When was the last time you had a deep, sustained, belly laugh? I remember when my boys were infants they would laugh at a funny face or an unexpected sound I made. I have friends who make me laugh, but more often it’s just a chuckle. I miss that side-aching, tear-inducing, loud laughter. When did I abandon that childlike state of being? I long for the voice of my inner child to sing nursery rhymes and tell knock-knock jokes and play silly pranks. It’s all in good fun after all. Fun is under rated. When you next see me, tickle my funny bone to see if I have remembered how to laugh out loud. LOL



Image credit to

Cosmic Child

She channels love energy through her eyes,

Her heart, and her hands.

She opens her mind, body, and spirit

To the wounded souls who are lucky passers-by.

She is the Cosmic Child

Sent to point the way,

Though few understand where she is pointing.

Her blood is the blood of a savior.

Her bones contain the memories of creation.

She bleeds into our hearts and the memories flow into our marrow,

Granting us a glimpse of our original face —

The child of wonderment.


If we listen closely

Songs of the first sequoias,

The lost worlds,

Atlantis and Lemuria,

Oceans before Pangaea,

Rise and fall

Through her lyrical breasts,

Nourishing our infant souls,

Inviting us to join our corporal

Yet-to-be form

Reforming the bindings into

Remembered laughter.


When such a Mother calls

Run, don’t walk

Into her arms!

Follow her heartbeat back to joy

Let the new song play

Double Dutch,

Patty Cake,

Ollie, Ollie, Outs in free,

Hop the scotch,

And let it be.

© 2016 Bessie Adams Senette

Published by

Bessie Senette

Bessie Senette is nine and a half months pregnant waiting on the birth of Cutting the Clouds: a Bayou Mystic’s Poems, Musings, and Imaginings – an autobiographical collection of poems and essays about the life and culture of her bayou upbringing and the spirituality that informs her traditional healing gifts. 
A high-spirited, creative, solemn, and above all joyous woman, she celebrates her birthday for the entire month of August, otherwise known as the Besstival. Anyone born in August is welcomed as a Besstivite. The High Feast day of the Besstival (Bessie’s actual birthday) is known as the Besstiva. 

When her Muse is not in the mood to muse, she cooks. Bessie’s home is an oasis of hospitality, and yet her husband, Tom, calls it a fortress of solitude. Somehow it works. She works as a supplemental grandmother and primary Mimsie to Eden and Noah, five grand pups and one cat. 
As an ordained minister, she officiates an ecumenical liturgy for a small congregation of like-minded and just “slightly” wacky folk who are lovingly referred to as the Bessbyterians. 
Bessie is a polydactyl poet, born with six toes on her left foot. Some of her friends think she should have a reality TV show but she insists that it would have to be an UnReality show. All are certain the ratings would be astronomical.

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