ODE TO JEGGINGS

Life on this planet has been so obscenely awful lately, that I thought I’d post something a little lighter. Okay, much lighter! And yes, I DO feel this passionately about jeggings.

ODE TO JEGGINGS

Jeggings, I’m so grateful
That someone saw fit to create you –
Love child of jeans and sweatpants
Oh how I appreciate you!
Thanks for your stretchy waistband
So I don’t have to suck It in,
Thank you for the mad skills you have
Of making me look thin.
You’re available at Walmart
For just eleven dollars,
And with you in every color,
I can feel like quite the baller.
I can wear you as pajamas,
I can wear you as yoga pants,
And if I were so inclined,
I could wear you to break dance.
You don’t smush my muffin top
Like jeans are apt to do,
But rather gently hug it,
(so damn merciful of you.)
Thanks for being comfy,
And having pockets in the rear,
And for being so soft and warm,
You’re my favorite pants to wear.

Jana Greene

January 12, 2026 0

Raise Your Voices – a Sisterhood Poem

By: JANA GREENE

if you have been a nice girl all your life…

towing the line of society’s expectations,

putting others’ needs first,

and people-pleasing to the inth degree…

This internet stranger wants to remind you:

You’re allowed to raise your voice

above a peep.

You are allowed to be a megaphone

for those who don’t have a voice at all.

You are allowed to question authority,

expect revolt, and welcome liberation.

You are allowed to use

your feminine energy

copiously and without apology,

in the healing yourself and others.

You are allowed to listen inwardly,

and trust your own intuition,

because you are literally divine.

You are allowed to snap off

a generational curse

like a dead twig on a magnificent Oak,

perfect kindling the fire of revolution

inside you.

You are allowed to be wild and free

with your good intentions.

To choose love,

to howl at the moon

or dance without shame,

to treat yourself with respect and honor.

You are allowed to accept your body

as a holy temple,

in whatever state of magnificence

you find it.

Its dimpled thighs and ample belly,

hands like our grandmother’s now,

wrinkled by time

and caring for others.

Your temple,

it’s a home for your soul after all.

You are allowed to ask what the hell happened

to this haphazard and wounded world,

and to start revolution

with the voice you raise over a peep.

And until you can give yourself permission

to howl, and dance,

and radically accept yourself,

and link arms with your sisterhood, girl.

Allow yourself the respect

that you grant others,

the vibrations of your love

rippling out in a broken world,

and returning to you.

Now go rock the boat, sister,

because you matter,

and you’re allowed to bask

in the knowing

that you have worth.

October 6, 2025 0

Prayer for a Flagging Heart

Good day, dear readers. I woke up today with a version of this prayer on my lips. Even in times like these, it helps me to consider God as the kindest, gentlest keeper of our precious souls.

I am so tired of hardness and sharpness. It cannot all be bad news, so long as we all remember that we carry the divine that will save us. Amen?

By: JANA GREENE

Gracious Father,

Keeper of Souls,

Lover of all Mankind,

Empowerer of the People,

Strength in our weakness,

Brother in our suffering,

Mother-Spirit to our Inner Littles,

and Bravery for the adults

we have to be…

It’s a damn mess down here.

We need oil for our lamps,

if we are to share the Light.

We need a squeeze of your hand,

if we are to soldier on.

A whisper of encouragement,

for our flagging hearts.

Help us be extinguishers of hate,

purveyors of radical hope,

merchants of change,

So that we may take part

in The Great Awakening,

sharing your conciousness,

singing your praises,

and so loving this world,

just as you did.

Just as you do.

Amen.

June 17, 2025 0

Dear Nice Girls, You are Allowed…

Where I grew up, the word “feminism” was anathema. Now I am proud to be a feminist.

By: JANA GREENE

If you have been a nice girl all your life,

towing the line

of society’s expectations,

putting others’ needs first,

afraid to rock the boat,

people-pleasing to the inth degree…

This internet stranger

wants to remind you:

You’re allowed

to raise your voice above a peep.

You are allowed

to be a megaphone

for those who don’t have a voice at all.

