Rise Up

Inspiration Comes

It was a tearful day, like any number of other days. The losses weighed, and regret played, but somehow, something, somewhere, changed. It was as if a door opened, and a bit of hope took root in a heart for whom so many dreams had become moot.

The rescue climbed up, licked away a speckling of tears, and gave a look that conveyed, ‘You saved me; it is why I am here, and for that, I give you what comfort exists in me.’

There was a miracle wrapped in the space between those two, born of Love, fragile but true.

Whenever, wherever compassionate, kind, passionate hearts, even across species, or perhaps especially so, meet, Love is fully unleashed, and new dreams, music, stories, and worlds grow to bless lives as onward, outward the sweet generosity of spirit, souls goes.

Every time someone, whether human or other living feeling being, reaches across the chasm of indifference and tries to impact life positively, Love can take hold and change the fabric of reality through the miracle of creativity.

A heart broken by missteps, mistakes, trials, and troubles can learn to trust, take a chance and embrace life, Love, and fully live again.

Each of us is to others a blessing, a gift, a magic, a miracle who lives to present an opportunity to become most precious in one another’s lives. We are our helpers, keepers, and inspirations for greater and greater greatness.

In the After Hours

While most were sleeping my creativity came out to play. I will share some of the proceeds here…

Terran tanka

Today with much more
To carry has many thoughts
It may share with us
Beyond yesterday’s blurred clouds
Pregnant with memory’s tears.

Prodigious Prompts

1. If you described your attitude this month, what tree would you be?

2. We lose parts of ourselves to situations and people regularly. If you could return one quality lost last week, what would you regain? What present attribute would you sacrifice for it?

3. No one told you there was a meeting. What do you wish you had left at home today?

4. For the next two weeks, one primary or secondary color throughout your life will be replaced with newsprint gray. What color are you comfortable giving away?

Wookie and the Monster
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

2022 Creativity Project – Day 104

Tribble and Wookie – © Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

We went outside for a little bit, beyond usual walks. Before I got the phone out to take the picture, they were looking at me. Normal thing with these two, no photographs, please.

Gratitude: I had a free unexpected free day. It was beautiful outside. I found something I misplaced. I colored a little. Reading good books.

Prompt: Make a work of creativity of your day.

Thank you so much for visiting. Like, follow, comment, and share as you choose. Have a blessed Good Friday or as you celebrate otherwise. Love to you and yours always.

2022 Creativity Project – March 6

Wookie

I was broken
Lost my “Hope”
Needed belief,
Her face –
That beauty –
Unbearable
To go on
Without,
Threw all
Including
Thanksgiving,
Aside to go
Rescue
The Marbles
That almost
Demolished
My physicality.

Today, truce,
I never
Trust her,
She sometimes
Believes in me,
We love each
Other with
A dis-ease
Like magnets
Attracting
Repelling.

She is
A lunatic,
I am mental,
We suit
One another
Because
We learned
To trust
Whatever
We are
It could get
Better,
It could be
Worse,
But who
We are is
Together.

Prompt: Maybe you have an “unsettling” relationship. Create…

The Dog Is Not…

The dog is not about the rain. Miserable brown oval lakes accuse me of cruelty. For the raindrops fall, she sudden stops, still and quaking, shakes from nose to tail. I am unwilling this walk to take, but duty tethers me. She cannot count the scents for cover of water; slick it leaves her empty. She tucks her tail, turns, trots me to the door. I warn her, in vivid terms, not to make a deposit in the floor, but does it go beyond her flying nun orifices for understanding? I doubt it; stubbornness is her template. She is that dog, glimpsed, my heart forsook reason, had to adopt, immediately. Love names her mine; pain asks me why? The dog is not about the rain.

I guess this is a prose poem. I do them on occasion. Sometimes breaking lines is an inconvenience.

As a prompt, create something in a form you rarely use.

Bless You!