My Quest. My Concern. My Conscience.

Dear Readers: This blog is a way for me to sort of find the forest of my conscience amid the trees of sentience. In other words, my soul is troubled by such human experience. In other words, I want to be a more positive person, genuinely, through and through.

Maybe, I’m lost forever… or maybe been here all along. If I can at least stick to writing in this blog without letting it drive me crazy with embarrassment or obsession, I’ll consider, at least, this effort a positive thing…

Love and Hope and sometimes Despair.

Professional Man — Ha, A New Poem, by Vicki V. Jones (rights reserved)

Breaking hearts from
simple pride, bungling freedom.
Keys to glory beyond their reach.
Miserable with OR without.
Men, with rotting teeth, rotted lungs,
are the laymen of manhood.

He is a professional Man.
Casual, and confident
Enthused, Inspired
Hormone gourmand

Limber-loin Fellow –of the
Society of Lucky Lovers
Career Man, by Title
Practicing Professional.
Headline of The Annual
Review lauds his unveiled
Testosterone Regulator.

“Cum brothers,” and cum they all
An amazing report, Highest
ranking Sweet Release,
Edited text protects trade secrets–
(diecast accessories having
enhanced voice AND vision.)

Inventor of the maximum sperm regimen
Elixir-of-Youth Entrepreneur.
He is a scholar of Invisible Science
and a cheeky god.

They may aspire in idol worship
ingenious contributions euphoric as his.
Chums and Grunts, staying the cause
Chiming the alma mater

“Cum brothers, cum one and all.”

technology is the greatest disappointment. as a victim i am too injured bear witness. 

however i can testify still to the power of love. 

so much i could tell. maybe i will some day. my reservations about doing so at this time lie in my self consciousness of being taken as a drama queen. for all i know i may be a  little late in worrying about that. but oh well.

but regardless of what mysteries my drama could reveal, the most important truth about the power of love is that love is needed. Needed for giving and needed for receiving. And the thing I’ve finally learned is that love speaks a language of its own. It announces itself in no uncertain terms. Even when we are not listening, it registers in our hearts’ memory, so that when some day, our ears can hear, we remember when love spoke to us.

I’m glad to be able to write this much on  my blog today. 

… What I’m about to write is probably unrelated to my thoughts about love in the above paragraphs. But I’m just thinking out loud…or whatever. … I think we don’t give up on love when we realize finally that we have been throwing it away where it was not needed. But I do believe the danger to our souls…our hearts… our countenances and attitudes



This is a Poem I wrote this morning.

My Mind IS


My mind is an eager puppy

My heart is an aching bruise

My soul is a scout for a journey

My spirit is a frightened child

My world is a flipping coin

My day is a disappointing choice.

My friends are crying angels

My voice is a crack in the pavement

My vision is nevermore real

My family is a world of dreams

My dreams are the back of my throat

My throat is the tunnel to the light

My light is a reminder of love

My love is perpetual motion

My motion is a burdensome task

My task is an unfinished lesson

My lesson is patience in secret

My secret is lost in my mind.

Hope you like this Photo–Not literally, but, actually, or would it be the other way around?




hseplant xmas tree

“Leon” Link to Scientific American Blog

“He Was In Heaven Before He Died” Lyrics by John Prine

There’s a rainbow of babies
Draped over the graveyard
Where all the dead sailors
Wait for their brides
And the cold bitter snow
Has strangled each grassblade
Where the salt from their tears
Washed out with the tide

And I smiled on the Wabash
The last time I passed it
Yes I gave her a wink
From the passenger side
And my foot fell asleep
As I swallowed my candy
Knowing he was in heaven
Before he died

Now the harbor’s on fire
With the dreams and desires
Of a thousand young poets
Who failed ’cause they tried
For a rhyme without reason
Floats down to the bottom
Where the scavengers eat ’em
And wash in with the tide

Repeat Chorus:

The sun can play tricks
With your eyes on the highway
The moon can lay sideways
Till the ocean stands still
But a person can’t tell
His best friend he loves him
Till time has stopped breathing
You’re alone on the hill

Repeat Chorus:

Thank you to


Silent Solitude With Memory So Close

Lumbering bare limbs

porcelain plump long bones

luminescent, in last

summer’ setting sun

Gentle bear

shy conquest

Did you know

I felt like a warrior

chieftess making a treaty?

Shadows under your eyes

from a long week

tolerating my company

made them round

Your eyes glowed

quiet, understated

I feel the most

zen at your side,


a moment’s slipping by

catching in timelessness

the presence of us

Like naked 

on the woodtrail

You open my mouth

I hear your words with my arms

I see your legs with my ears

and I walk on your shoulders

dissolved in our moment

Always in these moments of ours.