You are allowed

to question authority,

expect revolt,

and welcome liberation.

You are allowed

to use your feminine energy

without apology

in the healing of yourself and others.

You are allowed

to listen inwardly,

and trust your own intuition.

You are allowed

to snap off a generational curse

like a dead twig on a dying tree,

perfect kindling for the fire

of your former meekness.

You are allowed

to be wild and free

with your good intentions,

let them be plenty.

You are allowed

to howl at the moon and dance,

or fall to your knees and pray,

or both.

You are allowed

to treat yourself with respect and honor.

You are allowed

to accept your body

as a holy temple,

in whatever state of magnificence its in,

it’s dimpled thighs and ample belly,

a home for your soul, after all.

You are allowed

to ask what the hell happened,

and to start revolution

with the voice you now

raise over a peep.

And until you can give yourself permission

to howl, and dance,

and radically accept yourself,

link arms with the sisterhood, girl.

Let renaissance begin where life begins –

in our bellies.

Now go rock the boat,

understanding that feminism

is more than a catch phrase,

more than a buzzword,

more than political jargon.

It is the realization

of your power.

May 23, 2025 0

Dear Long-Time, Cherished Friend of Mine

By: JANA GREENE

Dear long-time, cherished Friend of Mine,

We haven’t talked in ages.

I think the last time we ran into each other,

we promised to get coffee together.

And I had every intention

of sitting in a Starbies with you,

catching up on life.

But invariably, I get sick. Or injured.

My health is a real wet blanket.

Or you had something come up, last minute.

We cordially canceled our coffee date,

making a mental note to call soon and reschedule.

Because you are important to me,

even though life’s flow doesn’t consider us worthy

of a got-damn break.

Or perhaps our kids grew up together,

and we did the Mommy circuit;

falling in friend-love with each other,

laughter the order of the day.

Maybe we bonded over parenting pratfalls,

and the utter ridiculousness of raising kids

in a muddled-up world.

Perhaps our kids outgrew each other,

and we did too.

We keep up with one another

on the Book of Faces,

what a strange world it is where

digitality will do in a pinch.

But I think of you so often,

and the precious times we spent together.

You are still amongst the dearest people to me.

I hope you know that.

Maybe we were coworkers, years ago.

But went in different directions.

Perhaps we once shared a philosophy,

but do not any longer.

Or a religion, that now feels like a cult.

A legit cult.

Or politics, where we towed the party line,

red or blue,

no allowance for gray.

And now we disagree,

so contact seems strained.

I’m sorry it feels strained.

But things are not black and white;

red and blue.

These days, it feels clockwork orange,

as we find ourselves governed by fools

who successfully divide us.

If I loved you once, I love you still.

And I hope you understand that

even if we have lost touch,

I am still cheering for you from over here

in the Upside Down.

And I still have every intention

of meeting you for coffee,

or lunch,

or to start a Revolution.

Thank you for being a friend.

May 19, 2025 2

Free and Loved and Wild (a little poetry jam)

By: JANA GREENE

I hope somebody smiles at you

with their whole heart today.

I hope your coffee tastes dreamy,

and you get the chance to play.

I hope you listen closely

to your Inner Child.

I hope she comes rejoicing,

free and loved and wild.

I hope you get reminded

that you’re loved too by your Source.

I hope that you get good news today

that will take a favorable course.

I hope you feel the Spirit when

you set your best intentions.

I hope when your favorite song comes on,

you dance around your kitchen.

I hope you stay in pursuit

of all your hopes and dreams.

I hope you savor a tasty treat,

and receive some funny memes.

I hope somebody lets you over

when traffic gets too hairy.

I hope you keep a grain of faith,

even though these times are scary.

But most of all,

I hope you know that

you are literally divine,

made in God’s fine image,

body, soul, and mind.

May 9, 2025 0

A World Most Graceless

Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on Pexels.com

I don’t know what to do with the grief I’ve felt since November, so I’m sharing my heart the only way I know how – by writing about it. This is just a stream-of-consciousness share – it has no cadence or resolution. Just words. My heart is breaking for my country, which so many fought to keep free, but now accepts fascism as an acceptable American value. Jesus weeps, I’m sure. And so do I.

