Literary Games

I became a reader and writer simultaneously at age three. I quickly began to employ color and text and illustration together. I found in poetry a heart like unto my own and have written it continuously. I guess my hope to be a publisher was born on my mother’s knees or perhaps in the floorboard of the Buick with the dash lighting shining down on my pages.

The dreams persist.

Reading is my favorite form of entertainment, with my rarely watching television. I usually steer away from series, but I have been drawn into a few lately. The idea is commendable, but the execution leaves much to be desired. I am one who becomes immersed in a book or books. It is most disappointing to be prepared for the continuation of a tale and find that it will be a year before you can learn the rest of the story. Not an easy acceptance for a poet who must complete a whole composition in the space of a page or a bit more.

Sometimes I will circumvent the imposition by waiting until all the volumes are complete to read them, but with current works, that is hardly possible. I lately did this with Tolkien’s masterpieces again. Someday I will open the shrink-wrap and dive into Stephen King’s Dark Tower series, I suppose. I begin to wonder about it because I have had those books over a decade. There is also The Game of Thrones, which I have in series and read two volumes from the library, but have yet to break the shrink-wrap on the collector’s edition.

Bibliophiles can be characters. My family tries to encourage me to dispense with some of my literary collection, and I blatantly refuse. I find my books are comforting, and the possibilities they contain, make me feel life is still an adventure. The missives from other minds are great consolation when the world becomes difficult.

I should think with fifty-four years at the vocation, I would have some idea of how to relate to readers, but I often wonder that others must be so unlike myself. Even so, I continue. I write every day and read a wide variety. I have thought l should make some provision to get out into the world and find some worthy subjects for photographic composition. I tend to be dull and remain close to home, which may not be the worst thing with a worldwide pandemic. My dogs and I are company and family.

The Vine Witch and The Glamourist by Luanne G. Smith have me wishing The Conjurer was not to be released next year. The Library of the Unwritten by A. J. Hackwith is another I am considering following up.

I wonder, those of you who are readers, what do you like? Are you a series person? Writers, have you been at the craft for years, or are you new with beginner mind?

World symmetry
Captured in quaint syllables,
An eagle on wing.

***************

Sheltering in place
The world no more freedom’s space,
Dreams are not contained.

***************

I see you, a smile,
Broad as day, deeper than night,
Come join in delight.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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