Borrowed Agency

My friends are precious,
Lifelines who anchor my soul
When storms crowd me in,
They are a great abundance
Of sweet peace borrowed from God.

No accident they
People my existence here,
They are Heaven sent
Provided for my troubles
To usher in blessed good.

They hold me by heart
Banishing the loneliness
Which wants destruction,
Gifting solace they rally
The Spirit, LOVE, within me.

Though some desert me,
There is a growing circle
Of care arising,
Fortresses of gentleness
Who dispense a constant peace.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

The prompt for Prompted Positive Poetry is “Peace.”

Pathway

I know of the world –
Once there was a way through it
I took without care,
But some people stood opposed
To blazing a path of love.

Their arguments were
Convincing enough to remove
My purpose from me,
But only temporarily –
I awoke and recovered.

My voice was not loud,
But passion fed my practice –
I would not give up;
Others joined me on the way
Trying to rescue our planet.

Calling everyone
To love themselves and others
To submit to God
Through Jesus, many people
Needing Christ’s redemptive love.

Poetry gives voice to life
Renewed, freed, revived with love,
Salvation’s testimony.

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© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I wrote this before going to sleep for a little while. The pain I am experiencing seems to be zapping my strength. I do not have Coronavirus, but I am not in the most excellent health. It does not matter, I survive, and during struggle thrive.

Audacious

What I want to say
Does a speedy estimate
Of words I contain
Before deciding it is
Safe to brave so much fresh air.

There is a beauty
In the newly bestowed clear
Space – nothing hurries;
The birds are better at home,
Exhaust is missing rush hour.

I walk breathing deep
Though pollution is absent
Pollen soldiers on
Running my nose, forcing these
Sneezes and coughs troubling me.

A calm filters down
A peace often dearly missed,
Acceptance descends –
A careful celebration,
Renewed clarity, fresh air.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

The prompt today for Prompted Positive Poetry’s Facebook Group was “fresh air.”

Driven to Prosperity

“Live long and prosper,” quoth Spock,
As I sit on a tan imitation leather sofa
Watching a small black & white television
With the minty smoke of Daddy’s KOOL’s
Wafting around me like misty swamp fog.
“Forgive them,” He said, “for they know not…”
My parents bought an air conditioner after
Being told I would die without I had one,
But cigarettes, he did not know, at least maybe.
“Live long and prosper,” quoth Spock,
I wish his Vulcan self could have intervened,
Kept me safe when all my books were scattered
Over the pavement of the street and I was
Knocked entirely off my feet almost daily,
I got a suitcase for the books because damaging
Those hurt me in a way I cannot explain,
But I said nothing to justify the scrapes
Usually, I tried to limit the sight of my body.
“Live long and prosper,” quoth Spock,
His words were encouragement enough to try
Picking myself up repeatedly and pushing hard
To learn, learn, learn, I kept my mind in hiding
It could not be bullied, abused, stopped, turned,
It was a well-tuned engine fueled by possibility
And every particle I gathered and consumed
Made my hunger and thirst grow for something
Further, rarer, richer, deeper, more.
Prosperity only measured by my constant
Cultivation of the thriving garden of knowledge
Gained in a quest, I maintain even to today,
To live long and prosper without cowering again.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Regal

Her battered visage gave evidence she wrestled nearly every one of her days, and all the skirmishes had taken a severe toll. It was unclear the number of future body slams remaining in her slender frame. As she raised her head from focusing on the notebook, she held in her unadorned left hand and gazed at the toddler bouncing toward her with wide open arms and bubbling laughter, all the love her heart contained was apparent in her luminous silver eyes.

Somehow, this willowy woman so chastened by life and its society had managed to contribute material to the making of this child who could grow to be one the world would need and treasure. The future, notoriously reticent, held its tongue, never divulging what it was planning in the intricate pattern it was constructing.

The woman had a secret she rarely revealed, while many no longer recognized the sovereignty of the Lord, she found herself more frequently than ever calling on His grace to extend favor to the darling girl before her. This babe, who was many times over a miracle, had a place, a consequence, a meaning, in the days unfolding like a crumpled, twisted fitted sheet.