Upward

2020.07.06 Painted Frog Upwardt

Do you like design? Are you using it in your written work? As a prompt, create something graphic.

Thank you so much for visiting Haphazard Creative. I invite you to follow the website, or if you like, return as able.

The last few days have been productive. I hope you are enjoying some time of inspiration. I have fallen back into the place where it comes more easily because I have worked every day this year. It is true that facing the blankness and filling it gets easier when it is done often. I encourage you to be in the art, whichever you practice, daily.

I would love to hear about your experiences. Comments are always welcome.

Lowercase Hours, Days

I begin to long
For those lowercase hours, days,
When the news was not
Filled with terror, loss, such deep
Human costs; lives we treasured.
Death gone viral, cuts
Us at every corner, blood,
Poisoned by a virus, taken
Needlessly by actions
Unconscionable.
Headlines, commentators, debaters
Shouting in contention for attention
The racket drowning out needed
Silence, senses stirred with no
Intention to abstain and seek
Relief.
Uppercase the months
Hasting in lockstep go by
We see with open eyes
Recognize all the calamity
The vivid insanity
We cannot deny and cry
For the love that we hold –
The world we knew
The things we never thought
Were precious that now
Live in the past we cannot regain.
More lowercase days, maybe,
Are slumbering in a corner
Peaceful,
Where the sun and shadow
Perfectly balance allowing
Moments to dream up a future
Where we are aware and
Prepared to be braver than
Ever before, appreciating life
As irreplaceable and worth
Striving to create through
Love and imagination
In optimum days when we mix
Excitingly all cases of hours, days.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

2020.07.01 Chairs resize

Foundling

The destination
Never was physical space;
Place is simple, time’s
Variable unknowable
Where existence is or not.

Hidden deep within
The drowning dark pleasure,
Breath, a sigh again;
Fear accursed pushed away,
Courage forced reality.

Soul dispersed, tangled
In webs suddenly affixed,
Loosely captured bound,
Silken syllables spoken
Whispers increasing repeat.

Hope born in hours
Without counting, unminded,
Where brokenness can
Never mend, but somehow less
Becomes if given peace, love.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

2020.06.26 Cones edit