It Is For Such Days…

I am 56 years old, my son is 31. For years circumstances have widely separated us geographically. We have remained best friends through the wonders of technology. The kid got his first computer at age three. He is wildly creative, has over 100,000 words on a novel you will hear about soon enough. He has been home with me since early December, except for a few trips he took to visit others.

I irritate him a lot; I have bizarre idiosyncrasies. We get along, though, and we work together somewhat. He wants me to be bold, like himself, I am a coward. I asked him last night if he would go with me today. I explained it was Norma’s memorial service, for which Richard requested I write a poem and read it there. He surprised me and said yes. Alex is an inspiration to me always; we have been through so much.

We got Chick-Fil-A for lunch, which Alex puts up memes about being God’s restaurant. He allowed me to read the poem because I do not do public readings. He said I did it well. I thought, well, maybe I can do it.

We got there way early. My Mom always believed in being way early, and I seem to carry on her habit. We talked. We went inside, and I was reproached because there was an individual there, and I mentioned it to Alex. He was right, but… and he says there are no buts. Anyway, we went back outside. It did not seem many people I knew were about that early.

When we came back inside, one of the funeral directors talked to me and gave me an order of service. We spoke to Richard when the room opened. When we sat, one of my favorite people came up, and I got hugs. I love hugs. We promised to be better in touch. I hope it occurs.

When the service began, some very renowned poets were read by a very distinguished person. She opened the floor for attendees to speak, there was no movement or sound. So she said, maybe Jo Ann Jordan, who is a local poet, would like to say something. Yeah, me. I walked up to the steps and prayed that my knees would allow me to make it up to the podium. It was a near thing. You do not know my knees.

Next, I stumbled through the presentation.

Betwixt Times

Sometimes two people
Find the perfect match within
One another and mesh
So their souls permanently
Entwine, declaring them complete.

Cherishing each other
They come to understand
Their bond is so rich,
Their complement so pure;
Lives shared are exceptional.

Norma and Richard
Were always present to give,
Contribute whatever
Was required for their success;
And helping others do their best.

Love infused their lives
So there could be no doubt
Their dedication
To one another was sure and true,
Adoring, always respecting, the two.

Working together
They did it in perfect sync,
Creating things of which
Others could only dream;
They were a successful team.

Norma was a rare beauty,
Quiet in public, but given
To laughter and devotion,
Kind, tender, precious, sweetness,
Expressing love at home.

It is a tearful loss
Dealt out of season, against time,
The world a bit dimmer,
Without the smiles and gentleness
Norma so freely shared with all.

Her creativity
Dedication, work ethic,
Motivation we can
Hope to reflect, even as
We miss Norma’s selflessness.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Thursday, January 16, 2020

“With Norma and our two kitties, we have had a home full of continuous love, respect, laughter, and adoration.” – Mr. Richard Nichols

I did the poem reading my large print copy with some muddling when I had to change pages. When I did manage to look up, there was Alex, smiling, which no one knows how that helped.

I got all messed up on Richard’s quote adding extra ands, but it really is a miracle I could do it at all. I love and respect Norma and Richard more than I can express. They have been mentors and friends to me. My copy editing is directly due to their influence.

I forgot to pray before I headed down those steps, and what a mess I made.

The service was the most inspirational memorial I have ever seen. Richard spoke, and I managed not to cry there, but I have tears now.

Norma had a truly angelic spirit and was one of the most highly intelligent creative people ever. She will be sorely missed.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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Suggestions, Perhaps?

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Respectful Restriction

Gates open and close,
Allow entrance and exit,
But they also lock.
Sometimes there is no going
Through barriers facing us.

Neighborly fences
Can save us torturous pain,
Where parties respect
Limits that secure freedom
And borders are not breached.

The gates of morning
Let in the nourishing sun
Lighting life each day,
Night swift falls, portcullis like,
Calling us to wangle sleep.

We live between gates
Though we believe we are free,
The beginning, birth,
The conclusion, death, and yet:
Eternal resurrection.

In this beautiful
Time we spend between the gates
We should live – alive,
We should be real, with the gates
Of experience thrown wide.

We are who we are
And we can create our lives,
Miracles abide,
Even in the dark, some gates
Guide us to places we belong.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Sometimes people wonder about inspiration. I took the photo this afternoon. I picked it randomly from a selection of several. Afterward, I determined to write a “GATE” poem. You just roll how you roll.

Before the Rain

Day Eleven – 2020 Creativity Project

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This birdcage is at least fifty years old, I had a dusty blue parakeet in it when I was very young. We had birds until Mom decided they were nasty. The mess did not fit her fastidious ways.

These short poems are all individuals. None of them is directly connected. Some were written at different times today. Some in my journal, some at the keyboard as I stood here in front of the screen. They are tanka, and of course, a lone haiku.

Some days hold torrents
In a loose embrace, then let
The sky-bound tears fall;
Sympathy for hearts broken
By losses too great to bear.

 

I could cage myself
Hide all the feelings away,
But emotions tend
To lead me often in life,
I am tender, edge of knife.

 

Secret reasons why
I keep trying to catch you
With a picture, line,
But you fast escape the ties
I might employ to bind you.

 

My heart breaks again
With an ache shot through and through;
The long loss of you.

 

I almost began
To hope for the future again,
But then I recalled
How the fires seared my skin
And things became ashes then.

 

Pieces together
Fit the pattern of quiet
Built on peaceful days
When all we needed, we found,
Within one another bound.

