2022 Creativity Project – Day 103

Balance

Tottering into
Space
Place
Where lost
Found
Grow;
Arrival
Imminent
Always
Postponed,
Probabilities
Impossibilities
Smiled
Because
Perception
Makes no
Matter
Attitude
Effort means,
Belong
Everyone
Everything
Roses
Imagined
Given
For
Doing
Being
Still seeker
Seeking
The life
Beyond
Seeing
Feeling
Tasting
Hearing,
Knowing
Willing
Happy as
A parrot
About to
Bite.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

2022 Creativity Project – April 3

Scares Out There

My dad worked on the equipment which compacted the waste that came into the landfill adjacent to one of the big metropolitan cemeteries. I accompanied him to work often.

I never claim to understand my life; I have, with some effort, come to accept most of it.

There were always odd interactions with machines. Most of them drew scant attention because they happened with other people present. These things are still a blight upon my life and have grown worse with the advent of technology.

The first time one of the dozers parked on the cemetery access lane cranked itself up as I walked by was a bit unnerving. The more times it happened, the less it could be explained as unrelated to my presence.

At the time, I wondered if some friendly residents were protesting my driving in the cemetery as I learned how. I never ran off the lanes or drove exceedingly fast, avoiding all processions. If a tent was over an open grave, I did not go near that area. So, I think it improbable I was disturbing anyone’s peace.

The colossal mausoleum, which looked like a gothic castle, fascinated me. I wanted to see how brave I was. I asked the caretaker of the building if a few friends and I could come about an hour before dark and stay until 3 am. I never dreamed he would say, “Why not? Just don’t break anything or leave any trash.”

I was the only girl in our Dungeons & Dragons group, so securing this little adventure stood to raise my cred. The thing I never expressed to anyone beforehand was that I was beyond terrified. This was when I was sixteen, and I had been reading some superb horror and science fiction ever since I left the children’s section in the library.

I always had an overactive imagination, plus I believed in ghosts.
When the evening arrived, the guys came with machetes, drinks, and snacks. There was a staff or two in evidence, as well. I brought flashlights, enough for the group. I never met a flashlight I was unwilling, given the opportunity, to possess.

When we entered the building, it was brightly lit. No sweat, everyone was okay. I walked down a corridor and had steps following close, so I thought one of the gang was there. When I turned around to invite them up beside me, no one was in sight. Creepy.

When the lights went down, I began to notice echoes. Everything we did was mirrored in sound. The thing that almost sent my courageous friends and me scurrying for the doors; when we were perfectly quiet and motionless, we could hear ourselves moving around engaged in novel conversations.

I wanted to go up in the attic; I mean, when would I ever have others to go with me? We climbed the corkscrew stairs up to the top floor. It was strange; there were barrels and boxes stacked everywhere. Some had food labels, and some had poison labels. The government seemed to have hijacked this space for disaster supplies. I did not like the idea of foodstuffs and weapons stockpiled so nearly together.

We started back downstairs with me near the rear. I noticed the guys had made a half-circle at the bottom. When I hit the floor, the one behind me pushed me forward, and all the rest made growling sounds and reached out for me. You may understand; I screamed and left the building like a Pomeranian with its ears on fire.

I almost drove home and left them there. I could have in good conscience. It would have served them right. I made them think so; I started the Cadillac and headed for the gated entrance. They were running to catch the car. I have half a heart that functions, so I unlocked the doors and let them in.

There is another mausoleum story, but I think it is for a later date.

Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

A VERY OLD BOOK

Riffing off an Amazon review title, I so propitiously encountered.

A VERY OLD BOOK

Reader beware, herein lie
Monsters of dastardly mien,
You may be captured, captivated,
Made prisoner for the space
Of these many pages.
I would not read it were I you,
I did not, in truth, finding its words
Many syllabic, poetic, strange
To my modern eyes and sensibility.
It seemed akin to Dickens, Emerson,
Perhaps Poe and Thoreau, whom
I thought all left in the distant past
When what I read was for lessons,
Not for pleasurable entertainment
Initiated on my fancy whim or choice.
No, dear reader, hear, hear,
This tome is best left shoved
To the back of the shelf, covered
In ages, layers of sooty dust,
Let it be, let it lie, you have no need
Of it, nor would ever I, it is a burden
To be left without perusal alone.
Do not open the covers, do not see,
What treasures I could not ascertain,
Join me in my startling refrain
This is a VERY OLD BOOK,
Herein lie dastardly monsters
Of highly developed vocabulary,
Read At Your Own Dire Risk.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

A Duo

Icy, Not Pricey

Celebrating bills
Of the electrical kind,
Some go down like mine,
Cold weather is quite welcome,
Cause cold never bothered me.
My thermostat says
Fifty-two morning arise,
Okay, I feel fine
Later heat-wave sixty-four,
Not even cold when outdoors.
While Winter cold shocks
I enjoy a great reprieve
But when warmth returns
It is gloom and doom because
Cooling costs take breath away.
I can warm myself
In a variety of ways,
But going naked
Will not even block the heat
When sweltering Summer comes.
It is then I find
Myself all undone again
With bills so costly
I can never win my way
Without a fortune to pay.


Just Do It

If you find yourself
All alone, feeling lonely,
Stop thinking only
You are in that dreadful plight,
Many languish in the night.
Take some time to think
How you might step to the brink
Reaching out your hand
To find a woman or man
Who would with you come to stand.
Love is glorious
Changing dreams into something
You can touch and taste,
A reality with grace
Fantasy cannot replace.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I have been up all night, that is the story – I am sticking with it, in case you find this a bit out of character.

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