JAE ROSE

https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2026/04/friday-writings-222-legacies.html

Its’ Open Link Night AND our LIVE session is just around the corner!

I am not concerned with what I may leave behind

But rather what I make of today –

How I am to people

What I may make them feel –

If anything at all –

Either is fine

I do not expect many years to come

But I would like what I am gifted to be light and with room to grow

To end in a better place inside from where I began and dwelled in for far too long

I would like to go gently into the night

And turn my dreams and wishes into stars

A light, untouchable, but seen.

https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/2026/04/this-poem.html

This poem is my voice –

A songbird in a cage

A glass of water aching for the ocean

A coin waiting to be spent (wisely)

I am not sure when I started writing this poem

Perhaps it has been forever – since I never could speak out loud

It is a constant – as familiar as a friend held in ice 

I hold it in my head 

Recite it quietly when times are black – or white 

I like the syllables – the stops and starts 

This poem is a secret door – a gate into a garden of my making 

This poem is my skeleton – the very bones that hold me up 

It is everything and nothing – upon it I can create muscles

Memories to support me as I open the gate and walk outside

Into a world that cares not for words or thoughts

Best to stay inside (I think) and work on the words that keep me alive. 

Poetics: Imperatively Yours

Wendell Berry’s “Grace” (1967) “Be still. Be still” 

I remember sitting in the church entrance

The sign read – ‘Be calm, be still’

Those simple words kept me falling from grace – from this world

It’s simple message cut through the chattering

And the darkness of how I felt

It made me smile. It made me cry

Why couldn’t people speak so clearly in the ‘real’ world

How could they confuse me and lead me adrift

Now, I repeat it as a mantra when I struggle in my hours

Breathe and take one moment at a time

I would never choose to go back

I wonder now if the letters and ink have faded

I know however, that with time and thought

Those words have seeded themselves like trunk roots in my soul and my being.

Quadrille #245 – Writing Down the Bones

Wake up lazybones it’s a brand new day

There are primroses on the path

And rain clouds floating by

A new blue coat and matching shoes

We can walk now without falling over 

Much to see, much to do

The future lies close ahead. 

https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2026/04/friday-writings-221-april-quotes.html?sc=1775188994003#c7463318858186861231

” It is spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart.” ~ Rainer Maria Rilke 

I collect words and phrases like picking up pebbles from the beach

Or plucking the juiciest berries from the bushesI

like how words can carry you – hold you safe Even when the world feels out of reach

Now, of course, the sun shines brighter

More daylight hours to learn how to fill I need to learn about lighter days – days without chaos

I need to remember swinging on the apple tree

Riding my bike up hills and through puddles

Quietly finding pleasure within myself

 A ray of being that can never be broken 

Safely back through the looking glass.

https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/2026/04/truth.html

I wonder whether the day will go ahead –

It feels like a child – born, lost, needing peace and safety –

Silent, elemental anger and rage 

Never have my family spoken in a free and positive way

Truth is I have hobbled my way in (and out) of this life 

Not really enough to claim as pathway out  

At least she is open enough to leave our world behind 

To sprinkle a dose of sugar spirals

Into my hot chocolate

I do not speak to anyone – I listen 

Underneath my breath is an explanation 

A Truth that I can not say out loud

The raw and human feeling that things will never be the same

Now the truth out there

No matter, if, the days will unfold as they will. 

Poetics: False Spring

Spring knocks early on my door

Her cheeks glow like melting butter

A fresh bloom of daffodils lined up upon the window sills

And sturdy, concrete wall

It is nice to wake to light – to have more hours in the day to read and write

Even the birds chirrup with a spring in their song

Not that winter has properly passed

There are still cold mornings and crisp, fresh frosts

The need to wear thick and toasty socks

To wrap up in bed in the afternoons

Perhaps I am more aware of seasons but I can feel the world turning now

Paddle a toe in its’ waters

The world continues a-pace and I am part of it.

Haibun Monday 3-30-26: Mad March Hare

I remember the years of Alice. Following her down the rabbit hole. Chasing his cotton-wool tail. I never quite understood why we were always running – always late.  It left me quite at sea. No life-boat in the madness.  A Wonderland that started as a game but overtook my thoughts. 

Now, I step outside of the (mis) adventure. I am happy in my world. On bright days it unfolds in the only way it can. On darker days I know that I will once again see the tree outside – that there is always something to anchor myself upon. Lead me forward.

Mad March Hare busies

Leading me through time

I look forward to April  

https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2026/03/friday-writings-220-feeling-deeply.html

I remember the wind chimes on Euclid Heights Boulevard 

The place I fell in love in and equally fell out of life in

I was dreaming, dreaming, dreaming 

Watch the drying cement they called –

I had not noticed them working

I was so absorbed in being – living the dream

Funny really, how it barely seemed I loved anything enough to stay

I was running, running, running 

Perhaps now I have come to a stop I am free to love things more

An open window, a fresh sheet of paper – a tin of coloured pencils

They all make me smile – feel as if I am moving – not wandering 

Perhaps I am enjoying my days a little more

Leaving my own footprints on the ground –

Neither follower or followed  

I take a sip of tea on a new morning – 

Perhaps this is what I love – this moment, this place inside 

A sense of distance from what was 

And a clear head to make my own path. 

https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/2026/03/child-children.html

I am learning how to wrap my arms around my child

That part of me that was reduced to ashes 

(Little did they know that I would rise again) 

It is both hard and simple 

I cannot do what I never learnt 

All I know is that I need comfort –

Warmth, flavour, kindness, strength 

The feeling inside that I deserve(d) to be young –

And that I can take back what was stolen

I do not need pictures to know what I was –

They were ripped up anyway 

Maybe that’s why now I turn to words –

I am giving myself a different education

Undoing the wrongs – 

And imagining how things can finally feel right.