Edges Off { Haiku }

We have only this
To spur us onward, great love,
Plus, beneath us, dust.


A heart gains passion,
For what exists eternal,
Beyond its knowledge.


Light up the moment
With incandescent joy, love,
A fire set above.


All my needs I bring
To Jesus Christ, my sovereign King
Who rules all present.


Sometimes one laughs like
Tears never existed, though
The trails track one’s face.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Prompt: Above are haiku, follow the rule of syllables 5 – 7 – 5 in your lines and write some too.

A Voice, Recalling

When we lose someone, we lose a world. Like pulled dandelions, what we shared no longer grows, and memories begin their inexorable progression toward erasure.

Loss is not a welcome thing, but the world relies on change to bring new worth. We are only brief figments here on earth.

I remember playing with the cigar box full of marbles as a child. They were of different sizes, colors, like jewels to me. I made them families, heroes, nobles, gave them ages, dispositions, names. One would sit in the hole on the clipboard’s clip and tell the others what to do. Each globe would, in the different voices I contrived and assigned, live life in child-time.

When my son was small, I got him Weebles with their cute rounded bodies and affable faces. It occurs to me today why I preferred Weebles to the other brand: the marbles influenced me.

What life deposits in our hands, heads, hearts, pockets, shoes, we may not recognize until some complexity pulls it into mind. The sea awash within a brain is a many furrowed swell; the trenches have their heads and tales to tell.

I am not fond of goodbyes. Usually, it is me who must go away, and life goes on ever else. Death, though, is another story. All that is left to hold are anecdotes, pictures, memories we wrote. The pain is like a hammer to the brain, the million shards left of the heart; together, these foist into life oceans of tears. Even as the years go by, there are days when all fails, but the sobs that will not stop.

I would go back to the marbles if I could, but they left my inventory’s grasp somewhere in the years. Like so much along the way, I only have recollections of what I believe was yesterday. Without artifacts, there are questions, questions arresting and bold.

Today is, we can
Maybe, make a memory
Shining beautiful,
So the mind will forever
Keep it safely untarnished.

Reading books can be a treasure of inspiration.

As a prompt, take something you are reading, pick a phrase, let it marinate in your consciousness. Then write until your soul exhausts the subject, at least for a time.

Gratitude List

I am thankful:

I am here; there were many near misses.
I still learn and am teachable.
Technology astounds, confounds, and fascinates me.
Color adds so much to our lives.
Electricity keeps the world going on.

If we all work together separately, we can bring the world into a state of art. Creativity is a portion of love.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

When And Ever

The relationship with
Time is unreliable,
Past invades present
Without an invitation
Giving no hint or warning.
Although sometimes things
Crop up like pleasant hauntings,
Others much darker.
Living in the stream wavers,
Unfolds personality.
Thoughts flinch in passing –
Some neglected on arrival,
Superstitious fear,
If held, could these manifest?
Clear concentration, be blest.
Treasures run away
Appear again in vision,
Maybe now gain, claim,
The mystery retains charm
What comes, comes, as it will, still.
The search, clarity,
Love is the treasure, fullest
Measure of life lived
Whether past, present, future,
All is in sharing, caring.
Time unravels
Pieces everywhere, chasing
Forever in fog
Blindfolded except when free
Accorded chances to see.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Prompt: Expound on your relationship with time.

Murderous?

Why step on the bug,
Out here on the sidewalk paved
With the intention
Of leading us place to place –
No obstacles in our way?

The bug is minute,
It barely forces a step
Aside the margin
Leaving the path to follow –
If we are daring enough.

Why is the bug here?
Is the memory hidden,
Of the fear once known,
When the world was wilderness –
With doubt explored, overcome?

How are we now grown,
That the innocent insect
Raises our instinct
To kill, destroy, and conquer –
When victorious – we are?

Found superior,
How are we very challenged
By creatures beyond
Our overwhelming control –
Are we from nature estranged?

The bug is wonder –
For it continues, exists,
Outside reckoning
To eliminate its life –
Clinging loosely, it persists.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Prompt: Reach for a subject that touches you differently.