Moon Warrior


Moon Warrior

When the wind whispers

His name to me,

I know the moon warrior is

On his way to me,

I feel nothing but a slight

Breeze and the sounds

Of ancestors of yesterday year

Lingering in the background,

That sound vibrating

Through my being,

Chants of circles

Among the feathered dressed

As his spirit calls to me,

Upon the hill where he sets

On horseback,

Gazing towards the big black sky

Of collected stars,

Bathed in the moon’s radiant

Golden light,

With stillness and dead of night


White as a winter’s snow

Is his bird on his shoulder,

He mirrors the depths of feeling

Inside me,

As he tells me things, my soul

Did not know,

Mighty and brave

His form remains steely

With a resounding clear voice

Touching my ears,

“Do not fear me, only listen

To my message.”

Because of my sky father

I come to you,

As a fine warrior

In traditional dressage,

Watching the embers


And I know the beauty

Of your heart

Always prevails over

The worldly opinions of people

Not taking charge for peace and

Grace among us,

Believe in chance

As the elders inspire

The world’s love

For most natural

Sweetness with loving care

And blooming beauty

The moon warrior must ride

So swiftly away to break the past

Spells of evil.

However, I know he will be

Back again to reach for the stars

Of glowing stark white

As the moon rises in the

Surrounding clouds of warmth. –J. E Cook © 2019



Sunday Morning featured Poetry

I appreciate being the featured poet of this location where poetry flourishes weekly! 

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Alan L Boles of A Poet’s Haven~AdminOur Choice For This Sunday Morning;

Features, J. E. Cook’s poetry for Our Poet’s poetry Of The Week selection on Sunday.

Josie Cook is an active poet in several writing groups and locations and the poem below is the featured selection.

A Ride Around the Lake

Going into the woods
Among the brambles
Upon my horse’s smooth
Footing at times
A bit too slippery
For this ride,
Over the hills
Of Kiser’s lake,
Passing under low branches
And ducking,
As the mud sucks at her
I can feel her blood
Pulsing beneath her
Smoke in the air,
She does not spook,
Not even when the pheasants
Fly out of the low bushes,
Or when we see deer
Drinking from the streams,
We jump over a fallen tree,
In the thickest part of the
Woods, my eyes feel almost
Closed with the darkness
During broad daylight,
Marshes here and there,
With golds and browns
Reflecting on the surfaces,
Herons among the tall grasses,
Inlets of the lake
Muddy and full of minnows,
An old apple tree
Surrounded by wild berries
Catches my eyes,
The ghost resides there
From a skating accident
Many years ago,
She fell through the thin ice
Her body recovered too late
For her to survive,
The icy waters causing too
Much damage,
In her hand now,
A frozen apple of red,
Captured in time,
Today it is warm
Unlike the day she passed,
Paintings of rowboats against
Starry nights were hung
In her childhood home
Her pale locks of hair
Tucked in a dresser drawer
From her first haircut,
Along with a first tooth lost,
Some yellowed school papers, and
Her doodles of winter sparrows,
It is said, her mother
Had hair the color of roses
After her death,
The girl reappears at this
particular Apple tree,
Greeting onlookers with her
Gentle smile,
Her white ice skates over her shoulder,
And a rusty compass hanging
Around her slender neck,
I whisper, “I’m not trespassing,
My horse loves apples, too”
The bright sun rays cutting
Through reveal her tears
On white cheeks that shine like
She returns, “let the horse eat”
This touches my ears,
My eyes blink at the light,
I think about vodka over ice,
And the gin she had before
Her encounter with the pure, clean
Snow on the lake’s surface,
It was a party of teens that night,
Skating together,
She was the only unlucky one
To fall into freezing waters,
This would bring tears to anyone’s
I still can’t remember the date
Of this sad event,
But, her story is told
Around campfires,
So her legend never dies,
Her ghostly image is mild
And friendly–not scary at all,
Pale blue eyes,
A straight, narrow nose,
Looks a lot like her surviving
Many call it a screwed-up
With many things buried
In their closets,
I actually think the tree
Is quite beautiful
But isolated from view,
She must be lonely here,
With her own sorrows,
It is so plain and simple
To me now,
That I am here,
Light glaring off the marshes
And her pretending to be happy
Beneath this apple tree,
I feel sick inside
Looking at her tired body,
Thinking about the broken
Hearts of her past,
She looks chilly,
As a flock of blackbirds
Pass over us,
Her words still ringing
Inside my head,
As she fades into the
Foliage of green,
I know I must go back. –J. E. Cook © 2019

The Dear John Show

Another Poem of mine included in the live show this Sunday. 

Welcome to The Dear John Show, Sunday 26th May 2019. Live poetry readings from around the world, here on Facebook. With Nina Thilo, Christine Barker, Chris Edridge and myself, Your Host, John Kavanagh.