The rain came, bucketfuls at once, and walking the dogs was a waste of time. We only got soaked. I did walk awhile before alone with the Sony camera. It is nice to photograph whatever I decide.

I hope, as a prompt, you will create something lovely, and with love. All of us need more kindness, comfort, care.

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This scene draws me in, and I am uncertain why. I think the stark lines may have something to do with it. Mysterious allure.

God Bless and Keep You and Yours.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Creative Variety

Day Seven – 2020 Creativity Project

Wookie watching Wick

Wookie raptly watching a movie. Edited version.

I have been on the internet since 1991. Creatives are among my favorite people. A baseline normal between creatives, we are all original individuals. Our personalities, gifts, characteristics, styles, spirituality, beliefs, all those, and more make us unusual, and yet we are alike. There is a spark in the room when creatives meet. We chatter, and we immediately find something which we can relate to within one another.

Many of us are introverts, we will find ways to sequester ourselves in privacy. Though we can lay that aside long enough to perform something we believe in. Sometimes, this is almost too hard. What should we write, draw, paint, photograph, what tools use? Is art worthwhile? Is the meaning and connotation of a word correct? Is it perfect, or close enough, no one can see the seams, the erasures? The picture, should it have been edited, or was the original better? Will anyone read, will they care, will someone?

Uncertainty seems to come with the territory, but we can stand loud and proud when we feel we must. Our hearts are open, our minds malleable, our work forever with us. Dreams are waking us to grab tools of record in the dire hours of the night. We study, then find it not enough, and explore more.

When the curtain draws down, we will be begging long enough to get the current work complete. Dame Death can wait…

Maybe I exaggerate, I am a poet who writes stories, essays, and attempts books. I do these Creativity Projects that tax me beyond belief. I believe in making myself work because if I do not commit, I might crawl into a cavern and secret myself away. Figuratively speaking darlings, if I had a cavern, we would have sleepovers on crisp nights.

I did poems today, but I am not satisfied with any of them, then when am I confident of the writing I do? I think it is why I read so much. I can twine my mind in someone else’s creation. Anyway, you are warned.

Down, Upsideways

Touched by the feather
Of a snowy dove named love
My soul reaches up
Toward Heaven way above
Then stretches out and abroad.

I inhale the breeze
Breathing out weighty worry;
Then again process,
Exhaling stores of kindness and joy
Praying health, happiness, prosperity to all.

I hope good fortune
Will find ample opportunity in many lives;
People who shall discover
Grace as comfort always
And fullness of faith as a living fire.

SWAP

Can I be you now?
I know I should not ask,
But you seem self-assured,
Only for today, until
The time day goes undercover
Where we can dream mysteries
We might never encounter if
Our lives did not intersect,
Combine, entwine, meld,
Like no one knows but we
In on the secrets only we two may
Comprehend, understand;
How will our hearts ever beat
Quite the same as prior, after
Sharing who we really are?
Do you realize how precious,
Surpassing grand are the gifts
You within yourself do own?
We might be explorers, ah, home.

Perpetually

Let us live forever
Remembered by generations
Whose opportunity to know
Us is only in the creations
We leave behind in time.
What we share with others
What we release from within,
Those  bits and pieces of thought
Captured in any set form
Can transmit over eras
Perhaps helping someone grow
Into a person better suited
To survive whatever may
Become their experience
In living a maximum life.

I hope you found something of worth, I have not felt like I could do this today. The Quits have set in. You know that saying, “You should not be doing this. It is not any good. Give up.” Yeah, my brain has not yet learned, “Never Give Up!” is stronger. Anyway, thank you for visiting. If you wish there is a follow button, or come back when you like.

All the best to you, and keep reaching for your goals, I believe in you. I thank God this marvelous tool brings us together. I hope I did not go over long today. Sometimes, if you knew, I have lots to share.

Wookie watching television, movie. Less edited version.

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© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Social, I Suppose

Decision Point

You like lemon drops
I prefer spicy red hots,
Can we still be friends?
Can our yellows, reds, mingle?
Do sour and hot speak, emote?
Would we need to shove
Our preferences, tastes, down
One another’s throat?
I think given space and time
We can share our love as friends.

Erotica Avec Moi

I want to lay you
Down on freshly laundered pure
White sheets, soft as mink,
Becoming entangled like
Stars in cosmic clouds gleaming
With passion’s light dew,
Sweet escaping sighs released
As we learn precious
Togetherness can delight
Lips and tongues discovered new.

Monday, November 4, 2019

Willful
Abuse
Radicalized

Every person is
Some parent’s treasured baby
Whose birth was an Event;
If blood is spilled, at what cost?
Tears drowning, an ocean flow.

Someone different despised
Loaded missiles in idle conversation
Tearing a visage apart,
No safety on which to depend;
Maybe driven reckless to an end.

Corporate priorities
Accelerating profit margins;
Hours near unending or brief, plenty of pain disregarded,
Limiting accommodations, promotion recommendations,
Eliminating benefits, cutting back, workers fail.

Pointless politicians
Preying on public insecurities
Inciting mobs, another election
A million to furnish the mansion,
People’s needs less meaningful than drapes.

A bevy of youngsters, college denied,
By fiscal lack or instability
Sent, the guns and bullets,
To lands that savor patriot blood
Above that of many others.

Pretty flags draped, we weep,
Coffins we must somehow bear
Some parent’s treasured baby,
Now gone forever, death’s deep sleep,
Departing others, the cycle repeat.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Tuesday, November 5, 2019