Pronounced

You cried your words, right,
Into the heart of my life, soul,
Answering was I
Bound close as yourself to you
I sang beauty in a voice
I borrowed – starlight;
The wind untamed took captive
Every small moment
I did not hide in pockets
Protected from your unknown.
Across many years
I chased every pleasure found
In other places,
But each was lacking something
Proven in your words to me.
My nebulous thoughts
Converge, enfold your body
In a field tender
As the minute sensation
Of love, long-deferred, come due.
Myself, my sight, is
Frequent as light traveling
Across space and time
To portray your perfect poise
Provided contrasting darkness.
I have now become
More than distant yesterdays;
Music you wrote, soft,
Upon the flesh, heart, dancing
Beneath your strong, gentle hands.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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Thankful Thursday

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

haphazardcreative.com is my home on the internet. Please join me there this site is only a legacy site.

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Journal Poems

The pages I do with fountain pens are a bit more difficult. I keep wondering why I am trying so hard to get good at using them. They are at best finicky.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I encourage you to visit http://haphazardcreative.com. It is where I am currently working daily. This I only update occasionally.

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Close Enough

The rain falls down
Your hand in my pocket, warm,
Somehow we have to
Get ourselves out of the storm,
The umbrella comes between
The closeness that should
Forever be you and me.

It is not our grandparent’s
Wonderful life, we must be careful
Round here, to succeed, to survive.

Fires, they rage, so wild,
Out of control, gotta set up –
Some smoke control,
Breathing gets harder, exerts,
Until it almost sets up hurt,
Clouds on the horizon, but no,
It is the fire’s dark exhaust.

It is not our grandparent’s
Wonderful life, we must be careful
Round here, to succeed, to survive.

Screaming fills in the streets
One says this; another speaks that,
Someone with matches, pyromaniac fun,
The other has a gun in a pocket, heat,
That one has a knife in a boot, treat,
Control fled, no one knows how to live
Everyone is subject to being dead.

It is not our grandparent’s
Wonderful life, we must be careful
Round here, to succeed, to survive.

Your hand in my pocket,
Please do not let me go,
This world is a desolation,
Join me in the isolation
Check the windows, the doors,
No egress for strangers
Can we now possibly afford.

It is not our grandparent’s
Wonderful life, we must be careful
Round here, to succeed, to survive.

Who have we finally become
Who cannot communicate,
Cannot show respect enough
To avoid a world that deteriorates?
Where did the love go, tell me,
We are all in this together,
If not, we will likely all fall.

It is not our grandparent’s
Wonderful life, we must be careful
Round here, to succeed, to survive.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

This is brought over from http://haphazardcreative.com. I work there these days. If you are interested I have done at least one post daily all year. I would love to see you there.

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Process

Occasionally, I am asked how I maintain my creativity and output. The answer is not easy to give. I do not fully understand it myself, but there are things I practice.

I choose to create every day. Writing is what I do most often. I keep a journal that catches much of the produce of my thought. It is not a personal diary or a planner, but a book of ideas. I keep it in longhand.

At times I have no desire to write, but I do it anyway. I am aware that all I create will not be great or even good. I am comfortable with writing poorly at times because I can edit that out. Getting words to flow is the goal. If I skip days, a dam develops, and priming myself is very hard.

For me, writing is the constant of my lifetime. I began at a young age and have continued working with words no matter my situation. It is like eating, I do it to survive.

To inspire me, I read everything, and each day. I study reference and craft books. I read fiction, non-fiction, scripture, devotionals, newspapers, magazines, professional journals, biographies, poetry, various pieces on-line, and anything else that comes before me.

I rarely watch television or video. I have an extreme aversion to advertising, which is inescapable with television, so I avoid it.

I listen to a wide variety and large quantity of music. When I work, I often have it playing though I love quiet too.

My vision is that no subject is so dull it cannot be covered in writing. Surprising results can be achieved writing about the seemingly mundane. A word can be the basis of a poem or story. The life of the mind, a task, a visual, an emotion, an idea, anything is material.

After years of writing, I realize something I believe of keen interest, may appeal to no one else. An essential part of maintaining creative practice is distancing one’s satisfaction with the work from the results. If no one reacts to an effort, it is not an indication it is unworthy. It only means at this moment it did not draw attention.