By: JANA GREENE

Forgive them, Father. The know not what they do.

Except that some of them know damn well.

And therein lies the crux of the matter.

Some of them know damn well.

And what do you do with that?

Some of them knew that this would happen –

the loss of basic human rights.

They just didn’t think it would happen

to them.

It’s a ball of confusion, this world,

as Marvin Gaye crooned.

Evolution, revolution, gun control, sound of soul,

shooting rockets to the moon, kids growing up too soon,

and politicians say more taxes will solve everything,

and the band plays on.

And see,

it pisses me off that the band plays on.

It plays as I’m screaming “stop the world!

I want to get off!”

It plays on no matter how heavy

the hearts of its populace.

I’m trying to find my grace footing,

in a world gone mad, but it’s hard.

Making waves only works

if there is water in the pool,

and we – Americans –

seem to have run dry of compassion.

The band plays on, over the cacophony of hatred.

And I am excedingly salty at the moment, because

some of this chaos could have been prevented,

but a sizable number of Americans decided

it wasn’t worth preventing.

It was a gamble most dangerous,

and half of us thought

meh, it’s fine. It’ll be fine.

And that is my struggle,

and maybe yours too.

God surely forgives the shortcomings

I am short of forgiveness for.

Merciful where I am merciless.

But I weep for this ball of confusion,

confused by those who knew damn well.

And find myself embittered

by a band that plays on,

and on,

because of us,

and in spite of us.

May 6, 2025 0

Walking Each Other Home (a little poetry jam)

By: JANA GREENE

We are just walking each other home,

on this journey, we’re never alone.

On this journey, none know the way.

Put one foot in front of the other, anyway.

When one is too burdened to travel the road,

another of us can share the load.

When keeping up seems hard to do,

Another can even carry you.

The separation between us is just an illusion,

a lie that we buy in this present collusion.

We never have to be alone,

when we are walking each other home.

April 1, 2025 0

This Reckless Day (Poetry)

By: JANA GREENE

How dare the sun show up so soon,

displacing the shining silver moon,

while I was still in slumber deep,

astral traveling in my sleep.

The nerve of this brand-new day,

to behave this reckless way,

expecting me to rise and shine,

and act like everything is fine.

But ah, I’ll greet you anyhow,

the audacity of you choosing now

to rise and show up anyway,

and rip me from my astral play,

until the moon hangs high again,

and the waning moon lets me sleep in.

November 20, 2024 0

Sit With This Moment (Poetry)

By: JANA GREENE

Settle in with the guest named “This Moment,”

and put your feet up for awhile.

Denying it’s message will do no good,

and giving up just just isn’t your style.

Tell the uninvited feeling of ick,

“I see you’ve come again,.

I can’t avoid you altogether,

but learn from you I CAN.”

Sit with This Moment now my friend,

(I promise you’ll survive!)

and This Moment

will hold the door open

for Peace when it arrives.

November 16, 2024 1

We the (Other) People – a Bleeding Heart Poem

Dear Voter,

I’m just another liberal bleeding-heart soul,

but a bleeding heart is a biblical role,

it’s the blood of Jesus set us free,

but Jesus weeps today, you see.

All your vote has managed to do

is take from those less lucky than you.

To strip the rights away from some,

while you look out for “number one.”

But “We the People” is not just you,

it’s the half of America you just screwed,

protecting your own rights and wealth,

while some lose funding for care of health.

While the ticker tape still rains from above,

have you forgotten the commandment to love?

To feed the children, their resources cut,

to embrace the immigrant who has suffered much.

Instead, you set women’s rights back fifty years,

to control “the people” through mongering fears.

Taking “your” country back you see,

takes this country back from me,

And half of this country has a problem with that.

The poor get poorer, the rich get fat.

We the People with hearts that bleed,

will hemorrhage on all until we see

America become free again,

and I can promise you, my friend,

the haughty, arrogant man you’ve elected,

the golden calf that’s been erected,

has forgotten that God shed his grace

on all of us, the human race.

