Short Riff

God help me, I’m broken –
Again I wanted, but found,
My presence was bound
To things which I wished
Less remembered, oft-forgotten.

_____________________________________

You will not recall
What happened on such a day;
Rain gets in the way.

_____________________________________

No one understands
Walking these many long miles
When pain arises.

_____________________________________

The library is
Spurned, all books now there returned;
Hands for paper yearn.

______________________________________

The number hidden
In our soul, how long we have –
So, love we must share,
Mete out kind encouragement,
And needful inspiration.

______________________________________

I have a longer piece in my journal which goes beyond the first bit. Unlikely, it, the public shall see. I hide, to save the heart of being me.

If you have not read the Fantasy & Science Fiction Magazine lately, you should check it out. Relentless by Dean Koontz which came out some years ago is also worth reading.

One day I will return to reviewing books I have read this year. This list grows long.

As a prompt: Use these words in your composition – concert, guitar, mug, closed window, ghost, fairing, shower, ultimately, lake, tetradactyl.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I am thankful, sometimes when it all falls apart, God puts it back together better.

Sweet Surprise

I returned an item to my Sister-in-Law, Linda, this afternoon. We had some pleasant conversation. I was happy to visit.

Then she said this is a birthday/Christmas present, and gave me these lovely things. I was surprised and joyful. I mean, WOW! I cannot wait to finish my current journal, though sadly, it will be a while.

We talked about church, and I said I was not going. She invited me to come to her church, which was my church before, and that may happen.

I need more personal interaction. I have very nearly become a hermit.

Anyway, beautiful things given to me by a very dear person.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Moms

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

To every woman who has borne a child, to those who have offered hearts of love to children in need of tenderness, you have my undying gratitude and respect. More than anything else, those who nurture children are heroines of the super denomination. God bless every one.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Life Intrudes

Haphazard Creative has always been a place to share creativity. I have not made much of my life issues here. I am going to now.

I am having a hard time dealing with things. I had a medication change at my last appointment. My doctor and I discussed escalating symptoms.

Since I lost my Mom, it has been increasingly difficult for me to believe I have a purpose. Being alone is not ideal, then going out is hard because I tend to isolate myself. I have trust issues exacerbated by paranoia.

My insecurity and self-censure grow. I am trying to continue a creative practice, but it is steadily more difficult. Dealing with Schizo-Affective Disorder has never been easy, but before, I had family support with me. I could reality check when I needed it. I believe it is why I have thus far survived.

I am trying to get a daytime schedule in the midst of all this, and it is complicating matters. I am typically a night owl.

I have several pain issues too.

Please be patient as I try to get through everything that is taxing me. I am going to attempt continuation, but tonight I feel like creativity is a bit luxurious. I need to survive; living is another level.

Elements may all
Come together to grant dreams
But it sometimes seems
That everything conspires to
Slow progress on every track.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Sunday

It was Sunday again. She knew not because she could follow days, but because after feeding the chickens, Auntie insisted she take a bath.

It was a new thing, bathing herself alone; she was only a small girl.

Life was different now. Her Mama had gone away to someplace far, called Florida. Daddy said she would never be back.

Auntie had come to live in the little house because she was a widow- woman, alone. Sometimes she seemed strange with her black clothes and strict rules. She knew things like no one else did. People sent for her when someone was sick, or babies came, or people left this living.

She was mean at times, telling the little girl, “If you don’t behave, your Mama woman will come and take you away from here, and you will see your Daddy no more.” Tears and sobs would torment Hope because she loved her Daddy and Bubba more than all the things, including her one baby doll. She had night terrors of being snatched by the bad woman and taken away.

After she bathed in the tub of cold well water, Auntie pushed her dress, underwear, and shoes into her arms. She was careful in putting them on just right because Auntie was handy with a switch.

Soon Daddy, dressed in black, except his white shirt and the gray tie he wore, said it was time to begin the long walk to the church. It was dry now, so the road threw up little spurts of red dust as they strode along.

When they reached the bridge over the creek, Hope cried and wrapped herself, best she could around her Daddy’s legs; he could keep her safe from the harm of falling or being taken away.

Daddy reached down and effortlessly took her in his arms. Since the child could walk, she had been terribly afraid of falling through the cracks in the bridge. Now it was compounded by nightmares and his sister’s stories her mother might step out of the woods and steal her.

Auntie screeched, “You should put that child down and make her walk. You are spoiling her. She will turn out to be no good at all.”

Daddy looked at her, saying, “But she is only three, and she needs to learn love is a safe place, a safe person, she can trust when she is frightened. Hush up now; you are not the one supporting her weight. She is my precious Hope; she has lost a lot, it is okay that I carry her. Mind yourself, don’t be so cold-hearted.”

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I rarely tell stories, this one is based on reality. The little girl is my Mom.