Sunday, September 16, 2012

Hail Punany

Hail Punany!

When you see a listing for the Punany Poets in your area - hurry, grab a close friend or lover or mate and GO!  GO!  GO!

To see the show and become comforted in your sexual being and eroticized in your sexual spirit.  And ENOY.

Cancer of Love

I went to Ghettoville
Saw the Cancer of Love

She called my name and named my shame

In a house of erotic thrill

My vows are wasted here

Fair is but a medieval circus

Compassion is not on the menu

The pimps can smell my fear!

The perfect purrrrrr of pussycat sap

Unleash the tigress upon me

Who could resist, the grind of a feline

Bouncing upon on his lap?

Before I could think, wallet in my hand

Master charge me baby, while I text my wife

“Hi babe, playing racket ball at the club

Be an hour at most” the lies began

Don’t know how an hour became four

Duty shredded by her claws

If I am a trick, trick me again!

The husband is understood by the whore

I come with cash for the dirtiest dancer

And still there is bread on the table

For, I am a man, not addicted to love

But addicted to her cancer

This much I know is true

A wise man knows, he knows nothing at all

Even when you are pimpin’ your hardest

Someone is pimpin’ you

-by Jessica Holter, Punany Poets Founder

Monday, June 18, 2012


Welcome Back

I am welcoming myself back to the blogging world.  Many crises have occurred since I have last written in this space.

I have heard from many sources that God/dess will only allow the number of sorrows that can be handled.

Honestly, I beg to differ.

In our efforts to get close to another we let our guards down.

We begin to adore that person
Crave their company and touch
Think of them at odd moments
Create dreams including them
And always wish them well.

Whether child or adult, we love that someone and their welfare becomes our concern. We wish only good in their lives. Sometimes creating goodness.

Over the years of loving we become complacent and take for granted the phone call, the whispers, the jokes, the tears, the wholesomeness of giving and receiving love.

At age 49 my love of 30 years suddenly left this earth, congestive heart failure.  And just at the point when we were planning his 50th birthday party.  My goodness, life is not promised to us for always.  But we live as if this is forever land.  No apparent illness, healthy, still handsome (to me anyway), loving nature, expert at his job, and enjoying Mr. Rex (his other love, the dog).  The grief spread across the nation as we gathered his friends and family.

A hard taffy to swallow. 

No need to explain to you the pain.  One month later my dad passed.  He was 82 years old.  Touch and willing to travel to his Heaven.  Eager to see his parents and friends who ha travelled the road before him.

I spent a week by his bedside at the Veterans Hospital and he seemed concerned about leaving me.  Bright expressive eyes questioning my mood. A stroke ten years earlier left him without speech.  I did my best to reassure my dad that it was OK to travel the road of hard taffy.  With no choice, I let my dad go with promises of no pain by medical staff.

Promised.  I assured dad that

I would not forget nor stop loving him in our forever daughter and dad bond.  And so the rock hard taffy had surfaced once again.  I existed in a wretched stupor between the deaths of my love and my dad.

Finally I am able to feel again the marshmellow softness as the breeze of my love and my dad whisper that loving is a treasure that continues beyond death.  And so I welcome myself back to the bitter and the sweet recognition of Marshmellow Softness and Rock Hard Taffy.

Note that I am available for reading engagements in the USA

Saturday, January 28, 2012

Be My Valentine

One Day For Love, Valentine's Day

You can find all these expressions of love in Marshmellow Softness and Rock Hard Taffy.

With a birthday recently that puts my age closer to 60, the view of love is not as casual.  Sure, it is still emotional but not as binding as before.  Love is ageless, I think.  I mean we can experience love at any point of our lives.  Generally it seems we put on rose colored glasses that are sure to break with all that sunshiney glare of love.

Presented here are a few love poems that are examples of the contents of my above mentioned book.  My granny said, love is what you make it, however I have come to experience love as a 2-way street.  It takes the energy of more than one to be sustained.  And in my wisdom I have learned that sometimes love is seasonal.  And I can live with that while preparing for another love.

For T

I humble myself
before you
laugh and cry
and show you me
without fear or shame.
(comment - the ideal love is open and trusting)

Making Love

When we make love
all time stops.
There is no time,
no day,
no night,
no in-between time.
Colors sway, and blend into
a whirliwig,
when we make love.

When we make love
there is a blur of arms and legs
and fingers and toes
and lips and tongues
and kisses that unite,
when we make love.

When we make love
there is no you
or me,
one we become
when we make love.
(comment - describes the romance and fantasy of loving, sexual pleasure)

Say It

Say you love me,
mean it now, for this moment,
for moments passed
without love
for all the times
I've ached inside
to be in someone's arms.

Say you love me
even it it's only
when we make love
(comment - the modern day answer confuses love with sexual desires)

Disjointed Thoughts

Loving you
isn't always
but I know
our friendship
will never let us part.
Me loving you for what you are
I wind up disappointed  ...
Loving you
isn't always wonderful
there is no one else
I would rather love.
(comment - describes a seasoned, long term love)

AT almost 60 years of age, I remain open to the emotional charge generated by love.  To that end I will read original poetry themed Romance at the Art Gallery located at 2140 W. Fulton on February 11th, Saturday in Chicago, IL.  Program begins at 7:00pm.  $20 donation to charity.

*All poems in this blog are (c) 20ll by Joyce Marie Jones and may be found    Marshmellow Softness and Rock Hard Taffy      via my website or your local bookstore.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

The Art of Sustained Happiness

    During these times of economic distress there is an atmosphere of "have not".  Everyone seems to measure their own lack of with the "have not" of their neighbors.  This doom and gloom attitude can permeate the spirit.  We may forget about our fortunes and the good luck in our lives. 
    Perhaps like hundreds of thousands we lost the house to balloon real estate tactics; yet, we have another place to stay, food on the table, healthy household members.  For the moment those are our fortunes.  And we can be happy with spare fortunes.
     Even though happiness is a word or emotion that culture taught us is fleeting.  It comes and goes.  Over the years I have found that happiness can be sustained.  It is the outlook that is the key.  When that warm, bubbly and exciting feeling comes we can capture it.  Yes, capture the happy feeling, put in our minds, cherish it, don't let it slip away.  Visualize the happiness and keep going back to the feeling again and again.  As often as you like.  Keep the happiness inside and watch the glow sustain you.  Keep practicing and calling up happiness becomes a cinch.  Plus you can add other happy moments for a string of recalled happiness.
    During this period of Thanksgiving, practice the art of sustained happiness. Be creative and teach someone how to keep their happiness.  Share the techniques you develop and beware that happiness will envelope you.
     From my book  Marshmellow Softness and Rock Hard Taffy   (c)2011


There is a possibility
that is as big as
life itself.

A possibility that
goes as far as
the imagination.

A possibility that lifts and flies
outward to merge with
cosmic energy.

A possibility that
two people
such as you and I
can reach a peak
and travel
along a plane of
sustained happiness.

     May your sustained happiness carry you through the holiday.  And may you come to say, that for which you are thankful and happy.

Saturday, October 22, 2011


This is National Breast Cancer Awareness Month.  I have been wearing the pink ribbon on my blouse without thought.  It comes automatically for me.  In 1998 I lost my right breast to cancer.  No tears , please.

At Provident Hospital I facilitated a group called The Gratitude Group for Breast Cancer.  We met every Saturday for 5 years.  Our goal was to give support to survivors on a regular basis.  We found that once a month was not enough to address the issues of breast cancer.  Experts from throughout Chicagoland joined us.  We wanted the facts.  We all wanted the healing.  We wanted the emotional release. Eventually we expanded to include all cancers and opened our group to both men and families (children). I was supported and mentored by a city health worker, Mrs. Nadyne Griffin.

Our group was varied, consisting of wives, daughters, sisters, ministers, wealthy women, professional women, illiterate women, angry women and soft spoken women, women on welfare and working women, Christian women, Buddhist women, Muslim Women, Spiritualist Women, Straight and Gay women.   We bonded with a commonality.

Many of us were healed.  (The medical doctors say in remission.)  For some the cancer re-occured and for some there was death.  Through it all we learned to be grateful and to give thanks for our collective beauty.

I moved to Colorado and the group continued for another year.

In 2009 I returned to Chicago.  April, 2011 marked the second surgery to remove my left breast.  It was a different cancer that required a different set of drugs for treatment.  I was angry but recalled the Gratitude Group.  It was during the time of healing from the second cancer that I compiled  A book of love poems spanning almost 30 years. 

I am grateful to the ladies who attended the Gratitude Group for Breast Cancer.  The lessons continue to surround and sustain me.

A simple mammogram could simply mean your life.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Marshmellow Softness & Rock Hard Taffy

In the book Marshmellow Softness and ... the first poem Triumph mentions "both lean on the edge of anticipation as the romance unfolds" ((c)2011

In private communication a woman describes her attraction to another woman and the hesitation it involves - Take a peek at diary entries...

Joyce, what can I say, I'm addicted to dove, dark chock-a-lot.  This beautiful chocolate woman is my new neighbor.  I thought I would say hello new neighbor and was immediately intrigued by her look, so femmy and so masculine at the same time.  Ohhhlaa

I told you I was addicted to insanity, I hear my neighbor slamming doors again.  But what happens when a woman gets out of prison?  You the Social Worker Joyce, tell me.  Is there an issue with space?  Every evening I come home from work and her door is open.  As if inviting me to come in, to say hi, to visit.

You are right, nothing lasts forever, not even true love.  I know I have been obsessed by women in the past but never one who has lived so close to me.  I can see her, speak to her, smell her woodsy, flower essence perfume.

She asked me today to come and give her a massage.  I was so excited.  I was so uptight.  Just 2 girlfriends caring for each other is what I told myself.  But inside I was too excited.  She kept her clothes on and I gave her a massage to relieve the  tension of the day.  My tensions had only begun.  I wanted her to touch me in places my mama said were reserved for men only.  Does she know how I feel or am I fooling myself once again.

I think she has me under a spell.  She comes by my place evrery day just to ask me to go with her to her apartment.  We play music and discuss books and slow dance holding each other tight.  She never goes any further than I allow her to go and already I wonder if we have gone too far.  I am addicted to her and she to me.  She says she still loves the woman from prison days but I have never seen her.  All my evenings, up until bedtime, is spent with her.

This satin doll is absolutely mesmerizing. I must admit, she knows how to weave a love spell.  She has me caught and not even wiggling to be free.

She is a charmer, a real pimp-ess, a romantic woman at best.  She knows what to say to keep me coming.  She told me she could satisfy my need for women.  She said she could turn me out and keep me at her side.  Turn me out.  How scary the thought to be turned out.  What does that mean? How does it feel?  How is it different from being with a man?

How long can I keep her interest?  We kiss, waist up and she wants more but I insist it aint real loving  just playing around above the waist.  I guess all my religious training comes into play when it comes to women.  I so want to be with one.  I havent been with a man in 2 years.  I just long for a woman, try to get close and then run away.  Can she help me to stop running away.  Where is the fear and where is the love?    My  neighbor wants to love me so bad, but why?  Am I not deserving of the passion, more than just the thought?