Visions in my Sleep

I am looking for the most
Beautiful place on Earth,
With long, blue & green views,
And silhouettes of black twisted trees
On the distant skylines,
Fields of sunflowers in a variety of
Sweet air drifting in on a slight breeze.

Endless expectations with lovely views,
Possibilities for fresh blue waters with
Cascades of showering droplets
Among the grasses of flowing fields.

The evening star against dark blue skies
Filled with pinpoint lights,
Pastures of horses & ponies roaming freely,
With moon against the black indigo at
Purifying richness in the hills of green.

Fading silver lights at dawn as the woods fill
With watchers of the night like weasels and
Raccoons and the lonely owls up high.

It’s a dream and it is mine. I am hypnotized by
The beauty of it in the visions I see. Gorgeous
Views with mild darkness set after the remains
Of the day.

To disappear from my bed into this world would
Be pleasant with a life of freezing coldness gone
Forever with roads of climbing beauty before me
Often without any real stress to bother me.

Reality returns in my old house with fifty plus years
Spent and my battered coffeepot filling the air
As it brews with a scent of waking,
As I think about the philosophy of living and death
Of strangers,
Dreadful histories glancing through my brain,
Outside my window, the birds sing and their pretty
Voices sooth my ears hiding the pain of all my years. –J. E. Cook © 2019

Image may contain: tree, sky, grass, plant, outdoor, nature and water

Memory Lane

Memory Lane

Taking in the beauty
Of the countryside
Rows of hay fields smelling so
The apple orchards,
And the birches with their delicate
Leaves moving in the wind,
The woods are so full
Of miraculous treasures
Old fossiled bones, hiding creatures,
And so much more,
Here away from all the people,
Like wandering through a dream world
In a state of dizzy adventure
With a shuttering effect against time,
Apparitions in the trees above
Playing and becoming orbs to float about
In the cool, deep green
Of it,
With the smell of moss and earthy specks of dirt
As bands of light stream in,
The trees forming a delicate lattice
To defuse all the brightness
Stickers and briers on the border,
Visions bringing about strange
Circumstances inside my head,
Nothing became permanent to me
From trampling through those lovely woods
Except being enchanted by its beauty
And still thinking of him,
This one is gone,
The male that caused her to love him,
My solitary ways and moodiness
The result,
Locking myself away with a pile of books
Watching movies alone,
That feeling of melting in light
Always present
Our stolen time is gone forever,
I wait in the fields for your return
Even though I know it was not possible
Dusk has arrived,
I could smell your presence
Here in a world so green
But it is not human
There is nothing I miss more than your
loving touch,
I am aware you are now in another
World that I can’t access,

Except for this; the field of awareness
I’m without you,
Pollen in my hair, grass on my clothing
Your name is still on my lips
As I call it and no answer will ever
Your old letters inside a box
Buried deep in my closet,
Folds of your penned words
Still there,
If I chose to read them again,
My desperate mind on you.
We did belong to each other once
The mistake was you gave me up,
Time spent apart,
However, I still read to you in
The silent dark,
Sometimes gazing out the window
Thinking about the trails in our life
And being turned away
Knowing it was called a mistake
Delirious sometimes from lack of rest,
Peculiar moments not so distant,
Realizing you were only a man
Not some weed among the brambles
Looking for riches in the deep soil,
Just a man that lost his mission,
Our life truncated together to serve
Others and accommodate them,
All I wanted is our happiness to
Survive and be our story of life
But, it is a cautionary tale
Of a love gone bad leaping into
Blackness where I remain, the injured female,
By the monster you revealed living
Inside you,
Causing a flurry of panic
To me, that was an imaginary being
Until the horror was real
The absence of love,
I can’t speculate over that is banished
To memories that I can only access
Through my dreams.–J. E. Cook © 2019

Lee Todd Lacks This is incredible, Josie. The sublime natural imagery, the disarmingly powerful shift between the speaker’s vision of the forest and her recollection of a wayward lover. Beautifully written!

Sunday on the Dear John Show

Welcome to The Dear John Show, Facebook live poetry reading, Sunday 14th April 2019, with Christine Barker, Chris Edridge, And, Your Host, John Kavanagh.

Christine read my poem on this live show. Thank you, Christine Barker and John Kavanagh for picking one of my poems for this April session of poetry. 

**This session was live with Shannon Larisse Sharpe & Christine Barker.

Dear John Show-live Broadcast

My poem, titled, Keep Me Pristine and Alive, requested by the host. on 04/14/2019 it was read by Christine Barker from Germany live.

Shared Sunsets by J. E.Cook, read by John Kavanagh, live

I would like to thank John for picking my poem to read this Sunday and doing it so well on his live show that he hosts every Sunday on Facebook. 

Give a listen here and take in the lovely poetry shared live with a poetry community of caring individuals. 

