Facing Forward

Willing to brave fire
For acquiring more peaceful
Circumstances in
Whatever the future may
Intend to provide for us.

Freezing beneath skies
Bled of almost all color
Hanging a ceiling
Above every detail shown
In those faces, come and gone.

All that fades away
Gives no notice of intent
To leave absence, holes,
In places where reality
Should always remain intact.

Courage does not mean
We are strong, but only shows
We get up, go on
Even when the odds settle
Against us unyielding, real.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Departing – Run

The roses in my
Tomb bloom with little violence
Crimson as innocent blood;
I realize others are
Insecurely fragile as well.
This life
Is living proved
Without consequence beyond
The limit of thought
Within minds much overwrought;
Where love requires vacation.
Once solid shelter from storms
Becomes a tantrum,
Storm, its own, without control
Each issue written larger.
Isolation is
A rock in the cityscape
Sudden harsh breaking,
Force unleashed to destroy all,
But tattered souls in shadow.
Putting together
Strength remains monumental,
For teaching oneself
Swift to walk on, abandon,
When patience begs, continue.
Stately dragon lies
Upon ashes, abject ruin,
Indeed the phoenix will not
Rise because hope has farther
Flown than ever before known,
Death, dying, fear, sadness roost.
Still, the sky above
Declares itself an instrument
Of God’s inception,
A ceiling painted with wonder
Under which humans flourish.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan


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

Willing Walls

Every rock feels like a wall
Weighted on the edges fit
To gloss right over
Enjambment holding words, lines
Together sentenced inside
The poem, river stones
Smoothed yet separated like
Those who secrets keep
Under mounds stacked much
Higher than maybe any desire.

Constant, no buyer
For the passions readily
Acquired under siege
Of rolling onslaught, bolder
Than before romance tendered.

The song, melodious surrender,
Now love, revoke the walls built
On forgotten dreams
Turn to see what such fascination
Means as inspiration – flames –
Creativity, freedom inclination,
No mystery tearing down
Careful barriers
Constructed to prohibit feral
Growth as if nothing is enough.

Love is no stone though
One might throw, causing ripples
On the surface, it seems time
Is only these shared moments,
All other becomes deprivation extreme,
A heart can be open
Or remain as hard as a stone;
The bedrock alone
Challenged with an anomalous difference
Which may be given and shown,
Love is and becomes the soul’s true home.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan