good Plan on Paper” writing prompt)

Art by: Jana Greene

On this second day of taking a cue from my favorite Author’s writing prompt suggestions, I bring you a little poetry jam. Anne Lamott’s prompt today? Write about: “It seemed like a good plan on paper.” This piece wholly turned into something completely different than I had in mind, as so often happens. I hope you enjoy, Dear Reader. From my paper heart to yours.

By: JANA GREENE

It seemed like a good plan on paper,

but Rock and Scissors intervened,

(even though I don’t remember

asking them to help me scheme.)

In “Rock! Paper! Scissors!”

it’s to the paper I relate,

because I don’t want trouble

(and have no need to double

down on all of that hate.)

Rock has tried to keep me down,

because that’s his only schtick.

Invite me to cry on his shoulder,

then pin me under a boulder?

That’s the oldest trick.

He tried to pull off his caper,

But my name is Paper,

so spare me your hullabaloo.

And Scissors, before you

start up with me, I’ve

a message for you, too.

Before you get lippy,

you best be damn skippy,

you know I will make it alive.

Hit me with your best shot,

shear me with all you got,

Go ahead and…strive.

Cut me into ribbons,

and as streamers, I will fly.

Fill me with words,

I’ll be a book by and by.

Drench me in deep colors,

I become a work of art.

Keep me as a journal,

and you’ll have a place to start.

Cut me in a million pieces,

and confetti I will be,

And then I will be everywhere,

a living thing, you see.

I will rain down celebration,

as was written at my birth.

I will peddle deep elation,

I’ll be a paperweight of worth.

January 27, 2024 0