Coffee, Poems, Ramblings


Alex went to bed. I am wired, see the photo above for an explanation. Alex wants me to cease drinking diet sodas, which I am catastrophically addicted to, and he believes coffee is the answer. The truth about coffee is it usually makes my acid reflux worse, (which I have ceased treatment for due to the lack of a colonoscopy). I did not have that problem this time. I take my coffee, much like a soda (with Splenda, and brew specific – a generous amount of vanilla extract), which might make it even worse than those drinks I am assured are killing me. I do not do compliance exceptionally well. There would seem to be some stubbornness on board.

Being stubborn very likely is the only reason I am alive. I could not fight my monsters without I were tenacious. The last few days have been abysmal at times, and by turns incredible. I am pleasantly surprised my recent coffee consumption is going well. I LOVE COFFEE, I just rarely drank any for the past couple of years. Coffee has superior caffeine, and caffeine makes some of the side effects of my powerful medicines a bit more manageable. I am fully compliant with my psychiatric medications, but I do not have to like them.

I am on The Dell. Whatever it was doing earlier failed, and it is in the process of trying again. I like computers, possibly better than other devices, probably because I have used them much longer. I love this one, but I also hate it. Ambivalence seems to be a widespread trait in my existence. There is very little I only have one end of the feeling scale over. Catch me at the right time; I love everything. The wrong one and I would be hard-pressed to tell you a positive thing among everything in my life.

Will You

Will you hold me close
When I turn myself around,
Inside-out, upside-down,
Lose who I am – hokey-pokey like;
Without rhyme and lacking reason?
You should know this happens
In and out of season, without control.
My emotions are like an ocean
With waves that ebb and flow
Washing warm and cold, beware
Also, the undertow that drowns me
From time and again, in feelings
For which I have no use, refuse.
Will you find the patience
To weather moods, disturbances
In my equanimity? I hardly do
And it all belongs to me.
There are days I need to escape
The prison of what I am, but
My jailor is unwilling to grant any
Leave, breaking out an impossibility.
Writing though, and reading,
Grant me some serenity, words
Are love and I can find, perhaps,
Another searching soul with
Whom I have an affinity.
Come now, come near, and let us
Discover whatever is and will be,
It should all be okay, we shall see,
I will not give up the fight
As long as hope survives that you
Might deign to place your heart
Near the fullness of mine.

Composed here, live, out of nowhere. I admit I have been wrestling with inferiority. I have doubts about my worth and my sustainability. Those are near-constant, but I believe there is some talent in me. Fifty-three years of writing had to have some purpose.

Alex keeps telling me I should get rid of my books. It is killing me. I do not know how to explain what they mean, even the many I have not read. I read library books almost exclusively for years, but the books I own are a comfort to me. I have sent all the borrowed books back. Delving into these of mine has been a revelation, I fear I should have done it sooner. If he has his way, what a loss I shall suffer. I think this persistent demand of his is one reason depression has been unfailingly dogging me.

Let your whole being
Become Love’s celebration,
Your fascination.

As a prompt: Follow your emotion somewhere and create something that elucidates where yourself is at the moment. All my prompts are meant for creation with no particular medium restriction. Most creatives, which means all of us, are multidisciplinary.

I am grateful that this morning when Facebook malfunctioned and I had a full-blown panic attack, that I got myself under control with Alex’s assistance, and I recovered my account. Yeah, life is bizarre. When devices do not work, I go a bit unhinged.

Blessings to all of you, and may all your electronics function as advertised. Be well. Choose joy. Keep moving, it is harder to hit someone in motion. Carry on…

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan


“A Rainy Night In Georgia”

It’s raining; it seems like it rains all the time. I tend to believe, partially facetiously, that Georgia is now part of the Tropics. We have a dry season, and then we have a rainy season. It was not this way when I grew up. I seem to remember, though my memory has compartments, that there used to be dew on the grass every morning. Mostly rain was at night. Understand the assumption might be fanciful. I have notions. At any rate, this drift into tropical seasons has escalated over the years.

Alex lived in Nevada for a while, near or in the desert. It rarely rains. We both tend to think and imagine better in motion, walking. He told me, “Thanks so much,” for bequeathing that anomaly to him. This evening, Alex went out in the pouring rain to listen to the novel Armada, and his writing block broke, so he began listening to music and continued walking.

He is moving back to Georgia after traveling the world since he graduated from Alexander High School in 2006. I assure you all his adventuring was not for pleasure. He has been far from a vagabond. Since he has been home, the rain has been pervasive. Rain in Georgia tends to be cold, and there is always high humidity, even when it is dry.

I walk, it is how I lost a significant amount of weight, which I have begun to regain to my chagrin. I do it mostly indoors.

Alex came back in totally soaked, and shivery. He brewed coffee, which we got at Kroger, and has been working on his novel with his headphones on.

Every time I tried to work with “The Dell from Hell” (pardon me, this is the only accurate description of the computer), it was slow as a sloth. I intended to do this post on it, but found, as I suspected that it wanted to update, so I pulled out the keyboard for my tablet and am finishing this on it. I have my headphones on and am listening to YouTube. The tablet/keyboard combination works reasonably well, but I keep wanting a mouse.