We wouldn’t feel

more advanced experience

if we had lifetimes

to collaborate with science.

by Vicki V. Jones


Smoking On Campus

Under the streetlight where campus is deserted,

parking lots tucked in for the night,

he senses he’s been duped.

The tired, timid teardrop, the jaded lethargic

self-awareness under empty spotlight

addresses shadows in silence.

Curling climbing cigarette draught

beams like a whispering bush.

In spite of warm air, his nose

and fingers have numbed up again.

The precursor of resolve is pushed back so far

as avoids inexplicable defeat.


The cresting breath of a brother’s car is a timely rescue.

As curtains close on unnoticed stars,

he’s forwarded on wheels of newfound friends.

Tentative-clutch adulthood is a  shifting chariot

for the tribe of invincible memes.


Young men in need of telling secrets

of innocence and fear

do not invite revealing things,

when things to hide become equally true.

He trembles with longing for passion

for fighting words, to

Broadcast that HE IS a failed State

that he seeks asylum to betray his own orders.

He has to be the only one now facing the grave.

He laughs with wild eyes

shaken like a spicy suspension

adding his savory slice

to the communal

youth salad.

Then he prays

with clicking mitral valve

that smoking

not be as hazardous as it feels,

that faith which doesn’t turn back time

nor vanquish demons

imperceptibly cobble him again

like a house gnome

night after shame-denying night

as long as it takes,

and that money won’t be a problem.


Each of them will be alone on the dark side of campus

paralyzed like the deer in headlights

hoping soon to be caught up by tribesmen

and hidden away from the spotlight on their fates.

By Vicki V. Jones


Daily Prompt “Happy” A Poem

The rays of happiness, like those of light, are 
colourless when unbroken.


One of her



sitting on

an old junk front seat

left for months

in the car port

holding a genuine

steering wheel

her babies


in the back



weather conditions

pressing on

through rising water



a marching band parade

awesome inner silence

detours and hospital trips

facing the summer sun,

and in season

vegetables from the local

Mimosa tree.

Would her babies

ever learn?

Her favorite


was giggling

without stopping.

(There were times

when the same face

made her cry.)

Her favorite

work caught her up

like a runaway horse.

Her favorite topic

was happiness

at first when

falling in love, but

was never

a favorite pastime.

One Year’s blog behind me, Another waiting to begin

I have been blogging a year now, exactly a year, with today being the final day of that year. And up till now, I have been seriously searching myself.

Although I have no idea really which parts of my self- search ended up being expressed in the blog, I’ve examined multiple facets of life related to my conscience such as the following:

  • My credo
  • My sense of the Golden Rules
  • My Responsibilities to those I love
  • My willingness to broaden my mind as I consider other people’s credos
  • How I deal with moral dilemmas
  • My level of responsibility as a group member, even in a big group, such as the population of our planet.
  • This list could drag out for pages.

 Anticipating my next blog, which assumes that I have found answers to my most pressing questions of conscience, here are some of my dreams, if not yet goals for this new year:

I want my new blog to come to life. I want it to reflect my own passion for life and represent my life’s passion. I think my life’s passion is writing.

I tend to see negativity in society  almost every day. In my blog, I wish to acknowledge this as well.

I want to show in my blog that I am working hard to process my life experience. What my work may lack in entertainment value, it may make up for in candor.

I hope that there will be times that my honesty might seem courageous. But, when it does, I hope that my hopeful confidence proves out in good time, that honesty needn’t have fear in the first place, at least not in USA.

100_5813 - Edited

My high aspiration is to do my own annotations of Books of the Bible.  I can’t begin to comment on this other than to say that I believe that anyone raised to be a true Christian might think the same thing, when in the prime of life one can no longer deny that every part of life, including Holy Books, is opened for interpretation. In addition to this great work I want to enjoy keeping a regular posting schedule with entries such as the following post ideas:

  1. I think I will install features maybe three a week, on topics so meaty I will not have to give much comment. One topic might be “thoughtful quotes.”
  2. Another might be recipes from my torn-up cookbooks.
  3. A photo series might be, Stuff I own.
  4. Somewhere along the way, I would like to try to write fiction. If the year is a good one and my confidence grows, I hope to feel good enough about my writing to begin to consider a way to make money with it. However, whether or not I get that far is not the point.

What I really want is to inspire more people to blog, to blog fearlessly, honestly. I want to be a part of freedom of speech that serves the original purpose of speech, to agree on meanings that help us learn from one another. To do that, we must first come to understand how we are all the same. Once we do that, discovering how to analyze our differences becomes a respectful exercise full of mystery and wonder, without need for fear.

 I hope to continue to connect with the same kind of people I’ve been so blessed to experience this past year. These are people who make blogging come alive. The passion of these people would be hard to miss. I have felt honored by the attention they have given my efforts this year.

  (NOTE: I will continue to write in this blog in the same manner that I always have.  I feel comfortable here.)