LISTEN

Please

Listen

Don’t just hear

Be in awe

Of the sounds

Laughter

A shout of glee 

The lyrics to a song 

Playing on the radio

A whisper

Thunderclaps

Rain coming down

The cry of an infant

A coyote’showl 

The ambulance

Police sirens

A cat’s meow

The dogs growl
Listen 

To the voices 

You recognize 

And the strangers

In the grocery line

To the friendly greeting 

From the sales clerk

And the deep sound

Of the preacher man

A choir singing

Gospel melodies

The teenage barista 

The weary nurse

Trying to her best

To sound hopeful

As the end draws near
Listen

To the birds chirping

Lawnmower running

Old man playing guitar

While his lady sings

The blues
Listen

To everything

That I can’t hear

And be filled

Overflowing

With gratitude 

For what you have
And I’ll listen 

My own way

With my eyes

And my heart

I’ll hear more

Than most of you

Ever will 

Because

I really do

Listen
Jeanna’ Mead

July 25 2016

Touch

She figured it would be

just a bite to eat

a drink or two

Skim the surface

Like most people do

She didn’t expect

To be heard

Get her soul fed

Thirst quenched.

Hand held

She should have figured.

She would be

Touched.

Jeanna’ Mead

1 33 – 3/15/17

Not Another Word

She got all dressed
Lined her lips in red
Glanced at her reflection
Hoped she looked good enough
She didn’t say another word
She left the house early
So many things to do
Worked hard to make a living
Good thing it was what  she loved
Came home late
There was more to do
She didn’t say another word
She climbed between the sheets
Shut her eyes
Held on tight to hope
That sleep would ease all her aches and pains
She didn’t say another word
Every chance she could get
She could be found
writing her heart out
Baring her soul
Giving glimpses to anyone
Who took the time to look
But she never said another word
She bought the things
She wanted
Found everything she needed
All by herself
Somehow
that’s just how it was
So she didn’t say another word

Jeanna’ Mead
7 13 p.m.  3.13.17

Feel with both hands, Jeanna’

The Tree and Me

I had gone on this trip for one real reason-to get time to write and this tree was the first thing I saw as we parked and I knew with absolute certainly that it was speaking to me. 

I had been wrestling with my changing appearance. and sometimes felt like the woman I saw in the mirror, wasn’t the same woman I felt I inside. 

I had never been the type that fit the “standard” or tried to be the same as everyone else but the last couple of years had shook my roots and filled me with some doubts and longings, and I struggled to find my own sense of beauty and confidence once again. 
This tree was not a “typical” tree. It waa clear that no one had ever trimmed the branches, shaped it or tried to make it conform or become anything it wasn’t meant to be.  

And you know what?  It is beautiful and inspiring, graceful and purposeful, strong and unwavering…just as it was meant to be.  

The tree simply grew, right where the Almighty Creator planted it, shaped by the wind and rain, by the Texas sun and bathed. by moonlight. 
It spread wide and low, reached to the heavens and offered shelter and rest as needed.

Storms came and beat hard, knocking the branches and leaving scars-tell tale marks of battles survived, of years gone by, of experiences.
I realized that my body had also bent low…to lift babies, plant flowers,clean and stretch…..I’ve stood on tip toes, reached for the heavens, planted kisses on tall men, hung stars on Christmas trees, danced around to every kind of music. 

I’ve made love and made mistakes, made cakes and made my point. I’ve used my body to shelter others and to offer comfort.  

I’ve carried my babies inside my body, stretching to provide space, nutrition and love.

My body has scars, healed wounds, lines and marks from days in the Texas sun and nights bathed by moonlight 

And you know what? 

I am finally beginning to see that I’m created by the Almighty  and, in my own way, I’m beautiful and inspiring,graceful and purposeful, strong and unwavering ….just as I was meant to be. 

TAKEN

She’s been taken

By the hand

Led onto the dance floor

Towards the light and the end of the line

Up the hill, out of the way

Down the steps.across a path, over the ŵater

Into bed and onto a stage

She’s been taken

For a fool by those that didn’t know any better

For weak instead of strong

On many a wild goose chase

By mistake for someone else, a different nationality

Just another pretty face

Shes been taken

To breakfast, lunch and dinner

Sometimes just for dessert

Out for wine and coffee

And to a picnic in a park

She’s been taken

To the very end of her rope

Right  down to her knees

And she’s been taken to the heights of absolute ecstasy

Breathless

She’s been taken

advantage of far more than she’ll care to admit

the wrong way by those that don’t understand

But most of all, she gets taken for granted

more than anything












Desire

It seems to me

That my desires change

From day to day

Moment by moment

Sometimes I desire

Peace and quiet

Solitude….a chance to write

Outside on the patio

Surrounded by nature

Other times I can’t wait

To feel the music

Beneath my feet

And dance all night

The pleasure of company

Loved ones with me
On cold days,I so desire

 A crackling fire

Cup filled with cocoa

Fresh baked cookies

Books to read

But as soon as it warms up

The things  change

And I desire 

Juicy peaches and mangos

Fresh squeezed lemonade

Coconut oil rubbed on my skin

Feet plopped in the sand

There are times when i desire

Nothing but an embrace

And other times I can never get enough

Of my love language of touch

I might desire to slip away 

Unnoticed 

A wisp in the air

Another times I make sure

My desires were made clear

The only thing 

That’s never changed

Is my desire

To be me. 

Jeanna’ Mead

5 39a.m. 3.4 17

Crying Shame

For quite some time, I’ve thought about the conspiracy of love, the relationships we form with people that sometimes,often times,make sense only to us.
I have,over the years,gotten to know and to care deeply for people that have scars on their bodies, which can be seen and felt,just like my own scars but, the real wounds,the real scars are the ones carved on the soul,hidden from all but the most trusted few. 

Sometimes, though,those scars become chains,snares,gilded circles of barbed wire wrapped tightly because of a decision to hold on to the pain, to yield the  rope of unforgiveness, to create such a web that tangles everyone that even comes close.

There’s something tragic about seeing people afraid to step outside the confines,to dance with someone,to enjoy company;a cup of coffee, an long conversation because they have been unforgiven, and sometimes, it’s that they haven’t forgiven themselves but far,far more often,it’s because love hasn’t.

And it is a crying shame.

❤I wrote this on February 17 of 2015 and on February 17 of 2016, I added this.

“Little did I know that in one year these words would mean even more and the reality of my words would demand my response,”

Now, on February 17 of 2017, I realize just how much I’ve learned about love,about forgiveness,about relationships and just how beautiful choosing to live with an open,giving scarred and healed heart is. 
God has created in me a capacity to love and forgive-myself and others-far beyond what imagined and I am fulfilled with wonder.

Feel with both hands, Jeanna’