Looking, See

Every time I sing,
“Swing Low, Sweet Chariot,”
I am back in Elementary,
A class where I am the newest,
Not feeling the belonging.
A class where everyone stands
Hands to foreheads, looking over
Me, because I am Jordan, and
Being so shy, uncomfortable,
Wishing
I could disappear,
Never to return, suddenly.
Those words, words always,
The beauty, treasure of music,
A reflection in me, chasing me,
Now, every day I have become, am,
A creature of words, meaning, using
The tension between love, fear,
To live,
Alive, creativity,
Imagination in each moment
Wherever it is I may come to be;
I am a wordsmith, poet, magic,
Wielding a trusty pen, keyboard,
Against forces which might be happy
To see me silent, hidden, gone from
The fight, but I must still
Write.
It is who I am, delight.
Now you, do not quit, never
Give up, words transcend our
Troubles, they illuminate what
Must be acknowledged,
With words we start
To circulate the powers
Of goodness, kindness, generosity,
Love,
Into all those places where
Positive change can invade
Sending doubt, fear, darkness away.
So unleash your heart, soul,
Create,
Be courageous, bold, the world
Awaits our creativity to
Unabashedly unfold.

Breaking New

My sweet love, yes love,
We know it is forever,
If ever it be.

***

I thought you the best
But I had not seen the rest,
Still, you pass the test.

***

The glories of rhyme
I chase them all, every time,
Baby, hard to find.

***

You wonder about
Who I think I am, really,
Think it, being me.

***

There is need for sleep
There is creativity,
Sleep after I die.

***

Love is, I believe,
But love escapes my clutches;
It must remain free.

***

Sometimes I wonder
Was I born a poet, or
Did I catch thunder?

***

Time is a changing
I have no desire to spring
On forward. Why Ben?

***

Drinking water, man,
So tastefully plain and bland,
Coffee, turbo stand.

***

Not sure about this
But it is happening, so
Buckled for the ride.

***

Sometimes you cannot
See the truth of someone else,
They hide reality.

***

I have been experiencing a drought in the country of inspiration. It let go of a deluge after midnight. I was using the tablet. Sometimes it is a very wordy device. The only drawback is that I do not type on on-screen keyboards well.

When I got up, the tablet was completely dead. I never had that happen before. It has restored with charging.

I have continued this binge of writing and will doubtless share more of it. The remainder is in my journal.

Prompt: Try writing haiku, counted syllable poetry, counts: 5-7-5. These are very good warm-ups to other types of writing. It is a very old form and versatile.

Brief Perspectives – Blunt

My heart full afire
Aching with such great desire,
But hidden remains.

***

Adrift in oceans
Feelings of such depth complete,
Catching undertow.

***

Losing what matters,
Living becomes rigorous,
I must rescue me.

***

Comfortable safety
Challenging freedom gone wild,
Wolves nipping at heels.

***

Who stole the deep sleep?
It could not be a cheap creep,
No, a dream-like you!

***

When the darkness falls
It engulfs unseen places,
Who we may still be.

***

Swift the beating heart
Imagining what could be
Between written lines.

***

A broken needle,
Pine, collected in a shoe,
Quick must be removed.

***

Whoever we are
Often little changes much,
Except with God’s touch.

***

Isolation is
A boon when epidemics
Are loose in nations.

***

I have not known what to write today. It seems like nothing wants to rise up from the primordial soup of my brain. Therefore I turn to haiku, that stable medium that I can concoct out of nowhere.

Reading Harlot’s Ghost has brought me to reading some of the periodicals because the book is too heavy to comfortably walk with in my right hand. Reading Granta, Science, NYT, and National Review on the tablet. It is nice to read the current articles.

Working hard to disable ads on the tablet. Engaged developer mode, but having some problems still.

It was warm enough for short sleeves, even outside, which was a comfortable change.

I hope you have an excellent evening and find enjoyment it whatever you undertake.

Oddly Enough

Failure is sometimes
The reason for one’s success
Because giving up
Rarely appeals and we find
We try a little harder
Each time things do not
Go our way, we plan to do
Something different
Make it work another day,
And should it not, tomorrow
Offers a chance, too.
Failure is experience
Dressed in deep disguise,
We keep experimenting
Until our dreams work out right.

Two Poems

Reasons Why

Oh, to be the instrument
That encodes the words, sentences,
Opening minds to experience
Places, plans, things visited
Between the magic covers
Where printed pages live
To give their secrets away to those
Who invest the time to comprehend
Every carefully written line
This the poet, author’s fondest hope
To bring stories, wisdom to life
Helping others conquer the most
Difficult moments encountered in time.

Tracks Cleared

The winding paths sought
By hearts afire with passion
A merry chase may lead
Taking prisoner those who
Never dream again, freedom
To be more precious
Than love, if it should succeed,
Even faults and flaws
Forgiven, overlooked, when
Overwhelmed by devotion.