Return

I thought there were angels!
Every polished tile floor, numbered,
Held more, patient there, watching
Over me, who had been far gone,
Someone, I think I knew, called me,
“Come back; there’s no time to leave,
Yet,” I was sent unwilling, not of my
Volition. Pain, it was all too much,
Nothing was left I wanted – touch.
Reality was a terror-filled dream,
Oh, so, awful – rigid deadly thing.

Waking, on pristine white sheets,
Hooked-up, white walls even in
The reflection of a light slice bounced,
Through the half-open windowed door,
Pulling loose, crumply legs – shaken,
Securing myself, balanced over feet.
Thousands, whispers, voices
In the air, surrounding everywhere,
Steps slow to the door, an angel
There waiting, noticing me, “Do you
Hear something?” Tones, soft, deep.
My eyes searching, not seeing as I turn,
This, that way, some trick, the sound,
“Yes, I hear speaking, yelling, but they
Are not here, present, anywhere.”
The angel with a half-smile, “It’s okay,
You’ve come back. You’ll be safe.
Settle, stay.” I thought, ‘Not an angel
After all, cause my life, more often,
Disaster loves than ordinary days.’

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I tried to write about waking up in the hospital after days; they say I nearly died or could have stayed comatose. Instead, I got a chorus, and I have learned to live somehow in and out of time.

Cry It Over

Forgive me the moments
When I become lost beneath
Feelings which cut all
Reasoning off, I retrieve
Myself with tears, singing, prayer,
The revelations
That cast out paranoia, fear;
I hope you avoid
All those “cracks in the fabric,”
But you know my thoughts wander;
Happiness, standing
In the storms of desperation,
But crying to sing
Praises, although the brokeness
Will never leave, disappear.
I learn, learn again,
That life is overpowering –
Sometimes hearts bleed out,
I apply pressure, bandages,
Hoping God will fill the lack;
I do not own my
Faith, Jesus is love for everyone,
But He maybe loves me so,
Stops my hand when I come undone,
It is not a pretty story, fighting crazy –
Is hard luck, but there must be
Some purpose, for here I remain.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I cannot describe for you all there is in what troubles me at times. Once in awhile I attempt to put Schizoaffective Disorder into words. I am not good at it. Recently times are very trying, though there is the mania too. Maybe it does not matter to others. I do not know. I just write what I am given when I am given to know.

As a prompt, you might create something about a challenge you face. It could be a food allergy, a learning impairment, a thing you must conquer, anything really. The thing with this is to open yourself to see the strength in your weakness, and possibly gain courage from sharing.

It seems to me, we all need to be real. If we want to come closer to peace we have to understand who we are. Weaknesses and faults are part of that, being transparent.

Specs

When we choose to create, whole universes rise to meet our inclination, which can, on occasion, be intimidating. What we know about process, creation, may not lend itself at the moment to production. Time may swirl its vaporous fogs around us. We may need to filter the nectar from the dew.

A useful tool for creative sessions we find in music. Often, we have many favorites and find it fortuitous to add artists to our listening consistently. There are numerous choices in ways to find and enjoy music these days. Every taste meets ample representation.

An exercise one might do, is to take a song well enjoyed, enter it, imbibe its mood, let the lyrics move the spirit; then write, paint, create something original from what one finds in the experience. Music is heart and soul; it is a gift always filling lives.

Equally, photos can be a catalyst for inspiration. Looking through photos offers a bevy of ideas. Personal and family photos, magazines, Instagram, and other online services should serve well enough. Create as whim and wish may direct.

Random words found in various places can be material to seed many works. Dictionaries, quotations, thesauri, signs will work, or pick some out of the air.

There is never a dearth of creativity; it infuses every portion of reality and imagination. The trick is to harness it and make with it some beauty to honor who we are in the world. At times like these, love is sorely needed and can be delivered expertly through our creations.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Happens

I thought I knew the music
I believed my soul caught fire
I knew love was meant forever
I sought to chase my many dreams,
But when suddenly you kissed me
I realized I was dreadfully mistaken
You were the love in my life missing,
So I became who you wanted
To reach the heaven of everything.

Still, trying, I could not capture
The deep, whole, central heart of you
Though you held me in your hand,
Nothing, not one thing, made you mine;
All I gave you set to the flame
My life burned for your attention,
But every treasure you failed to mention
There were swarms of others who
Caught your fancy, charmed your eyes,
I finally, late, realized I was wasting
My time trying to convince you to see
I was, and had, the love you needed,
I let you go – walked out – set you free;
Sometime later, you reached for me,
But all forsaken, I had taken hope
In hand and found another wanting me.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan