Never Forgotten

One September Morning

One September morning
The entire world awoke
With no inkling or forewarning
Cherished dreams would die in smoke.

Another Tuesday
Like so many others…
No one apprehended that day
Would affect so many mothers.

One September morning
Terrorists tried to destroy
Our country without warning,
However, it did not work, their ploy.

Another Tuesday
That will live forever;
The bravery and sorrow of the day,
We will not forget, not ever.

One September morning
Love reached out calling
Even as we all began mourning,
Our nation was not falling.

Another Tuesday
When God was in control
Although throughout that dark day
The catastrophe tried every soul.

One September morning
Remembered by history;
A brilliantly promising morning
In a place proud and free.

Another Tuesday
When America found unity…
No matter what people might say,
We still have our liberty.

One September morning
When the whole world did cry
With new respect aborning
For the noble flag, we yet fly…

Jo Ann Joyce Anita Jordan
© September 8, 2002

It took me almost a year to process the tragedy of September 11, 2001. My pastor read this poem in our remembrance service.

I still fall to pieces when this comes round, the lost of life breaks my heart. The loss of innocence saddens my soul.

It was the final thing that fell into place to compel my son, Alex, to serve.

I post this here that we may never forget.

For Joy’s Sake

When things are dogging us, and things seem to go wrong, sometimes a Gratitude List can give clarity.

I highly recommend the practice.

I have a journal, specially designated for gratitude. Sometimes I make entries less often than I ought, but I return to it.

The Journal Writing group I have been in for almost two decades does Thankful Thursday.

If you give it a try, I expect you will find a greater sense of peace.

Not Afraid

We, the broken, open,
Gather, but loosely together,
A tribe rejected, remote,
Whose names history washed
Free of whatever remains.
One – another – we leave behind
The safety of the riverbank,
Slipping beneath the surface
Of believing, ridding our souls
Of blame, desertion, fear, shame,
Joining the rushing current, present,
Evicting the ghosts who pressed
Us with doubt into inaction.
We become those who call down
Future blessing with courage, desire,
Lightning accompanies our motion,
We face forward, countenances
Of fire, burning with conviction
Knowing each one has value
In reality, creating radiant truth,
Restoring liberty through LOVE.

The Living Dead

Dateline: Tuesday, September 8, 2020

Filing Review: The Living Dead by George A. Romero & Daniel Kraus

First, I do not do zombies. I did watch some of Romero’s films from 1979 to 1981. Since then, I have entirely avoided the genre. My take on zombies, terrifying creatures I refused to admit had existence, believing that would allow me safety. I know, ostrich, I can run with the birds.

I went to the library a few weeks ago and found this new release. I mused perhaps it was time I let an expert better familiarize me with ghouls.

This book defied my expectations. It did not scare me with the monsters but with the degeneracy of some of the human characters. This book is a significant comment on humanity and so timely in coming out in the pandemic.

It is one of the very best books I have read in recent times. The final chapters were so unbelievably well-done that I was in tears for many pages.

I do not think a five-star rating does this book justice. Go ahead, indulge me, and let me say it is a ten. You should read it. I highly recommend it. It is a bit long, though, maybe plunge into it over a couple of weekends.

A full-post review, you know I loved it.

Ready, Set, Klutz

I am a bit of a pen collector, even an aficionado, but do not trust me with fountain pens. I caution you to steer clear when I am in possession of one of these wondrous instruments.

Moments ago, I intended to remove the cap and use my Moonman, which fills with an eye-dropper, so it has a copious amount of ink. It did not go as planned. I instead opened the reservoir and poured ink all over the floor and myself, of course. As small as the ink containment is, it would seem the spatter would be minimal, but hey, black ink.

I have friends who are experts with fountain pens. I am not. I try. See, I want to be good with them, but I have horrendously comical experiences with them at almost every attempt.

I get almost the same results with rollerball pens, and I make less mess. I will not give up on the fountains; I will get okay with this; it is pens – I do ink pens.

As a prompt: Do you have a tool that defies your best efforts? Create something to celebrate your relationship.