You should listen to the song, “A Rainy Night In Georgia.” Had things not become obnoxious with The Dell, I would have linked it. I do not trust myself to do it on this sweet tablet. I have never even used the keyboard with it before, but desperation breeds courage.

Many are the times I have wanted to chunk the Dell against a wall, or shoot it, (I have no gun for secret reasons), but the money invested in the piece of junk does not permit it. When it ate all my files made over two years, I had to talk to Jesus for a while to ameliorate my rage. I still do not have those files, that is why it has the unusual sobriquet.

I have been drinking coffee, even though I got up on Thursday morning and have not slept since, I am probably up as long as Alex is, and he is drinking coffee too. I finally left that lethargic state behind.

I am currently reading, The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow, and am enjoying it immensely. The cover is gorgeous, and covers can get me every time. This book is about Words, and I adore words.

I would write a poem, but it seems Shift+Enter does not make single line spaces on this device combination, so that will wait.

It looks as though I am rambling a bit. Often happens when under coffee’s influence. So I shall bid you adieu and find something else to entertain me.


© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Nein, But Oui

Change, ubiquitous,
Given growing, overcoming,
Leading, restoring,
Yet, distressing as a tarn
Under the watchful feral
Eyes of Stygian night.
Vigilant, excitable, we
Swallow anxiety, disquiet,
Mumble, “Nein,” press forward,
Soldiers awed by the possibility,
Opportunity, potential, contained
In every moment, every day.
The mundane becomes a vehicle
Shiny, sparkling new, blessing
Us with the incredible, indescribable
Longing to be more becoming,
Creativity growing restless
Done with rehearsing, prepared.
Others the heartbeat of love
Within our hearts, minds, souls;
Transcendent, completely smitten
With a passion for nurturing
The best in every individual.
If we never embrace the changes
We cannot find the grace, love, peace,
Offered, a very priceless treasure,
Reserved for the courageous, bold,
Those who test the boundaries
Of who we are destined to be;
If we choose to will. Grow!


This was taken earlier today with my phone, on the way back home from Chick-Fil-A. I cannot resist editing on my phone, so things may not be quite as they appear.

I am aware I mixed German, English, and French, it will be okay, I promise.

I hope all goes well for you today and every day. Be you, you are precious. Create. Make the vision real.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Poem: Hunted/Hunter

Well, here now, bet you did not expect me back. I took a nap. It is the best way to reset my destructive urges when I am being pursued by suicidal thoughts. Trust me, depression is no ally. However, in my crenelated state, mania also sets about to usher me away, over-taking walls that can never fence me in. Always a battle, forever a war, victory nevermore. Anyway…


There is a dichotomy
Built into our lives,
A perceived separation
More akin to a lie.
We are every one
A hunted, running
For survival and to
Be claimed a trophy
To ornament some
People’s idea of who
We should become.
Also, each a hunter,
Aching for forever love
Chasing illusions, dreams,
Whatever seems a goal,
Thinking accomplishment,
Wealth, reputation, will
Finally, make us whole.
Reality is our hearts
Are vessels circulating love,
What we wish to attain
Lies within us to share,
Give away, making love
All of the world
And throughout
Every moment of history.
The hunted/hunter is
A celebration of creation
Begun with a word,
To continue for eternity
The Beloved we serve,
The Beloved we are.

Yeah, that just came like a hurricane out of nowhere, the only thing I had was the words, Hunted/Hunter. Oh, dears, that is the first draft. I usually only write first drafts of poems. 

As a prompt: Create something about a dichotomy you feel presents itself in life.

I am safe, by the way. I just get agitated. The damnable disease is a horrible thing, but it has its gifts too. I am not sure I would be so wildly creative did I not face the struggle.


© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Poet, I Am, and Will Be

DSC02886I see halos around you, you, you,
Even you, I always have, they terrify;
Cause, why when I see me, is there none?
All of you have a purpose; I have words.
A mind that stumbles, breaks, into rhyme,
Alex calls me out, says to quit reading his mind –
Cause my lips sync his words ahead of time;
Evidently, my brain does predictive scripts
Without my joining, permission, or volition.
I asked, “Only you?” He replied, “No, everyone.”

Being a poet reaches unto nothingness,
Letting whispers, not with clarity, but full-intention,
Slide words, like low lying fog, catching
On the page to travel, ephemeral to readers
Unknown, without rules, to spark imagination
And perhaps engage creativity, so my disappearing
With the vital verbal storm is matched within
The one who pages reads, and captures
The essence of whoever I am, or whoever is me.

Categorically I am uncertain, my life a mess, abnormal,
But there is the thing, undeniable, I, on Mother Goose,
And the right King James Bible raised, became at
A ripe early age, a poet, and have all my days
Chased after what is afar beyond this ordinary hour.
The tempest cannot derail my longing for the words
Of love and perfect yearning, clinging in the sparks
Electric that light up fragile shadowed gray spaces,
Bringing life, cherished faces, thoughts enthused,
Unruly, set free from prison to in freedom roam,
And give, oh now, give silence, nothingness, a pristine home.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Remember, we, literary creatures, poets, all features, are subject to interpretation, not always realistically rendered, and partial to artifice. There is truth, then there is life. I will not insult your intelligence with meaning, because if I said I knew, I would be deceiving. The words flew, I caught a few. Now, you have them, do as you will do.