The Echoing Sun Rays~Poetry by J. E. Cook

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The Echoing Sun Rays

The sun does make a big difference,
Each day to me,
It makes me happy to see it in
the skies.
As merry thoughts swirl inside
My head, hiding the ringing
In my ears.
I and my tribe
welcome this Spring to come forth.
The Skylark, hummers, and Robins
Arrive on the lawns, in the new buds, and
Around the blooming newness.
These birds of the bushes, trees,
And everywhere green.

Singing louder with the sun up high,
A cheerful sound. 
While we enjoy the fresh air,
On the patios, decks, and porches.

In our youth, this was the time to
Explore the Birches, orchards, and
Creekbeds with renewal
In mind, 
A place to take in the warmth

Till the little ones become a bit weary
With this sunshine event on the lawn,
The sun does descend again,
And, it has to have an end:

Round up the little ones and go in,
all these sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their high-up nests,
Are ready for a quick rest;
No more sunshine until another
Day of brightness & warmth. –J. E. Cook © 2019

Image may contain: Tori Fraley, smiling, grass and outdoor

Distance from it. A Poem by J. E. Cook

Image may contain: outdoor

Distance from it

I was frustrated with myself;
I told myself to try harder; however,
my anger did not end. 
I was frustrated with my situation:
I told it to leave, my anger kept growing.

I was bathed
in my inner fears,
Night & morning, I had tears:
I sought the sun with its smiles
And warmth,
And with it came the softness of

I grew with it in both day and night.
Till I bore a bright smile myself.
my foe became something
that shines even now,
Before me and keeps me anchored.
into my garden to steal this light,
When the night has arrived;
In the morning, I will be glad I see;
My foe is outstretched beneath the
Distant treeline so far
Away from me.–J. E. Cook © 2019 (in memory of William Blake)


Rick Bird Very nice poetry and artwork.

Lee Todd Lacks An inspiring transformation. Insightfully written.

Innocence seeking Knowledge by J. E. Cook

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Innocence seeking Knowledge

To see a newness of this 
World in a 
Grain of pebbled 
Beach sands,
With the
Heavens echoed in a lovely
Wild Flower, to
Hold an Infinity in the palm of my hand
This new
Eternity in this hour,
As the
Robin of
Redbreast sings far away,
This vision
Puts all Heavenly thoughts away,
Where a
Dovehouse is filled with
Doves and another being the gray crying
Shuddering with their inner fears,
Predictions will ruin the State of this
Horses and ponies upon the murky
Of dirt and rivers of muddy waters,
For Heaven is now full of
Human blood,
With the outcries of the hunted Humans,
Every fiber of their
Brains are tearing apart.

As a lone
Skylark is wounded,
the wings tattered, 
As Cherubs do cease to sing among us,
Game Cocks are now fighting for their lives, 
As the Rising Sun shines on them,
Every Wolf & Lion 
are running for their lives,
Rising from Hell are
the Human Souls of intense evils. 
These make the wild deer seek here & there, 
Keeping our
Human Souls from 
Caring for
Lambs in the green pastures, 
And yet– they are given to the
Butchers knives among us, 
A Bat flits so close to
The Eve of the morning,
Believe in
The Owl that calls upon us in the 
Night, this one
Speaks to the Unbelievers fright, and those
who shall not hurt the
little Wren crowned in purple,
beloved by Many that cherish
life, by Woman of love, as a wanton
Boy kills those that
Fly, and 
He torments the
Sprites of the forest deepness,
As he 
Weaves… into the endless blackness…
The night where the 
Caterpillars on the Leaves 
Repeat their journey,
Kill not these
Moths nor the Butterflies –yet not born to our eyes.

For our
Last Judgment has not arrived, 
He who shall be at
War in our lands,
Shall never pass to peace, for
The Beggars & Widows are needing
A Feeding as
The Gnats 
Poison their only means, 
This poison of the 
Darkness in black,
Is the sweat of rich devils among us, 
They poison 
the Honey Bees and are the dirty con
Artists with Jealous souls, 
Princes in 
Robes of black, as the
Beggars wear
Rags of hopelessness and dream of
Toadstools where fairies lead them to
Morals of gold.

A Truth is not told, as 
Beats in the Earth 
Are all the Lies
they can invent, 
It is not right as it should be so 
Men have made us filled with
Woes of sickness, death, & despair, 
And when we are rightly repairing 
This World as we go safely for
Parts unknown, 
Joy & Woe are woven finely together
A Clothing for our souls so divine, 
Under every grief thought, we pine for
a joy with silken heart, a 
Babe with longing for the
all these Human Lands, where 
Tools are made to solve,
Born to the hands of
Every Farmer that
Understands our
Every Tear from Every Eye
Among this world.–J. E. Cook © 2019


Lee Todd Lacks What a brilliant allegory for the subversion of Nature. So powerful, Josie!