My photo
Simi Valley, California, United States
Creative Director of ‘The Pebbling Process’, Writer, Poet, Consultant & Speaker. So many wonderful stories lay undisturbed, waiting, in the pebbles along the paths our lives have taken ...

come sit a bit

come sit a bit and read this ink
and in this cloud please write
from your living eyes and pen
what you find here ignites

Tuesday, March 5, 2013

10.31.2012 7:27PM


Be still, close your eyes, and it will come to you …

the hum – the steady hum of the escalators, that echoing whistle that is a part of large open public places, the whistling creatures that live in these places – all who pass by pass mumbling silently, laughing in low tones or saying, in not so low tones, that “great-to-see-you” chatter – real or manufactured. it is the hum of the escalators that is constant – insistent – sort of like a rushing stream but it goes no where – trapped - simply recycling it’s self over and over till there is no discernable message – no clear tale to tell. it has continued so long that the marble floor and steps together with the stainless steel rails vibrate in unison – they too have heard this tale and echo it – maybe tales – the weight of bodies, of thoughts, of hearts carried up and down – so many tales run together now there is one tale. the shrill whistle, squealing /hissing brakes puncture the drone noise like a needle through the membrane of a vial of medicine once withdrawn the membrane closes up. what is it (hear) here that pulses – what messages are in this place, in the rhythm? i close my eyes and listen but cannot discern it’s coming – ah but she is coming – and soon – the roar of the jet engine will thrust backwards, the wheels will thud and the brakes will squeal as they are pressed bringing the mighty bird, the miracle that carries her, carries many, here – the escalator’s hiss, the stone’s vibration, the metal’s whistling, the brake’s squealing – all echoes of the miracle of seeing where our hearts have never been apart, many hearts, many loves – there are no words – just the constant motion – constant – that is the message in the hum, i hear (here) it now - the constant drone of the escalators, the vibration of the marble floor and steps and stainless rails – love abiding – be still, feel your open heart and it will come to you – on the hum of the escalator this time she has arrived …

Saturday, January 5, 2013

in the breath



out of the eyes seeps a strain of sorrow
denied from within and without
fear binds and tries, yet it remains
faint quieted nigh stilled
stand close, stand close,
so close the sorrow braves the light
filling your ears
reaching into your heart
drawing from under the shroud
stay, stay near, listening and anon
a garment in white is woven
threads of strength, creativity, and courage
betwixt you two binding all
the worst now retreats to it's place in our past
unspeakable to come begins now

Love is carried in the breath
When the breath fails, love in silence waits
Love while breath remains

Tuesday, December 11, 2012

I missed her the moment she was gone



In the silence
My heart breathes
Beating between
Memories set
Adrift alone
Life falls eyes closed

I missed her
The moment
She was gone

Rush through my heart
My blood is warm
Echoes only
A voice now stilled
Stepping round her
Love gently paused

I missed her
The moment
She was gone

Adrift alone
Beating between
Memories set
In the silence
My heart breathes
Life falls eyes closed

I missed her
The moment
She was gone

A voice now stilled
Stepping round her
My blood is warm
Rush through my heart
Echoes only
Love gently paused

I missed her
The moment
She was gone

A voice adrift
Memories breathe
Silence runs warm
Stepping between
Rushing echoes
Life falls eyes closed

I missed her
The moment
She was gone

Silence beating
Round in my heart
Breathing alone
Memories of
A breath now stilled
Love gently paused

I missed her
The moment
She was gone



12.11.12 by M Jane Jones
Inspired by Erin Rakich-Clubb’s facebook post about her Grandmother’s death – Naomi Cochran

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

the hawk's gift


the hawks
here glide
on the wind,
wings outstretched,
spread wide,
belly bared,
sharing their talent,
their brilliance,
their gift

I grab my camera
they are gone,
dropped down
below the hill
to my left,
essence of the hawk's brilliance is left ...
I wait for them
to mount again
upon the breeze,
but they are gone

they do not consent
to their capture,
even if only in digital form,
in this metal box a camera,
they have been warned,
a voice an intuition,
speaks to them,
all that is left is the wind
and it laughs at me

you foolish girl
still foolish
after all these years,
it laughs at me,
chides me,
warns me
to accept gifts that are
but for a moment,
not forever

gifts cannot be grasped
and held,
they are freely given
must be freely received
accept with thanks the gift
let the gift do it’s work
the hawks are sharing
say thank you …
thank you

my cameral lays still 
on the table
and they come again
I reach for it
they dip quickly
hiding from this trap
my hands pull back
they stay this time
my heart breathes thanks

Friday, May 25, 2012

a moment in Malka’s memory

        chicken pox
        lunch pails
      tiny blue table
            quietly
            eyes smile

        colours dance
        under feet
      tiny blue chairs
            silently
            they rest

         Mother’s love
         “Be Good”
      two tiny boys
             need
             ears listen

        Malka’s laugh
        seeing them
      two small hearts
             quicken
             life hears

        tiny boys two
        Grown Men
      Mother and Malka
             remember
             they love

Saturday, April 7, 2012

Blue is Blue
what are you going to do?

It is nothing to you
except what you make it do 




Friday Morning Pebbling


ink flows
where each mind goes
eyes shine
reading idea's line
laughter
round the table
poets
young and able
Creative Commons Licence
Pebbling by Jane Jones is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.