1 – April Comes This Morning

It is certainly not quiet this morning…
5am and the spring peepers are already
singing their songs, a chorus of them
proclaims     April!     bright and loud
and
just an hour ago, the coyotes joined in
rejoicing in triumph,
that soulful sound as seasons change

and now the rain begins
no surprise

April showers bring May flowers

besides
thunder in the east was fair warning
a storm approaches

quick or wicked
we never know except
soon the birds will wake
shake off their damp wings
call out to the dawn again
another day     for the lucky ones

Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. Photo by Damir Mijailovic. #NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Month. If you like this poem, you can read similar in my books and zines, available from Three Chairs Publishing on my ETSY SHOP. They come autographed, with gratitude and a small gift.

Happy National Poetry Month!

“Launched by the Academy of American Poets in April 1996, National Poetry Month is a special occasion that celebrates poets’ integral role in our culture and that poetry matters. Over the years, it has become the largest literary celebration in the world, with tens of millions of readers, students, K–12 teachers, librarians, booksellers, literary events curators, publishers, families, and—of course—poets, marking poetry’s important place in our lives.”

Click here to read more about this annual celebration, then visit 30 WAYS TO CELEBRATE NATIONAL POETRY MONTH for suggestions on how you can join in!

My favorite way to celebrate is to join with the thousands of poets participating in NaPoWriMo — NATIONAL POETRY WRITING MONTH —in which we write a poem a day for the month of April.

While NaPoWriMo is celebrating 20 years this year, I’m happy to say this will be my 9th year attempting to write 30 poems in 30 days! Here we go!

The Moon is Dying

The Moon is dying.

She’s floating, swimming, struggling,

in a space too large to fathom

and no god to save her.


She’s been wrecked and ravaged,

pockmarked, abused —

but she still sings,

perhaps for the friend

poised by her side

their endless chant,

a call-and-response

I am tired       
I am here
I feel pain
I am here
I am dying
I am here

And so they circle

and watch

circle

and wait

dream of revolutions,

the ebb and flow of days —

pray the sun stays warm on their backs.

Photo from www.bcwhales.org. For more, see “Moon the humpback whale completes 5,000km journey – with a broken back.”

When the Mania Collapses in On Itself Again

for Janet

She — burning red on the outside rim
of a recent manic spin,
her hair in flames —
could not find space to fit
her guru self
anywhere in the cockpit,
left it and its
lowercase god
— the one she introduced me to —
somewhere in the space
where the inhale and exhale meet

she was barely breathing
words shooting through the air
like pew! pew! pew!
and her eyes…
her eyes were blazing madness

she was madness
at my doorstep burning
her counsel afire with delusion

I tried to reach out —
breath like a blanket
to swathe the flames,
while my heart screamed
drop and roll! drop and roll!       please

please     come back

I reached into that space
her galaxy of lunacy,
but her trajectory
was light years from now

gone!

I hear she touched heaven
learned to breathe in a final breath
found peace as she dropped
into the hands of god

Image, Thundering Neurosis by Mario Sanchez Nevado, used here with permission from the artist. For more of his work, visit www.marionevado.art.

Wonder Women

For a friend (or two)(or three)

Even strong women break / fall apart in parking lots
our lives upside down / wheels spinning
Curse our way through or sleep it out / drink it out, consume it
Find the weight so unbearable / our hearts just stop
Sure, we can be both / strong and broken
capable and crying  / put together
and a total fucking mess

all

at

the

same

time

Never underestimate
the power in that /
the force it takes
to hold ourselves up
while balancing the
world

Random Acts of Writing Turns 13!

Today marks the 13-year anniversary of Random Acts of Writing!

That’s 13 years and 1,900 blog posts about things like poetry, nature, creativity, books, travel, and spirituality,

2,600 images, photographs, original artwork, and vintage art and graphics,

1,700 followers from all over the world including the U.S., United Kingdom, Romania, Canada, Australia, India, Finland, Ireland, South Africa and Belgium,

And more than 35,000 unique visitors who checked out my posts 105,206 times.

While 13 is considered by many to be an unlucky number, in Numerology, “13 is a number of power…When broken down, 13 becomes 1 + 3 = 4. 1 is independence, 3 is creative expression, and 4 is foundation. 13 utilizes all these amazing energies together and intensifies their united essence.”