And We the People – the Other Ones –

will fight for justice until it’s done.

We will legislate, push back, and duel,

until women again are persons in full.

We will gather, protest, rally, and roar,

until every child knows hunger no more.

The marginalized citizens that you show no grace,

are the people your Jesus would most embrace.

So, this bleeding heart that beats in my chest,

and prays for this unholy mess,

knows what we’re sowing, we will reap,

but in the meantime,

Jesus weeps.

November 7, 2024 2

The Warrioress (a little poetry jam)

Photo by Alfredo Rodru00edguez on Pexels.com

This one is for my fellow chronic illness girlies. I see you. I hear you. Keep going.

By: JANA GREENE

The thing about being a warrior,

is that it looks nothing like the hype.

It is not shiny, or even deemed heroic.

And to be a warrioress is a study

in contradictions.

Be strong but keep it feminine.

Be fearless, but not aggressive.

Cry, but don’t let your tears

rust your armor.

Scream, but without making a scene.

Get bloody, but tidy yourself,

so that nobody knows

how f*cking hard you’re fighting.

The knighthood for the feminine

is illustrated by giving birth –

As we bring forth life,

There is screaming, blood,

and fearlessness.

But there is also great love,

a purging of self,

an opening of the soul, and

new life.

And isn’t that what we are fighting for?

To bring forth a life of our own?

Not to choose the same battle

forever, ad infinitum.

Not to fight for the sake of fighting,

but for the sake of living,

with armor full of chinks,

voices hoarse from war cries,

hands unsteady,

consciousness stumbling, but still rising,

the warrioress.

The thing about being a warrior,

fighting for this one and precious life,

Getting up each day to face hardship,

returning from battle each and every day,

is that it looks like you, my friend

It looks like you.

October 16, 2024 1

Who, Me?

By: JANA GREENE

We all just want to be a big deal to someone,

right?

Ego says:

Hell Yeah! The BIGGEST deal!

But it also says,

who, me?

And that’s why doing shadow work is hard,

you see.

September 26, 2024 0

I Speak Up Now

By: JANA GREENE

I speak up for myself now.

Well, sometimes.

As long as it doesn’t rock the boat TOO much.

As long as the person I have conflict with

won’t stop loving me because I’m mad.

Only when I’ve rolled the issue OVER and OVER

in my brain ad nauseam and have decided

I’m with a safe person, after all.

After I’ve mentally slayed the worst-case scenario in my head,

and mini-grieved all possible outcomes.

I still fret and worry that I’ve upset someone.

But now I fret when the someone I’ve upset is me.

So, I speak.

Sometimes in a whisper, and sometimes with a roar,

but I speak.

I’m starting in fits and stops to say when I’m hurt

or offended or bothered,

even though I have an Olympic gold in people-pleasing.

Myself – she had no say for the longest,

but I’m re-parenting her, you see.

I’m protecting her. I care what she has to say.

Her feelings, views, and passions have value.

I’m teaching her things that I (somehow managed) to teach my own daughters.

That they deserve to be listened to.

And to this day, they speak up for themselves,

without fear of abandonment, because they know they’re safe.

And Little Me is safe now too, finding her voice and using it.

Progress, not perfection.

God bless us, every one.

September 26, 2024 5

They’re Eating the Dogs! – a little (Dr. Seuss-style poetry jam)

A friend challenged me to write a Dr. Seuss rhyme about the immigrant / pet eating Trump kerfluffle, and I think I understood the assignment.
(Also, Ollie knows he is a whole snack, but would like to remind you that he is mostly fat and fur.)

By: JANA GREENE

They’re eating the dogs,
They’re eating the cats,
And like Ozzy Osborne,
Prolly the bats.
Would they, could they
Make a frappe
From a house cat
(Or is that Trump’s toupee?)
We Americans,
The tall and the small,
‘Spose to lock up our pets,
Cats and dogs and all?
“Pass the horseradish sauce,”
The immigrants say.
“I feel like a beagle sandwich today!”
Green eggs and ham?
Nah, dog on toast.
Or Cat brûlée,
Or a hedgehog roast?
Don’t leave out the exotics,
What about meats
Made out of lizards
And pet parakeets?
Could Trump, would Trump,
Make America great,
By spewing venom,
And dishing out hate?
Making it up as he goes along,
where in the heck did it all go wrong?
He would not, could not
Serve up on a plate
basic decency in the debate.
And what happens, then?
Well in ‘Murica we say,
Trump’s small heart shrunk
three sizes that day.
Perhaps the real meaning
Of a patriot’s truth,
is that Harris showed the class
Of a leader, times two.

