Coffee, Poems, Ramblings

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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

 

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…

Hunted/Hunter

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.

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© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Elsewhere

The novel I should be writing, because I have many pages, is titled Otherwise Entertained. Should you have an interest, you can visit, Chronicles, and find most of it. I do not recall the exact locations at this moment, but I think it is mostly in 2012’s NaNoWriMo month, and then scattered about a bit. I was doing my first Creativity Project around then, a whole year and a half.

My novel presents a scene that is elsewhere, and yet, a part of that story at the same time. It is a problem. I know what to write, I just know it will stretch beyond plausibility, and I know the story cannot move without it. Plus, I procrastinate, I am the best at it.

Elsewhere

It is where I go
When the world becomes too hard
For my tired desire,
I wrap myself in mysteries,
Fancy creativity;
Search within for love
Enough to carry me on
Into cruel hard times,
When my mind becomes a pool
All dangerous, dark, obscure.
Impossible now,
Escape an imaginative
Dream, when I am lost
To whoever I may be,
But I come winning again.
Steal me sweet Elsewhere,
Take me wherever then set
Me firm so I can succeed
In this, every reality,
Let Love minister to me,
Healing this wounded soul as
Freedom becomes, Elsewhere, mine.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

By the way, these entries, unless denoted differently, are being written in real-time on the date of appearance. The goal of the Creativity Project is to make things each day, not present pre-created works. Some of the photos are, however, from other times.

As a prompt: What is your elsewhere, where do you find strength? Create something that shows it or what it does.

I am grateful to be done proofing, although I could use more funds. I think tomorrow I may take some time away from here.

All you be careful, create, love, celebrate the pure joy of life. Thank you for visiting Haphazard Creative. I hope you found something that inspired you. Follow the site or come back when you can. God Bless and Keep You, Always, and Forever.

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What I Want To Be…

Do you ever ask yourself who you want to be?
I do, and mostly, I know, but there is confusion
and a need to grow into me, upward, onward,
stronger, further, into maturity. Yes, I know 56
should be grown-up, but there is still some kid in me.
I want to be a publisher whose first client is me,
and take the world by storm, inevitably.
I also want to record some of the songs
I let loose into the air, never writing down,
just enjoying the richness of
creating words and sounds.
I would like to be a Laureate since the Poet
is an undeniable force in me. Dreaming, dreaming,
silly one, all a coward can be
is marginalized and hidden in obscurity.
I could coach someone, but I lack credentials
and have no proven success to make me worthy of faith.
I would like to advocate for the mentally ill,
being a prime example of our competence
when given advantages allowing us to live functionally.
My real purpose is love, accepting everyone, reaching
those who might be overlooked or cast away – showing
even in the worst of times, there is through love
a way to make it into a brighter day.
Some people say God is dead,
they have not seen Him in the love of others.
Jesus cannot reach the world without we allow,
Him to be seen, obviously, in us. I would be one.
Money is not mine, and out of my dungeon,
I may never climb. Still, if I could, what
dreams exist in my heart and mind.

This was paragraphs, still a poem, so I added line breaks. The rhyme that kept creeping in told me I had to take it from prose poem to broken. I see myself being hugely open over the last few days here. It is not really my way, shadows taunt and scare me.

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Okay, your turn, what do YOU want to be? Can you take steps to make it a reality? Dreams do not come true without a plan.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Keystone

When the windows are all closed,
The locks engaged barring doors,
We must find the keys, or remain
Without entrance to our destiny;
Others can lend us assistance
If we give them an opportunity.
Sometimes we see a closed portal
And turn ourselves away
Because searching for the key
Is hard and locations past
Still hold our interest, rooted,
In comfort zones, we know well.
Growth, change, learning,
Are our reasons to exist,
Walking through the doors
Is what we are made to do;
Our creativity is a boon
Even giving us our keys.
Storm the doors, unlock
The windows – allow the freshness
Inside for the secret of happiness
Lies in the brilliance of accomplishment;
We all have potential we fail
To recognize, but we must
Our strengths, passions, realize,
Knowing within us God created
Talent and ability, vision to achieve
A life full, free, loving, given to shine;
We are placed to nurture the world.
Discover the key, make history!

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I know she does not directly relate to the poem. The Wookie is just a part of those gifts that keep me present and moving forward. She does not care for cameras though.

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