Deep Notes

Death is a vigil
Kept leaning over every
Moment, a salient shadow
Stealing who is, who might be.
Life is the energy, activity,
Driving, growing, making,
Unfolding all treasure
Of experience and being.
Love is the music
Arising in the souls ready
To dance the hopeful steps
Of long-awaited romance.
Hands held, kisses longing,
Filling, gentle remembering,
Holding the tenderness
Of memories keenly made.
Take advantage of the times –
For they swiftly disappear,
The aching pain of absence,
What is lost and cannot
Be at any cost retrieved,
Over the passage
Evaporated years, opportunities
Missed, turned aside in life;
Finally, it sears the heart.
Grief is a cruel thief.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

The way this evolved was unique. I was reading a short story in which a character was sitting at a dying relative’s bedside. The line, “Grief is a thief,” came to me. It resonated with me. So the poem began with death and worked round and about to the line with which I ended.

I did a small portion of it in my journal. I left for several hours and came home to type it in. As often happens, much of it changed in the process. I hope you enjoyed it, even with the darker notes.

Thank you for visiting Haphazard Creative; please follow the site, or return often.

At this point, I am considering whether to continue my vow to post every day into 2021. Some days I am quite mystified over what I will write. 2020 has been very productive. There was even a month I posted 75 times. This is not my first engagement of this sort. If you visit my Chronicles site, you will see what I mean.

As a prompt, I challenge you to evaluate your creative life and see if posting every day of 2021 might move you to be more productive. If not every day, more than you currently do, would be an improvement.

Unveiled

Hearts across forever
Dreaming of the times being
Together were ours;
How we never considered
Separation would break us.
Distant now apart,
There is no recapturing –
What we held, again,
We wonder how the moments
Could pass so quickly away.
How could we gain one
Another, then have it all
Stolen from our days?
Death a cruel stranger passing
Silently into dreams, we made.
Against this horrid taking
The cries arise at night
And with the day bright light,
No relief, no rest, no forgetfulness;
Only emptiness, dreadful space
Where our lives joined in
A multitude of beautiful ways.
Living now so shallow, constant shadow,
Where joy once kept the pain at bay.
Nevermore, nevermore, whatever
Hope remains, there must be readiness
To accept love’s willingness to invade
Reanimating the heart, dismissing the shade.
A moment, an hour, a day, time ever
Continues and life we must living partake
Love surrounds us for God never forsakes;
We, one another have, to inspire our
Ongoing from this present to futures
Our constant choices describe, make.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Missing My Peace

Across the ocean between
I wonder
Do you wait, or do you go on;
Forgetting you were
The starch that stiffened my spine,
Enough
To stand when I only wanted
To run away and hide.
Now,
Without, I can hardly face
The rising of the sun,
All the troubles we worried,
Surely,
They have come, and without
You, I am drowning
No one to throw a raft.
Mama,
I am supposed to be grown,
But standing here alone,
This world seems less than ever,
My home.

Yet, I am thinking of how I wish
I could make you proud,
Show that what you taught,
I finally learned
Well enough that others could see
The magic you often said
Existed in me.
My courage seems settled –
With your ashes in that urn.
I wilt like a rose denied a drink,
But Mama,
Do you know? Do you know how
I miss you so? Sometimes, just
To hear you say I love you,
To have you give me a hug.
Ah, what comfort it would give.

I cry, and wonder why, because
I was
Taught to be reliable, to hide hurts.
Sometimes I do, but God knows,
I need you, and I can hardly get
A grip on why He took you.
Some have said I can stand
All I must do is work
A plan.
My plans keep washing away
In a deluge of troubles
No barrier erected by me
Can forestall.
I know, I know there is no call
To give up, but I have almost,
Then I remember how you said,
“Believe that you can,” and I try
Again.

I guess if I could reach
Across the divide
Seeing you,
You would remind me
To keep doing my best,
Never give up, study myself,
For the rigor of each test.
You would say, “My love is
With you no matter how far
Apart we seem. Trust in
Love
To feed your heart
And strengthen your mind.
Keep living, you are my dream.”
Okay,
Okay, even though it is harder –
Than, I imagined it could ever be,
I will live, for you gave life to me.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

As a prompt, create something about a loss that has affected you deeply and changed your perception. It could be a person, pet, thing, or a time. You choose. You are endowed with creative power, use it.

I hope you will follow or return to Haphazard Creative. I am in the midst of a Creativity Project and would love your input and your continuing support.

Thank you for taking the time to visit. May God richly bless you and all you love.

The Whisper That Shouts

When language preaches
A soul-rending sermon, soft,
Or words get dressed up
To woo and seduce another,
When voices sing of beauty
Or rhyme appears clear
To paint syllables of the sky,
When cursing seems well
Placed, aptly, and fairly done.
Poignant protests raise applause
Revealing there exist, heroes,
Needing appropriate speeches,
Or a tearfully sad story
To be honored and well-told,
When the crowds pay tribute
To those who amaze, astound.
If one jettisons planetary bonds
The left behind, raw, broken wide open
Recite laments to tidy seeping wounds,
When a newborn enterprise
Is begun with much courage and hope,
Or plain and simple
Cries must be made for progress,
If people who feel life
Differently must be given a voice.
Ordinary words cannot address
Every occasion pregnant with love
Or fraught with the lace of fear, doubt,
But call for the gift of poetry,
The whisper that shouts.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

2020.07.08 Converted Rose rr

As a prompt, exploring the meaning or purpose or love of poetry. Should you rather, explore whatever forms of creative expression you most enjoy.

 

 

EverMore

Time, a remedy
For every set and season;
What was, is, will be,
History tells the stories,
We, listeners, must attend.
We paint our canvas,
But the Master guides each hand,
Though we may never know,
What there is, He has appointed:
Love as the chief principle.
Across time, its gulf,
Of here and gone, still remains
Love through everything,
Nothing lost, but all our pain
Taken, so we feel again.
Tears they fall freely
Storms of troubled shame, regret,
Hurt, devastation,
Will never buy the moments
Past across the great divide.
Living on we give
The beauty we aptly share
To every single soul
Whose path our contact touches
That they may further be
Enamored of reality
And in it find the peace
Which borders sweet tranquility.
Standing in those places
We sometimes fail to clearly see
The meaning behind, reason,
For the fearsome shadows
Before us hide the guiding light;
Darkness does not long obscure
The fact of LOVE which was,
And is, now and evermore.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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