September 13, 2024 3

The Seedling – a little poetry jam

I wrote this little poem in my head while I was quite literally sick. The universe delivered unto me the message that life is hard for all, animal, flora, and fauna. Even the flower has to break out of its confines to experience it. The visual gave me hope. And hope is everything.

By: JANA GREENE

The thing about hope that springs eternal

is that it requires a breaking-through,

a quantum jump from seedling

into something that’s brand new.

The seedling wouldn’t bother to grow

if it didn’t trust the sun.

It wouldn’t take on life itself

if it thought all hope was done.

A tree will push through concrete,

if the willingness is strong,

its roots will move heaven and earth

to keep life moving along.

I wonder if a flower cries

when it bonks its head in toil,

I wonder if it aches a bit

as it’s breaking through the soil.

If the DNA in a tiny seed

can spring forth hope and life,

if it can trust the sun to shine,

through darkness, toil and strife,

I guess then so can I

survive this breaking-through,

a quantum jump from seedling-me

into something that’s brand new.

September 12, 2024 2

Hypermobile Lament – a little poetry jam

No. I’m not cooking dinner then.

By: JANA GREENE

I had plans today,

but my body was indignant.

“Absolutely NOT,” was its retort.

“Well then,” say I. “I’ll do just a little

and rest as a last resort.”

“No ma’am,” said my hips,

like they have any right,

as they roll in the sockets

and put up a fight.

“No way, Jose,” my knees implore.

“You ran around yesterday,

doing your chores.”

“I’ll hang laundry then,”

I say with a sigh.

And my shoulders said,

“Don’t lift those arms too high!”

“How about going

to lunch with a friend?

Just a quick trip out,

then I’ll be on the mend.”

But my body,

with all it has to say,

Said “Pretty please,

just rest today.”

So I pulled on my PJs,

retired to my bed, and

“Thanks for listening to me,”

my body said.

August 31, 2024 0

Ugh, Politics. – a little poetry jam

By: JANA GREENE

The world is raging

flags are blazing,

furrowed brows,

and hateful eyes.

And so we get

what we’ve always gotten,

and act like

it’s a big surprise.

Never mind

the deafening roar,

the promises empty,

and outright lies.

Don’t feed the fears

Or give them years

with which to blind

our open eyes.

And so we get

what we’ve always got,

words from the sharp tongues

who carry clout,

deciding for us

what we’re about.

August 26, 2024 0

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

Pilgrimage to Self (a little poetry jam)

I kind of love this image that WordPress so generously offered me. Never mind I would break both ankles (plus probably fall off of the dang mountain) if I tried hiking this. It also occurred to me that every journey we take in life is perilous, and every hike takes us somewhere. Might be the Garden of Eden. Might be the Donner Party encampment. Wheeeee! *insert inappropriate laughter here *

By: JANA GREENE

I stumble along on

a path untread,

afraid to follow

the drops I’ve bled

on roads before,

a pilgrimage known,

with no blood trail

to follow,

I do it alone.

I’m taking a new way,

not following tears,

I’ve been on that journey,

been steered

by those fears.

So familiar is the

that way of despair,

But I think I’d rather

try a path to self-care.

So now I walk on a path

I don’t know,

all my fears and tears

in tow.

Where will it lead me?

How will I grow?

I grab my walking stick

and go,

on this path

I have not trodden,

sure of foot

on rough terrain,

still questioning

the road ahead,

still asking God

for help again,

resolute

in striking out,

feeling stronger

than my fear,

I peek ahead

and look about,

and think

I just might like it here.

August 19, 2024 0