30 – the forgiveness of rain

led by a soft rain

around the quiet path

quiet but for the

fanfare of flowers

the unfolding of ferns

and feathered love songs

just for us

this moment in Eden

Photos and Poem ©2018, Jen Payne. National Poetry Month #30. If you enjoy photography and poetry together like this, then be sure to purchase a copy of Evidence of Flossing: What We Leave Behind! BUY THE BOOK TODAY!

29 – New Haven Harbor, 1995

This is the moment of leaving,

this view out the passenger window,

a sideways glance, passing

rain forming stars on the glass

belie any reminder of wishes,

this is just the falling part –

the out of, away from, apart part,

watching with envy

how the tugs push

the things that cannot move,

how once unburdened

this becomes that,

how easily the plane departs,

lights, too, like stars,

moving toward the horizon.

Photo by George Desipris. Poem ©2018, Jen Payne. National Poetry Month #29. If you like this poem, you’ll LOVE Evidence of Flossing: What We Leave Behind! BUY IT TODAY!

26 – Spider Dancing

He, the cellar spider,
is intent on
invading the
quiet undersill
of the kitchen spider,
and she,
her domicile
so neatly tended,
looks tense.
This morning
I said out loud

this is your dance space,
this is my dance space

but she hadn’t seen the movie,
so I just chased him
away with a spoon.

With a nod to Dirty Dancing. Poem ©2018, Jen Payne. National Poetry Month #26. So tell me, do spiders sing? Find out in Evidence of Flossing: What We Leave Behind! BUY THE BOOK

25 – Cat Meditation

She doesn’t know
of time or schedule,
only that if she sits
in the spot between
the keyboard and monitor

a spot, I should note,
perfect for a cat in repose

I have no choice
but to pay her
some attention,
more attention
than whatever
had been the task
at hand.

Her soft furred back
is welcome change
from the hard lines
of time and schedule;
her head nudges up
against my hand
scratching her ears —
says yes, yes
and more, more.

Under the white fluff
of her neck,
the soft vibration
of purring
yes, yes
I could stay here a while,

eyes closed, lulled by this sound

I could stay here a while…

Photo and Poem ©2018, Jen Payne. National Poetry Month #25. For more poems like this, pick up a copy of Evidence of Flossing: What We Leave Behind! BUY THE BOOK

23 – The first time she ever said Fuck

you could see it
gathering steam
from her core

from her memory

from her sadness

from her pain
from her fear
from her anger

but when it came out

Fffffffuck!

it was not nearly
as loud
as explosive
or as endless
as she deserved

I think now
I should have
saved it
dug a deep hole
and planted it
grew it lush and large
fed it back to her
sautéed in
wine and butter

Maybe then
she would remember
the day she almost
set herself free.

Image: Woman on the Verandah , Edvard Munch. Poem ©2018, Jen Payne, for my mother. National Poetry Month #23. For more poems like this, read Jen’s book Evidence of Flossing: What We Leave Behind! BUY THE BOOK

22 – And Yet We Do

The humility of the artist is this:

there is nothing new under the sun,

not even Morning Air.

But our brilliance is this:

we do it anyway.

Image: 17 Drawings by Thoreau, John Cage. (Read More) Poem ©2018, Jen Payne, upon reading Thoreau’s reflections on mornings from Walden. National Poetry Month #22. If you ilke Thoreau, you’ll love Evidence of Flossing: What We Leave Behind! BUY THE BOOK