My photo
Southern California, California, United States
Creative Director of ‘The Pebbling Process’, Poet, Writer, Speaker & Consultant 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squealing /hissing brakes puncture the drone noise like a needle through the membrane of a vial of medicine once withdrawn the membrane closes up.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

Sunday, February 5, 2012

hands together the rhythm

skin and string stretched played
faces weave their hearts passion
one moment in time


Saturday, February 4, 2012

erosion

er er er
as the sand slipped
away with the ebb
of the ocean
i am shorter
now no
sunk down
move inland
ere feet are
out of sight

j j jones

Saturday, November 19, 2011

when & why

when is new old?
how long does it take
for something old
to be new again?

why can't I go with you?

Saturday, October 29, 2011

still I know

the sun is just the other side of this fog, I wait, when resting and waiting becomes a burden, I rise and step, my hands stretch out disappearing they sense open space in the darkness ahead my feet find the path and into the clearing that soon closes around my feet I call and the cloud that is my companion swallows my hope, still I know, the sun is just the other side of this fog, I wait ...

Monday, August 1, 2011

Come Visit Me ...

fingers and hands busy
expressing what moves
between my heart and head
leaving traces behind

come visit me and see
what brings me joy and
maybe find for yourself
a wee smile or two


Saturday, September 4, 2010

relief from the heat

during the heat of
this long August night
cold crisp snow glistens
from the trees overhead
in the memories of
yesterwinters ...

Thursday, April 29, 2010

Over The Tops of The Trees

Memories that once wounded his heart in his dreams
Cool breeze carried them over the tops of the trees
He breathed easy now with the peace left to heal
No pockets of anger left to drip bitterness
He walks the riverbank now alert to colours and music

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

faith is the beginning

faith is in the belly when one is hungry
faith is in the heart when one is alone
faith is in the bones when one is exhausted
faith is in the eyes when all around is darkness
faith is in the breath when the next one is not automatic
faith is in the arms when loved ones are out of reach
faith is in the tears when others suffer
faith is in the ears when love voice falls silent
faith is in the legs when the path feels crooked
faith is in the tongue when comfort stands in the shadows
faith is in giving when the cup is almost empty
faith is in doing today not sure of what tomorrow will bring
faith is in the owrkds of promise ... when the memory fails ... I will never leave you nor forsake you ... faith is the beginning, bringing hope then uncovering love that was there all the while - no greater love ...

Tuesday, March 2, 2010

loving in the heart

time and space are interesting - there is no time or distance in and between heart - it is when we want to physically move about in this material world that these concepts impose themselves on us - I like knowing I can love and be with others even though they are not physically where I am. Soooo, love you all lots :)

Thursday, February 25, 2010

will yield great peace

When the noise outside ceases then the internal chatter increases ... thinking that no matter the noise outside it is the internal noise that is the most distracting - no matter the outside noise notice given to the internal will yield great peace ...

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Pebbling - Comfy Chairs - Sylmar

i
here
green

i am here amidst the green trees and grass - high tide has come and gone while i watched - the rhythm of the earth is smooth and easy. it is gentle in all it’s way - i am at peace here - sitting - planted in this place - unlike the trees i am able to rise and walk - at will - my will - when will i arise - where will i walk - who will i see - i may pass by places and people and not see them because i choose not to see them - who will i choose to see? what places - what things in those places i walk will i choose to see - what will i miss because of the choices i make - what have i missed in days before? who can tell? they are passed as water passes under the bridge and is gone - the wooden bridge sure and strong under my feet - held fast to the rocky shore on each side - i am safe - (sage) tippie-toed arms held together on the sides - head and chest over the side - peering into the water as it rushes over-under-around the rocks, pebbles, algae, plants, tadpoles and reeds. Frogs perched atop the larger rocks - hidden as their backs look the same as the rocks upon which they sit - watching the reeds sway in the breeze - the sun warming their backs and the rock - the heats drifts up from the rock, whifts from their backs - they croak - loud and long - they call - to whom - to the sun - the trees - insects - bidding them come closer - “i will not eat thee - I only want to get a better look at your beautiful wings” the insect - -the fly is wary of the frog’s satin words - yet he listens - his mistake - first in a line of mistakes that will bring him to his end - and end that will ensure the life of the frog - filling his belly even if only for a minute - warming his belly - providing life - he croaks again - another fly listens - finally the frog is satisfied - his belly full - enough for today -he croaks and springs from his rock to the safety of the cool shaded mud den - the banks of the river are home to many creatures - flys, frogs, mosquitos for a start - they live and die in this little world - creating more flys, frogs, mosquitos each in their time - some born to be food for another - the food chain we humans call it - i wonder what they call it? do they have things like we call words? things or a way they communicate - do they have hopes, dreams, loves, hates - or are we the only creatures blessed and cursed with this ability? do they know they are blessed? do we know we are blessed? too often we use this gift to hinder - to hurt - to destroy - language - such a blessing - such a wonder - such a power - for good - in equal proportion for ill - we are blessed double in being free to turn the ill to good - to health - to life - to life from death - that is our power - the power to choose - once the choice is made we are subject to it - if it turns badly we can turn it to a good - maybe not the good that we would have had if we had made a different choice but a good that could perhaps only have come from the ill having been done. all of this from i, here, green” - a few minutes and life has been lived and grown.

Monday, September 21, 2009

Pebble - 9-21-09

pilgrimage slept with guilt where the good was getting to him.
a hand to heart running cried out with.
the head on the ground bleeding by the road that took them

their three brothers ones name was man with power
deliver it to him by thieves in
with that he lay last fearing for himself the city cold

to sell to say the rest from that cunning of his work
that comfort that to him told all
use it all indeed anything by him little dismayed

bring him an odd thief keeping himself alive to beg
many hungry ways hope at the gate
had neither good nor power they missed the story

it is not a wonder, it is a wonder why
but it must needs be, he used it as he should
that he made but little use of it at all

Thursday, August 13, 2009

longs for the bridegroom

a pebbling pebble: there are however thoughts and intents that are beyond words - we march round, we charge, we tread gently, we plead .. but no words - there are no echoes - in this place there is only emptiness - the emptiness that longs for the bridegroom - he only may enter.
 
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Pebbling by Jane Jones is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.