Again Then

Time does not come
Tied-up
In pretty ribbons
Red and Blue,
More evidently
Purple –
Green of a stubborn
Bruise,
An ebony night, or
Sun bright raging
Thirsty day
When
That is, the harrowing
Cold is
Out of season.

Prizes
Are rare and never
Given for participation,
No,
Those gains only come
With blood, sweat, pain –
Paid
Perhaps by generations
Who strive to keep
Love, faith, effort alive;
Tears,
Prayers over many years
Are not just present,
The future
Is also their target;

Entreating God
His mercy, grace to
Unleash
That survivors remain
Christ’s love to proclaim –
Overcoming
Overwhelming dangers, trials,
Through the continual
Outworking of individual salvation.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Unnoticeable

Some people mention
Elephants in these rooms –
I do not see even one,
Though there was a platypus, once.
No, there are pastel pink
Balloons, buoyant,
Perhaps lifted by the warmth
Of fat jar candles burning – fiercely
casting shadows and reflection.
The mirrors hardly notice
Any of this as each ponders
A presentation less often seen
than, the naked boardroom
Dreams spreading shock and awe
Into the adrenaline wakefulness
Where fear drowns pregnant
with crystal-shattering screams.
An open window vacuums
The bubblegum balloons toward
What near, the beyond, outdoors holds;
Pedestrians pause to take in
Doves serenading in the park.
Maybe an egret at the lake
would like the elephants
I have not seen on extraordinary
Days that pass yodeling about
A damsel once viewed, just a face,
in transit
Imaged in a cotton candy balloon.
Ah, but how all float away –
The past into centuries, the present
heading by, behind with the wind,
tomorrow a vision maintaining itself
Just a little forward, never to be caught;
and the cherry pop balloons
Go to where it is unknown, exist or burst,
Once they were and how they did rise.
My room is lonely now
And I surmise, alone is mine –
Dancing with balloons was and is
Another moment, given time.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Meaning

The definition
Of ourselves is uncontained
Though we trip over
Who we believe ourselves to
Be on ordinary days.

If we could see who
We are beyond the mirrors
The definition
Of our beloved desires
Might become fit for ourselves.

We may know our worth
Only told in lightning flashes
Suspended briefly
The definition above
Our limits of faith, knowledge.

Cool, cool, the water
We bathe over minds aflame
Trying to search out
A purpose, reason, needed
To give life definition.

Over a lifetime
We may find God, the Living
Definition, all
Understanding given us
Proving life miraculous.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

In this poem I made each stanza in the form of a tanka. If you notice I like to do this often.

As a prompt, use a form or pattern to create a work. Adapt whatever you choose to your use.

Twixt

What comes before,
What goes behind,
Precious moments
Out of time.
Where all we were,
Are, and will be,
Becomes the outwork
Of beloved dreams.
Nothing is as
It seems,
Except love which
Carries us between.
No time, other,
Bears such affinity
As the present given
To fill with living.
We, the blessed, are –
Love sharing life
In the material world,
Adding reason to why.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Leaving Traces

When running, go ever lightly
Though rapid as a cheetah hunting –
Not tracking nose down, like hounds,
See the earth rising with each lunge
Catch the vision, scene in
An opportunity of words supposed
Bright foils that scrimmage
When captured upon an open page.

State the business though
Monkeyed it might be, sing it
If it is harmony – carrying peace
Like lovely masses where
Every syllable shines a precious gem
Reflections lifting sorrow, erasing
Care from souls doubting life
Can be borrowed for tomorrow.

Cupping hands for freshwater
To cool the parchment of thirst
Brought on by racing to make
This day savory, trusting
An exhausted body to rebound
Outlining a future of remarkable
Service with little decrepitude.

Lightly, overcoming the weight
Bowing shoulders, fast, losing hope;
Bringing victorious kindness forth
Presenting before the Spirit of Love
Forwarding any praise essential;
Though perhaps not winning first
God attends every soul careering on.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan