Tiny Tidy Bits

Sadness – written in
Shades of shadow, black and gray,
No way to escape


The music plays, songs
To lift weary hearts, giving
Hope enough to live.


Profuse the lilies
Blooms coloring everything
With smiles, happiness.


Borrow the chatter
Of the squirrels chasing round
A filled bird feeder,
You might find greater delight
Than sitting alone tonight.


Someone left the doors –
Wide-open to delight my heart,
Love, smooth, sauntered in.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

These are my brand of haiku and tanka. I always have fun with counted syllables. Sometimes, the truth will take a chunk out of you when you work with these because being constrained seems to give the mind some ease with content.

Prompt: If you feel inclined, write some haiku and tanka of your own.

My appointment on Monday went exceptionally well.
I am reading some great books.
I went to Aldi and got some food.
Having my little piece of real estate on the internet.
I keep trying even when I am discouraged.

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Have an excellent downhill slide to the weekend. God bless and keep you always.


I do not like my attitude
Because the more sheltered,
Fragile, aloof, undone, I become,
Shunning the very who
“I am” without answers enough
To continue discourse, going on.
The blanks on the form, incomplete,
My chapters – scattered pages,
Ransacked by a masked bandit,
Spouting platitudes, cruel absurdities,
And a following merciless wind.
I puzzle, is there reason to
Gather the shattered parcels
Beginning again, or static flowing,
Starting over from wherever
This desolate evocation may lead?
Exhaustion holds, reigns, a tyrant,
Denying will, energy to
Accomplish anything more than
Lying hidden under a patchwork
Become the basis of my identity.
No, no one wishes to know anything
Less than living aglow with joy,
Shiny, lately seemly, outfitted
In the precious, finest, able
To overcome, become a winner.
No lodging for suffering through,
Toiling to bail what has sunken,
With trouble, misuse, neglect.
Resurrections are only for long ages
Gone, because no one knows how
Love, the price for raising dead
And dying can be suitably applied,
The parts lost once meant
To play victory, wandered far astray.
Today fades within a moment
Into the garlanded past, yesterday.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Counted Syllabics

Knowledge is, is not
Secure enough for full trust,
Hidden remains, much.


Strange, strange, and stranger
The games we all join and play
To avoid boredom.


Finding it again
An unlikely happening
Still, we keep dreaming.


There exist moments
Of which none possess knowledge
Even those present.


Where did we find it?
How were we bound around it?
Why does it exist?
Though it guards it jealously –
Perhaps love knows the answer.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Prompt: I played with Haiku and a Tanka here. Should you wish, do some of your own.

After days of shortage, I finally slept.
The gift of writing.
The gift of reading.
The presence of my dogs.
The luxury of time alone.


Imagined –

Now a photograph –
A view peeking from behind
Where you stand shadowed;
I have reasons to let you
Slip straight through my spread fingers.

Memory –

You never wanted me
Those long days ago, I sought
You like an angel
Who could reroute the trouble
Of my suffering life’s days.

Appearing –

Situations change,
Now reality counsels
There abides too much,
On both sides of the present
Equation, to allow hearts –

Freedom –

Wrapping around dreams
Sunken in oblivion, quelled
As no us exists,
Fare thee well cold treachery,
Your leave no more my regret.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Prompt: Can you wield a poisoned pen?