Thirteen, in dog years, is just an old dog. But in human years, 13 is a milestone year, a time of enormous physical, mental, emotional, and social changes.

It’s the same for Random Acts of Writing, as I often find myself wondering: what am I doing and where the heck is this going? Do I need to change this up? Should I do something different?

In the beginning, there was simply an urge to create. A need. A GOTTA.

And maybe that’s all there needs to be for now in this transitional time, these not-exactly-post-pandemic days, the wild adolescence of this freakin’ 21st century — a need to create, to be creative in the face of everything and anything else?

A space held, like a dancer’s spot point, to keep the world from spinning too fast, for me and for you, my readers. It’s that 1 + 3 = 4 foundation equation. And maybe, that’s enough? I hope.

Happy Anniversary Random Acts of Writing!
Happy Anniversary Followers, Readers, and Friends!
Thank you!

*California Psychics

Under His Spell (or I am Sure He Was a Sorcerer)

I saw him fly once
up a steep flight of stairs.
I tried to outrun him
(but wasn’t too scared).

Watched him drive blind
down a street’s wrong side —
from a kiss no less.
(I was there for the ride.)

He disappeared like ghosts.
Gone for weeks, not days.
He drove into a tree once,
walked away unscathed.

He’s cheated death and watched death
and wrestled it in the street,
he’s had past lives and nine lives,
and one I’ll never meet.

His devil’s smile and demon laugh
they melted me every time.
Telepath, empath —
I swear he read my mind.

He foretold our future
in such hypnotic prose,
then all of it came true.
(or mostly, I suppose).

He was impulse, reactive
conniving, and wild,
charming, seductive,
I was broken, beguiled —

Because I ate all his lies
(and fed all his fears).
My heart craved his magic,
But his voodoo stole years.

Poem ©2023, Jen Payne. Image: Tamara and Demon, Mikhail Vrubel.

Friday Photo 03.03.23

Do we ever stop to think how much time a nest takes?, North Guilford, CT by Jen Payne

Enjoy the Ride!

Fair warning, Friend.
The ride is shorter than it seems.
After the first few hills,
the thrill tapers off.

Then expect lots of bunny hops

up, down, up, down
up, down, up, down

Best to allow for leg room.
And breathing room.

If you have a high-tolerance
for that kind of thing,
you might enjoy an extended ride,
just table any expectations,
and make yourself a little smaller
(if you know what I mean).

Either way, it’s all downhill from here.

Enjoy the ride, though. It’s not bad,
there at the top of the first hill.
It’s exciting and full of promise.

Wheeeeee!

Until the bottom drops out.

Then you have to scramble,
remember where you left yourself,
gather the bits and pieces
from underneath it all.

There’s no refund for time spent,
so salvage what you can:
photobooth memories and souvenirs.

Poem ©2023, Jen Payne

Friday Photo 02.24.23

Jupiter and Venus, February 18, Guilford, CT by Jen Payne

Rockport

It was Rockport, North Shore
right before the fall
that humid, hot July,

the slow seduction
of an afternoon,
swimming and showers
that enticed hours
of love making,

our voracious sprint
for sustenance —
four courses and wine,
Garth and The Dance
played at the bar
there on Bearskin Neck.

We were finished, even then
and we knew it,
held tight and played pretend
that one last weekend,
love and loss and relief writhing,
Goodbyes consummated
beneath summer cotton,
The End
a visible blur on the horizon

Poem ©2023, Jen Payne

Friday Photo 02.17.23

Are those crop circles at the CVS?, Branford, CT by Jen Payne

Friday Photo 02.10.23

Do trees exchange Valentines?, Branford, CT by Jen Payne

Get Your Just Desserts

Get your just desserts and appear
in the next issue of MANIFEST (zine).

TAKE THE SURVEY

Narrative Arc

We blurred the shape of time,
bent it forwards and back,
twisted it enough to find common ground
there in those early fairy tale days
when I was so astonished by Us I wept

Our movements so in sync
it seemed we were cut from one bolt of cloth
only one stored for a decade or more in a castle
full of favorite old books and songs
and endless stories — his and mine
and the ones we tell ourselves about Love
and who we are IN Love

But I never thought to look up
see the turrets and towers along the wall,
pay note to the bunker safely guarded,
the pock marks in that common ground,
the mortally wounded specters
who watched their watches
betting on our time
our precious, precious time

I thought the enemy was age
that Loss would come as natural cause and effect, expected
a well-roundedness to its execution
but I was wrong

Loss seeped slowly between the cracks I didn’t know at first were there
forced itself into the weakest places of Us
the way ivy overtakes mortar in a wall
until all that was left was the evidence of time we call Memory.

©2023, Jen Payne

Friday Photo 02.03.23

I hear they call him George, Guilford, CT by Jen Payne

Mini (zine): There’s No Such Thing as the Poop Fairy

Issue #1 – There’s No Such Thing as the Poop Fairy: 5 Things to Remember When You Walk in the Woods

People love the nature preserve where I often walk. Who wouldn’t? Its wide, criss-crossing trails offer welcome views of the woods and ponds and wildlife. It’s easy to forget that the busiest highway on the east coast is less than a mile away. It’s easy to forget the busy-ness of life in general — work and the To Do list and all the other mind clutter fade away when we spend time outdoors.

Unfortunately, as much as people love being out in nature, it’s hard to overlook the general disrespect many show for our protected natural spaces.

Just last week, on a brisk mile walk along my favorite trail, I spotted twelve discarded bags of dog poop. Twelve. That’s a poop bag about every 300 steps.

Some are tossed high and land on branches, like decorations. Some are tucked into hidey holes — knots in trees, crevices between rocks. But most of them are just set down along the side of the trail — as if someone is going to come by later and pick them all up. Abracadabra!

It makes me want to scream!

The thing is, once you start paying attention to them — once you start being angry about them — you start to see other things. The coffee cups, the nip bottles, the COVID masks, the dental flossers. The orange peels and apple cores. The Christmas ornaments and painted rocks, and similar garbage and graffiti.

There’s No Such Thing as the Poop Fairy: 5 Things to Remember When You Walk in the Woods was inspired by all of that. It’s a response that offers simple solutions: don’t litter, respect nature and wildlife, don’t leave your poop on the side of the trail.

At the end of the day, there is no magical creature — winged, wand waving, or white bearded — who is going to take care of the mess we keep leaving. It’s up to us.

Get your copy of the mini-zine There’s No Such Thing as the Poop Fairy: 5 Things to Remember When You Walk in the Woods today! $3.00 includes shipping.

BUY NOW

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You can pay through PayPal using a PayPal account or any standard credit card. If you prefer the old school approach, please send your check, made payable to Jen Payne, P.O. Box 453, Branford, CT 06405.

Now on Sale! Manifest (zine) #11: Great & Small

Issue #11, Great & Small

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

As we move among the creatures of this planet — every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth — one can’t help but think of some greater force at work. Whether you call it God, Nature, or the Universe, come walk with me, meet some of my divine friends, and let’s see if John Muir was right when he wrote “The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”

INGREDIENTS: appropriation art, ceramic art, collaged elements, color copies, color scans, digital art, ephemera, essays, found art, found objects, found poetry, hand-drawn fonts, laser prints, original photographs, poetry, quotes, watercolor painting. With special thanks to Susan Doolittle and Mary O’Connor, and guest appearances by Ted Andrews, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Walt Disney, John Drysdale, Ogata Gekko, Ed Mazza, John Muir, Richard Scarry, E.H. Shepard, Ben Team, Brian Tomasik, Dr. E.O. Wilson, and Shibata Zeshin.

28-page, full color 5×7 booklet + Inserts and curated Spotify playlist, Cost: $8.00 or subscribe and get 4 issues for $25.00.

BUY NOW

SUBSCRIBE

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You can pay through PayPal using a PayPal account or any standard credit card. If you prefer the old school approach, please send your check, made payable to Jen Payne, P.O. Box 453, Branford, CT 06405.

Friday Photo 01.27.23

Sometimes it’s what you don’t see…, Branford, CT by Jen Payne

Friday Photo 01.13.23

When the flossers awake from hibernation too soon: a cautionary tale from our consumer society, Branford, CT by Jen Payne

Grandmom!

