Skip to main content


During this years long warm Autumn I sorted through my photographs to make a slide show to capture the season...

This time of year, as the summer fades, a melancholy takes its place in my heart as I prepare for the cold of winter, as I watch all the fading green, the drifting leaves, dropping and rolling in the street, and scattering over well-kept lawns.

The first poem, My Poverty, also speaks of this season, as I grab onto the last bits of warmth, seeking the fading trees and flowers for inspiration to get through the cold season, when I feel impoverished without the blooming world of nature.

The second poem, Wardrobe, is a reflection on the silent hours of winter, and the contemplation that naturally arises from stillness. In this contemplation I observe my need to write of things felt and seen, as well as the unseen, those things deep in my subconscious, which can rule the motions of my life, this poem attempts to reach into those places to understand myself better. At the end of the poem, my thoughts dwell on the isolation of illness; an illness that feels like a long cold winter, where it feels that the sun has gone out.

(Click play on video below to hear Janavi recite her poems, and view her photography)

Aspen Vista by the author, Janavi Held

My Poverty
by Janavi Held

Incandescent with pathos
waiting on the silver trail
strewn with thoughts like rain.

Clay petals bloom
sorting out the womb of sky
and the human flowers
fully armed with remorse

dipped black in summer darkness
tattooed with blood
and the simple turbulence of the wind.

What might have been made from all this
is now dead.

The flame of shadows
wipes the forehead clean of fear
and space, space vast

and delighted to be so
keeps busy endlessly brandishing
the color of sun

and hatred makes the moon alone
drink people’s words at night.

And the tree stands perfectly illiterate
as I am drenched in worn thin letters

the tree holds on waiting for me to notice
yet they remain silent telling me nothing.

The self crowned kings
those flowers of all description
flock like birds gnawing at light

A shouting mountain
speaks its momentary truth
as it clings to the sky between the clouds

and the golden sun, beneficent and impartial
lays its light across the worthy land.

Just a little of this will suffice
my poverty.

by Janavi Held

Clouds throb in the distant waking light
branches tremble
endless harmony with the heavy wind
pale, still light meandering
through this unending bit of cold
gradually does the light arise
not like the stagnant minutes of perception.

In watching I have unearthed time
resurrected the sweetness of the sun
I have been looking at the same thing
for an eternity
have made legends out of flowers
and the soft moving trees.
as the horizon, so out of control
is conceited by its own freedom
this vertiginous stretch
of anonymous land.

I would move in many directions
at once if I could stop feeling like a transparent midnight.
Instead I stand silent in the center of my thoughts
watching the clouds enter and move away
watching bridges built to collapse
watching the words claim space
reflecting on obscenities
like death and illness.

My wardrobe is made from
all these tattered thoughts.
Cast away from the living
I embody what no one
wants to know.

Janavi Held is the author of Letters to my Oldest Friend: A Book of Poetry and Photography. She has also contributed poems to two poetry anthologies, Bhakti Blossoms: A Collection of Contemporary Vaishnavi Poetry and GODDESS: When She Rules: Expressions by Contemporary Women. Two of her poems were shortlisted for the prestigious Hamilton House International Poetry Prize awarded by the University Centre Grimsby, and published in their anthology "Eternal". Janavi started writing poetry and wandering around with her father’s camera as a child. At the age of nineteen, she began practicing Bhakti yoga. She held a bachelor’s degree from Goddard College where she studied poetry, photography, and media studies. She passed away peacefully in December of 2018 after having battled a brutal illness. You may read more of her poems and view her artwork on her website here and Facebook page here

*For submission guidelines, click here.*


Popular posts from this blog

IMAGINE A WOMAN by Patricia Lynn Reilly

  This poem invites you to look upon yourself with loving kindness… Gazing at your own true reflection, you will discover that everything you have longed for “out there” is already within you! I invite you to love your creativity fiercely. Faithfully plant seeds, allowing under-the-ground dormant seasons, nurturing your creative garden with love and gratitude. In the fullness of time, the green growing things thrust forth from the ground. It's a faithful, trustworthy process. AND it takes time and patience.  Blessed is the fruit of your creative womb! I invite you to trust your vision of the world and express it. With wonder and delight, paint a picture, create a dance, write a book, and make up a song. To give expression to your creative impulses is as natural as your breathing. Create in your own language, imagery, and movement. Follow no script. Do not be limited by the customary way things have been expressed. Your creative intuition is original. Gather

FOR TARA by Penn Kemp

FOR TARA * Goddess of Compassion and Wisdom, I need to recall,  reclaim you, invite you to return to my heart. Come back  to my heart, Love, where you are home. There’s room.  There is room enough for two, for multitudes. For you.  Become me, I beg you. Worry my concern into peace.  Shake this rag doll out of stiff contrition back to joy.  Till bones, blood, marrow, mind all leap up to dance,  to expand and mingle with the greater Presence, gift  we are heir to if we remember to remember the Whole.  The whole that made us, not that hole I fall into.  From her celestial seat in the Pure Land, Tara smiles, extending a hand of pure blessing, her invitation. Up. Penn Kemp --poet, performer and playwright-- has been active in Canada’s literary scene since her first publication of poetry,  Bearing Down , by Coach House (1972). As well as editing Canada’s first anthology of women’s  writing,  IS 14  (1973), many of her books have been devoted to


We are all leaders, followers, teachers, learners... I was recently reminded of this at the Integrative Healthcare Symposium I attended in NYC.  As an Integrative Health and Wellness Nurse Coach this yearly gathering of many gifted speakers and attendees has been continual gift of inspiration for my work.  There is such a dedication and quest for truth of what healing really means and how to incorporate that into the present healthcare system. There is a sense of care for all within our global environment, food and water, social systems, beliefs, relationships and our leadership.   This work, for me, is sacred work within a sacred space, as we are all one and part of the Divine plan.  Yes, we are indeed all leaders...followers, teachers, learners! All becomes devotion and how this leadership speaks, is my poem. Conscious Leadership A radical way of loving that is true, authentic, not attached to titles or credentials, but connecting to that deep place