Queen Bee


Queen Bee


When yellow rain showers

germinate goldenrod

flowers’ sweet nectar hour

I become queen.

Pollen baskets yield my fame,

until drones die to mate

then mate to die—

HIV of those who

fly beneath my wing.

I close my eyes,

respect their darkness,

and lick their short-haired shells.

Then realize as the skyline’s

kissed by dawn…


this moment is mine.


Shawn R. Jones

Reprinted from Womb Rain

(Finishing Line Press, 2008)

Natural Hair Texture


I got my first relaxer when I was twelve-years-old. I was so excited to be be able to jump in the pool and have my hair lay flat instead puffing up like cotton candy!  I continued to get relaxers until I was 36-years-old.  So, what made me go natural?  There were a number of reasons, actually.  For one, I woke up and realized that I did not have to have straight hair to be beautiful.  I realized that I, like many other girls, had been brainwashed into thinking my tight curls were ugly or “nappy.”  Nappy was not a good thing.  If your hair was “nappy,” folks said you had “bad hair.”  Yes… as if hair could be disobedient. Can you imagine how such a description can damage one’s self-esteem?  Well, I am not going to go into great detail with this at the moment because it is a much more complicated subject than most would imagine.  This was just my brief introduction to a subject I will elaborate on later, Natural Hair.  There will be several photos in this category, and hopefully I can get some great quotes from some very close friends of mine who also “went natural.” Next time I post in this category, I will give my second reason for going natural.  I will include a few photos tonight : )


P105093910993_10151434815067910_913311000_nCheck out my dear friend’s blog: lexa She is a very inspirational woman!



This photo alone shows one of the reasons Tanya is so inspirational! You have to check out her blog : )




My beautiful daughter decided to rock her natural hair shorter and darker this year.




One of my closest friends-I love… her sisterlocks : )



Until next time …

Womb Rain

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Womb Rain by Shawn R. Jones

It’s the unspoken phrases,

the too heavy, not ready
to release me

thoughts no one
can explain,

the one problem
I cannot share

and the many I regret sharing.

It holds my weaknesses,
my nightmares
and good dreams.

It’s the pulsing desire
no one
can tame

and equally the pain.

Copyright 2001 Shawn R. Jones

After Tragedy, You Can Make It


My Father, My Father

By Shawn R. Jones

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Matthew 5:4

When I was seventeen years old, I sat in my bedroom thinking about my biological father. I had not seen him in seven years, but for some reason, on that particular day, I became overwhelmed by emotions and flashbacks of time spent with him. I walked in my mother’s bedroom and fell on the bed crying, releasing feelings I had suppressed.

“I want my father,” I cried like I was still ten years old, waiting for him on the front step.

After a brief search, I found him in Leesburg State Prison with a six-year sentence. For his remaining years of incarceration, I visited him regularly, and we talked on the phone extensively. He shared stories of his tragic past and ongoing struggle with a heroin addiction. We talked about God, and he told me how he would hide his Bible from the other inmates as he walked across the open field of the minimum security prison.

When he was released, we spent less time together than when he was incarcerated. I began to worry. Then, in the middle of the afternoon, I heard a small knock on my front door. It was my father. He looked much thinner than he had before. I let him in. Humbly, he asked me if I would pray with him because he felt himself “slipping back.” He confessed that he had drunk some alcohol and a bottle of cough medicine. I remember thinking, At least it’s not heroin. He lightly yanked my hand, pulling me slowly down to my knees. He prayed fervently to the Lord. When he left, I just knew he would be all right. Shockingly, less than a year later, he died of a heroin overdose.

I became angry, guilt-ridden, and depressed. I kept thinking, My father and I prayed together, and he still died. I just did not understand, and I did not want to go to church anymore because the last thing I wanted to hear from people was, “God won’t put more on you than you can bear.” Then, I dreamed my father came to me and told me to keep my family in church. The dream seemed so real that I figured it was a message from the Lord.

My family and I kept going to church, and eventually I learned that you don’t have to understand everything to have a relationship with God. You are going to be disappointed sometimes, and people you love are going to die. People have been dying long before you were born, but when it becomes personal, you are more likely to change your perception of God and walk away from Him. Today, I am telling you to stay with Him, and if you don’t know Him, find out Who He is by consistently praying and reading His Word. When I found God, I realized that He was the father I was crying for in my mother’s bedroom.

Dear Lord, help me realize that life on earth is not supposed to be perfect, but You remain perfect even in the face of tragedy. I love You, Lord, and I am going to follow You, no matter what each day brings. Thank You for loving me, and thank You for bringing me through. Amen.

 Reprinted From Pictures in Glass Frames

Ambassador International, 2011

Available at these links:  http://t.co/BxiNwWRG and http://shawnrjones.com/books It is also available on Nook, Kindle, and itunes.



 Shawn R. Jones

 website: www.shawnrjones.com

Author of the devotional book, Pictures in Glass Frames   http://t.co/BxiNwWRG

and the poetry chapbook, Womb Rain, 



Where is My Dominion Over Death?

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Where is My Dominion Over Death?

By Shawn R. Jones


My aging dog progresses my own years.

I must confess that I am still afraid

Of sagging eyes and graying ’round the ears.

Together, our simple lives must fade.


Lord, where is my dominion over death?

A diaper wraps around its leaking tail

With mother thinning in a nursing home

As father wastes his last few years on meth.


God, do you hear demonic voices yell?

Shut open closets of their seething cell.

Don’t let them war with me while I’m alone.


Copyright 2013 Shawn R. Jones