A 100-WORD STORY

Last night I dreamt of my grandmother. She was sitting next to my dad toasting champagne in a luncheonette on Broad Street. You know, the kind with leather stools spinning around a counter and formica tables? I knew she’d be waiting, but the front door was locked, so I found a back entrance, pushed past the steel workers having lunch and ran to her. My heart was so full it felt like I was drowning, swallowing air and love; racing towards that hug that almost knocked us off our feet, her arms as tight as mine, holding on ‘til morning.

 

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©2022, Jen Payne.  Photo: John’s Cafe in Portland, Oregon

Lightning in a January Sky!

JANUARY 11
Their eyes never lost touch.
They sat and talked and laughed for hours.
He reached for her hand as if he had done so every day since they last saw each other.
That familiar feeling surprised them long into the night.
They kissed.
There was lightning in the January sky.

It’s been more than 15 years since that fateful night that changed everything. How did they get there? And what happens next? Find out in WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE: A SORT-OF LOVE STORY, an epistolary novel told through a series of emails, written by Connecticut author and poet Jen Payne.

It’s a conversation, a memoir, a love story…

WATER UNDER THE BRIDGE:
A SORT-OF LOVE STORY

by Jennifer A. Payne
Memoir / Creative Non-Fiction
5 x 7, Paperback, 130 pages
ISBN: 978-0-9905651-5-4
$16.00 (plus tax + shipping)

BUY NOW

You can pay through PayPal using a PayPal account or any standard credit card. If you prefer the old school approach, please send your check, made payable to Jen Payne, P.O. Box 453, Branford, CT 06405.

Friday Photo 01.06.23

Bryophyte in the Driveway, Branford, CT by Jen Payne

NEW! Manifest (zine) #11: Great & Small

Issue #11, Great & Small

All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.

As we move among the creatures of this planet — every beast of the earth, and to every fowl of the air, and every thing that creepeth upon the earth — one can’t help but think of some greater force at work. Whether you call it God, Nature, or the Universe, come walk with me, meet some of my divine friends, and let’s see if John Muir was right when he wrote “The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”

INGREDIENTS: appropriation art, ceramic art, collaged elements, color copies, color scans, digital art, ephemera, essays, found art, found objects, found poetry, hand-drawn fonts, laser prints, original photographs, poetry, quotes, watercolor painting. With special thanks to Susan Doolittle and Mary O’Connor, and guest appearances by Ted Andrews, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Walt Disney, John Drysdale, Ogata Gekko, Ed Mazza, John Muir, Richard Scarry, E.H. Shepard, Ben Team, Brian Tomasik, Dr. E.O. Wilson, and Shibata Zeshin.

28-page, full color 5×7 booklet + Inserts and curated Spotify playlist, Cost: $8.00 or subscribe and get 4 issues for $25.00.

ORDER BY JANUARY 10 and get a free copy of THERE’S NO SUCH THING AS THE POOP FAIRY: 5 Things to Remember when You Walk in the Woods

BUY NOW

SUBSCRIBE

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You can pay through PayPal using a PayPal account or any standard credit card. If you prefer the old school approach, please send your check, made payable to Jen Payne, P.O. Box 453, Branford, CT 06405.

Spring No More

A 100-WORD STORY

Not that long ago, at mile marker 86.5 near East Lyme’s Pattagansett River, you could pull off the highway into a small dirt turnout, grab a container from your trunk, and fill it to the brim with cold, fresh water pouring from a natural spring. The spring was pretty popular. You’d always see a car or two parked precariously on the side of the road — traffic slowing more for the incline of the hill ahead than the waterseekers themselves. It’s gone now, save for the old turnout, replaced by a cement culvert, its condo complex runoff too foul for thirst.

 

 

 

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©2022, Jen Payne.

A Year in Books (2022)

Harry Anderson Saved My Life

A 100-WORD STORY

Harry Anderson saved my life. At least that’s what my wide-eyed younger self remembers. The man had a gun, after all. I saw it as he paid for his coffee, hitched up under his arm. I was working the overnight, back when a girl could do that on her own. And besides, the cops watched out for me. That’s why I called them. Harry was there in minutes. Dragged the man to the parking lot. Discharged the gun in a moment of midlife bravado that almost got him fired. I never forgot it — overfilled his apple fritters every time thereafter.

 

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©2022, Jen Payne.

