Bespelling

2020.07.02 Thoughtful Stone resize

Poetry is magic,
Words hold creativity
Encompass the world,
But unraveled, unrehearsed,
Unreleased, unwrit, unborn,
The cold can still those hearts
Where verses dying unmade
Cannot warm the souls
To compose again, after
Silence eats every refrain.
Yet, hear warm whispers
Of nibs laying ink on pages,
These mighty mind tricks
Raw ignorance cannot stop,
For words, contain love’s power.
Generation lights
Bright flames to begin new works
Capturing passions
Igniting tenderest needs
Preparing words to be read.

What will you say today to change your existence, life, the world? Do you recognize how magical speech and writing are? Make use of your abilities and create something of significant wordliness. You are endowed with power and love.

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A Tanka

The morning turns its
Golden face upon us all
The One – human race,
Settled here in warmth and light
Under perpetual care.

Tanka is a fun and simple form, a five-line syllabic with counts: 5 – 7 – 5 – 7 – 7. I enjoy them a great deal and suggest if you have not, that you try your hand at creation, Traditionally, they are about nature, but I am not married to that aspect. I often string them together as stanzas in longer poems.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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2020.07.01 Sinbad resized

America, oh America

Step lively all you
Support our brave America
Come forward and stand
For love of every people
Let not your heart turn aside.
Trouble is brewing
Strife is almost everywhere
Something we must do
However, you are leaning
To your convictions, be true.
Vote! Let us not fail,
For the love of our country,
Make sure your ballot
Is cast surely as best you
See fit, further freedom’s ring.

Will you, dear reader, do
What you should needfully do?

Foundling

The destination
Never was physical space;
Place is simple, time’s
Variable unknowable
Where existence is or not.

Hidden deep within
The drowning dark pleasure,
Breath, a sigh again;
Fear accursed pushed away,
Courage forced reality.

Soul dispersed, tangled
In webs suddenly affixed,
Loosely captured bound,
Silken syllables spoken
Whispers increasing repeat.

Hope born in hours
Without counting, unminded,
Where brokenness can
Never mend, but somehow less
Becomes if given peace, love.

2020.06.26 Cones edit

Fashion

It is life, mundane,
Being fitted over her,
Like she is the shine
When truth must concede that we
Are the main attraction, stars.
The color of life
We share it in helping style,
The jeans, shorts, shirts,
We present her to the world,
Charming, disarming, oui, oui.
A dress, dressing up
What they compliment, extreme,
We clothes do perform
With the boldest statements, grace,
Then cast aside, shame her pride.
When she dotes, and preens,
It is the magic we bring
How fashion delights,
No figure, no notice, is
Such we lack miracle dreams.

I am doing laundry and laundry. I tried a persona poem. After fighting with tangles, I needed to say something.