Creation is never wasted. Skill and definition require training in methods and practice. All words lead toward correct composition. Labor is not done in vain. Talent must be honed to become stronger, better.

I keep producing because I love people, and I hope to encourage and inspire. Often I am unsure of my offering, but words manifest, so I capture them.

I create a lot because I see it as a good practice. The process must progress to accomplish any success.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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Tanka

We exchange our time
For fulfilling our desires,
Fragile happiness,
Where love and relationship
Are the needs without compare.

*****

Harms often find us
But these never define us;
Victories make us,
What love willingly bestows
Our hearts share, among others.

*****

A life born today
New unto the world will change
With love, those soon touched,
For every person gifts us
With hopes, dreams, blessings, anew.

*****

What cannot be done
Does not explain that which can
For our strength is found
Despite the fragility
Built on our infirmities.

*****

Tanka is a five-line syllabic form with counts 5-7-5-7-7. I enjoy counting syllables, so I use them a lot. If you like, as a prompt, write some tanka of your own.

I have a longer piece coming if I can decide whether to scan it or type it. Although I have typed for a very long time, I find little joy in it. The Remington Rand and Royal might have something to do with that. Thankfully, my Microsoft keyboard is a bit less taxing than were the manual typewriters. Yes, I remember when but make no mistake. I am a native here, now.

I hope your day was joyful, and your burdens were light. All life is a celebration rejoicing at the moment.

I think suffering may be provided to magnify joy; when the night is darkest, the light appears brightest.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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When Dawn Falls Down

Au Revoir

You carried my heart
Within an inside pocket,
There it was kept warm
Protected by your sweet love;
I lived happiness, galore.
Loving made me bold
Set my inhibitions free,
The ruin of me;
I became wild as water
Life without you frightens me.
Lone, I continue
Love exists, enough to share,
But you are not here,
I walk a shadow of who
The woman was loving you.

*****

Who would have me write
If my vacancies were clear?
Inoculated
By the strains of illness, pain,
I cannot fully explain.

*****

Pain, with all within
We would wish it over, gone,
Still, pain defines time
Validates all life’s pleasure,
The dreams, hopes, love are enshrined.

*****

Thither

I would gladly choose
You who are a mystery
To help liberate
The bonds time forged over me,
Every expression of love
Hidden from my touch
Buried so my passions strong
Are never declared.

*****

The fear that haunts us
Wishes to wreck, destroy us,
But LOVE overcomes.

*****

Firelight and shadow
Are within us all contained
We choose our joy, pain.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

These may seem a bit dark. Sometimes the shadow attempts to put me in a vault and shut me away with the bones. It does not recall that I used to visit those places pretending they were palaces. Long corridors and marbled floors, echoes of whispers, and oh the glories when I became brave enough to sing.

I never said I was normal. LOL!

I am reading The Two Towers. If you have never cracked those books, I highly recommend them, if only for the unparalleled joy of the language.

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Ex-Pres-Sions

Words Are Dodgy

When the writing screams
You must be lying, joking,
To believe I will
Do your bidding, my ideas
Are none of your mind’s concern.
Then is the moment
To double the commitment,
Producing the work
While knowing no one can make
Every line sing perfectly.
Submit to the sound
Faraway, interpreted,
The fury hides, guides,
Melody binds harmony
Poetry awakes, licks air.
Taste sudden wonder
For magic comes, awakens,
Touches warming skin
Overrides every sorrow
Bursts open needed blessings.
“They are only words,”
Ah, so we could keep them all
Never speaking out,
Not carrying the pleasure,
But no, we must ever share.

*****

A dream though lofty
Stumbles toward the spotlight,
Proclaiming itself
Everything searched for before,
Nothing we can now ignore.

*****

Hungry for success
Many have tried to become
Someone they were not,
Finding themselves empty, tired,
Unhappy, returning bored.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I finally found a lighter mood. A conversation brought it from a distant place. To add emphasis, the music took over, so here we are. I hope all are well. This world has become a bit daunting, but we are still here, and the fight is not over. I appreciate your visit. I hope you will follow the site or often return.

I have decided to post this on two of my acres of cyberspace. My primary place to post is now Haphazard Creative, should you wish to explore my newer work, please follow me there.

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Haphazard Creative: Are You Brave?

Are You Brave? A bit of encouragement.

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An entry from Haphazard Creative

Sharing: I am totally messed up! Really?

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