Late December Bird Watch

The mourning doves are here for the winter,
eight by this morning’s count at the feeder before

eight by their count now on the slight-sagged branch
where they wait out the starlings
with hope there is something left

that galaxy of stars like a black hole
devours everything
leaves morsels for small sparrows at least
who will sneak back later to peck out
their gratitude in code on the frost

I read it sometimes, their code of thanks,
wonder if they know I timed it —
spread seeds as soon as the doves arrived,
before the stars descended with the moon

made myself large by the side door
a warning, a warrior

let them have their take, those eight
grief is a hungry thing
even the weeping is enough to lay a table bare

Poem ©2022, Jen Payne. Photo by Jennifer Snyder, Project Feederwatch

Friday Photo 12.16.22

What Small World Here, Branford, CT by Jen Payne

Surprising Gift Idea (+ video)

MANIFEST (zine)
Consider a Gift Subscription. It’s a
one-of-a-kind gift idea for the holidays!

Imagine a magazine that’s like a mini art installation. Each issue is filled with unexpected images and creative rabbit holes, poetry, quotes, a curated Spotify playlist, and so much more! 

$25.00

Gift subscriptions include a custom holiday greeting/gift acknowledgement and four printed issues of MANIFEST (zine) starting with the Winter 2023 issue, Great & Small.

BUY NOW

Friday Photo 12.09.22

Late Winter Walk, Branford, CT by Jen Payne

Monday Musing: Zen Again, Zen Again

On Friday, with only three weeks left to go before Christmas, I stopped at my local CVS for laser paper. It’s a little more expensive there than at Staples, but it’s a shorter walk, and I like to save my steps for walking in the woods and not the big box stores.

Standing in line with my laser paper and a mini Panettone — it’s the holidays after all — I realized I was going to be waiting a while. There was a long line, one open register, and a family having a serious discussion with the cashier:

Can we use this coupon? (No.)

How about this one? (No.)

Is this eye pencil sharpener on sale? (No, it’s the other one, with the case.)

Can’t you apply the sale to this one? (No.) (Did you want the lip balm that’s on sale?)

Oh yes. Hold on. Let me run back and get that.

The laser paper was getting heavy, and I almost dropped the mini Panettone. Plus I was hot now — and a little annoyed — and since the only other cashier was busy putting out the Valentine’s Day candy, I decided to leave.

Not huffy leave. Or angry leave. Just put down my things and move on to the next errand leave, practicing my best versions of Surrender and Acceptance.

Truth be told, I ended up having to do the same thing at the post office 10 minutes later. No big deal. I wasn’t in desperate need of laser paper (or that Panettone), and the letter I was mailing could post on Monday.

Since I’d saved all of that time not waiting in lines, I headed across town to one of my favorite places to walk. A trail that winds across a marsh, and up through the woods to an overlook with views of Long Island Sound and a monument to poet Jennie Vedder that reminds:

I would be one with Earth again,
and grieve not as the seasons pass,
but joyous in the pulse of grass,
exultant with the beat of rain.
I would be one with Earth again,
one with her joy, one with her pain.

It was such a pretty almost-winter day. Sunny with a nice chilly breeze. Quiet except for some lingering gulls and the Amtrak heading to New York. Perfect…marred only by the Festering I was still doing about the holidays, the lines, the people at the register back at CVS.

Then a little inner voice yelled: STOP!

You went to all that effort finding your Zen spot; you made decisions to leave the things that were not serving you; and here you are full-up with thoughts about those same things. STOP!

The thing is, we all have that choice every day. Do we sit in the muck of thoughts about this or that, or do we move on about our business? Get our shoes stuck down in the mud or walk around the edge and move forward?

But I’m not perfect, and mind-control is not my forte whatsoever…so I found that Festering’s thoughts kept trying to find their way back in again. You know, sort of in that same way your thoughts push through your moments of Meditation? Zen then Me! Me! Me!  Zen then Think Over Here! Think Over Here!

So we all sort of walked together for a while—me, my thoughts, the folks in line at the post office, and the family at CVS. Until I lost site of the family, and the post office line dissipated. My thoughts wandered off about a new writing project, and there I was — alone at last! Me and my Zen, again.

There is nothing like a walk in the woods to chase away the pesky thoughts. To reconnect you with Here and Now. To show you the way to Grace and Gratitude. And Zen.

©2022, Jen Payne

Creative Gift Ideas

A Gift Subscription to MANIFEST (zine)
is a one-of-a-kind gift idea for the holidays!

It’s like sending a mini art installation that features interesting images and creative rabbit holes, quotes, poetry, a curated Spotify playlist. Layered with colors, textures, meanings (and music), the result is a thought-full, tactile journey with nooks and crannies to discover along the way. Gift subscriptions cost $25.00 include a custom holiday greeting/gift acknowledgement and four printed issues of MANIFEST (zine) starting with our upcoming winter issue, Great & Small.

Order Now

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MANIFEST (zine)

Visit our Etsy Shop to order individual issues as gifts or stocking stuffers. Each costs $8.00, which includes some cool extras and shipping. (Each Etsy listing includes a sneak preview video.)

VISIT THE SHOP

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Our Books

Perfect for the book lover in your life, consider giving a book from Three Chairs Publishing. Each comes signed by the author with a few creative extras.

VISIT THE SHOP

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Don’t Miss Holiday Expo!

Looking for a festive shopping experience? Then be sure to visit the Holiday Expo at Guilford Art Center (411 Church Street, Guilford). You’ll find many of our Three Chairs Publishing creations on display, along with ceramics, pottery, glass, jewelry, homewares, fiber art, ornaments, accessories, toys, specialty foods, stationery, leather goods and more. More than 200 American artists, makers and designers are featured in this year’s event. Click here for more information.

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Thank you for your support!

Just like shopping local during the holidays, shopping at Three Chairs Publishing’s online shop has ripple effects. Your purchases help to support the women-owned printing company that prints our books, the locally-owned print shops that print our marketing materials, and the U.S. Postal Service which reliably delivers our products to your doorstep. You also help the self-employed editors, proofreaders, typesetters, artists, and tech support folks who help turn my ideas into things I can put into your hands to enjoy.

For all of that, and your continued support of my creative work, thank you. Happy Holidays! — JEN PAYNE

Breath Counting

When sleeping with a bear
it is critical to pay attention to the breath —
his and yours.

His will tell you when it is safe
to muck about in dreams
and when it is time
to curl up and play dead.

Death
     in this case: to feign sleep
is a practiced thing

slow     deep     breath     in

slow     deep     breath     out

slow     deep     breath     in

slow     deep     breath     out

Most nights, he’ll forget his hunger
and roll over — you pray
hands clasped around your knees
making yourself small
a burr in the blanket and of far less importance
than himself and his sleep.

©2022, Jen Payne

They’re building infrastructure in the woods

There are tractor marks in the rabbit warren,
that sweet spot on the path where the
bittersweet and grapevines arbored the trail,
where the sounds of commerce faded just enough to hear
the rabbits waiting for you to pass.

It’s bulldozed wide, now four-persons across
nevermind the rabbits
or the winter sparrows who found refuge there
or the jays who loved the grapes
or the pileated whose only recourse
is to tap out an S.O.S. on a nearby dying ash

They’re building infrastructure in the woods, you see
plowing back desperate saplings,
piling debris where the wild asters grew
flattening out the turtles’ fertile slopes

laying instead their misplaced traprock paths
and sweet-smelling lumbered bridges
giving us more room to tramp about
another ingress marked by colored flags
nailed deep into the skins of trees

Tell me please…
Will the rabbits find sanctuary before the snow?
Were the turtles buried alive?
Do the trees weep before the hammer strikes?

Poem and photo ©2022, Jen Payne

Chronos Weeps

What happened to the shape of days?

The slow unfolding of dawn, the clear delineation of time — beginning, end, respite

that marked space for pursuits of gods — Hypnos, Eros, Hephaestus. (Though rarely in that order.)

Our haloed mechanisms godlike now — omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient.

            Hey Siri: Who is Hephaestus?

And so we worship false gods, bow down to their divine scheme,

keep talismans close at hand for fear to miss their callings

their new demands of sacrifice — silence, sabbath, solitude.

I fear they’ve killed Atlas, too, left our world spinning

without the stars to guide us,

without the sun and shadow, our shape of days

and time.

Poem ©2022, Jen Payne. Photo by Scotch Mist, Head of Sculpture of Chronos in Knights’ Hall of Royal Castle, Warsaw, Poland.