Fall Out

I avoid going out
Because it makes me
Uneasy,
But medical needs
Become primary,
Today knee shots,
Last four of a series
Of twelve, shorts, tee.
The need for things
Drove me to Sam’s Club,
It was CRAZY!
No paper goods at all
And lines worse than
During the holidays.
I kept not touching
My face with my hands,
But the wrist for hair
In my eyes, irritant.
At Kroger I made
Some lady mad,
I did not know why.
Got out of there
Quick time,
The place was a mess.
The disorder in both
Stores was disorienting.
Mailed a letter at the P.O.
In the drop.
Decided to have
Haircut,
Sanity was a factor.
The librarians asked
Where my bag was,
I have not been in
Months.
I stocked up on
Books,
You know, in case
Of apocalypse.
The fear out there
Was palpable,
The desperation
Was frightening,
The majority
Of people were
On the edge of control.
I stay home a lot,
Right now,
I think the pandemic
Has me working
On being home
Even
More than usual.
It was peculiar
How the tension
Seemed near to
Boiling to the
Surface.
It had no sense
Of understanding
It breathed meanness.
I was even more pleased
To return home than
Usual.
I do not have a fully
Developed idea of how
This may go, but
You all that are
Out there every day
I am praying you
Stay safe.
The panic of a pandemic,
It seems well underway.

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This was after the haircut.

Pardon me for writing about this today. It has been difficult settling and much on my mind. I am hoping others do not experience it as I did. I think I am set for a bit here.

The weather was beautiful today, which was a grace.

Maybe I will be back with something, or perhaps I will just settle myself. This has caused me much concern. I do not like to see the world fall into disarray.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

It’s Alright

You don’t have to hide
You are not called to carry
It all alone deep inside;
The fear, the struggle, the hurt,
It is okay to break the silence.
There are places of safety
Some people care tremendously,
Even when you feel broken
Mending can happen, scars
Can stop festering and heal.
It is hard to tell the story
Of what you have become,
But to find your freedom
To secure your peace, you
Need to share what is real.
Others can wipe your tears
They can hold your hands
Hugs can give security to wail,
Then you may find the strength
To go on, prevail, and flourish.
You can be surrounded by
Support, understanding, and
Love enough to lift you up
Helping you realize, even when
You are weak, it’s alright.

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Attempt At Why

Where the words come from
The space that births each piece
Hallowed heart healed soul
Running warm as bold passion,
Cold uncovered Winter lands
The catch of a cough, hard,
Smooth tones of a close melody
Sung by a Spring roused dove,
Careful magic, Handwritten,
Secrets all given nearly away.
Yet, few discern how, what,
Is seen through such window,
As the aquamarine and white
Delicate lace curtains breezing,
Pull revealingly, appealingly
Aside, for puzzlement dominates,
But a writer may invite
With effort, join the reader
Such that minds meet, release
Lofty innovations, wild free thoughts,
So essence transmits, is caught.
However, the life of words
Is tied to a far foreign shore
Where there are difficulties
With innocence of travel
In the trouble of this technical
Ridden, cynically inclined time.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Creativity, Due Activity

I have to think that paradise exists because there must be something to counter this absolute.

I remember I was a tyke, my cousin (adult) who visited saw me writing. Colored pencils on pieces of notebook paper I cut down to fit my lines. This before school years, he looked, saw I was writing positive ideas, I was happiness. He asked me if he could take those words, lines, kid musings, and publish them to help others. I said yes, then asked if I would get my name or money, acquisitive child. He said I would help make the world a better place. I wonder, sometimes ponder. The expectation became, an maybe always was, do good, be love, help.

I have been part of publishing almost my whole life, not that it paid the bills, but that does not always motivate me. I have read so widely, owning an ark of books, and we do not talk about my Kindle library. Libraries have been my oasis, to the point I was there more often than anywhere but home. The magazines I read were a smorgasbord. This still tends to be the case.

I was told by a near/dear I was too stupid to use a computer, but I bought one at earliest opportunity. I had already exp!ored a Tandy and Atari and had a Pong. My KLH from Sam’s Club was decided after checking Apple in 1991, and that one was soon turned over to my tyke, who was an inquisitive three. I acquired a scanner, cameras, Wacom tablet, more computers, Photoshop, Corel, Office, Pagemaker, and with a little work, a stable of contributors for a digest-sized desktop published magazine. I sent contributor copies worldwide, but the money, like often, was not there.

At the time, were I not me, I probably could have made the deficit up with advertising. I believe rapacious advertising is responsible for many ills of our society. The mental health of many citizens is negatively impacted by the expectations raised and then left unmet because economics prevent people from attaining their inflated desires.

My hopes run toward society recovering its interest in the well-being of citizens, not the unreasonable profits of mega-corporations. Devising restraints on tantalizing over-intrusive advertising would positively affect this goal. I am a single voice, I restrict.advertising’s access to my attention through active cultivation of selected media. I have done this since teen years. My concern is our littlest ones and those who are losing themselves to ad-fueled despondency.

Love is the worthy aim for all who care for life. Personal interaction, attention to those closest to us, recognizing the devastating lure of things beyond possibility, and stepping up when help becomes necessary, these are love’s calling.

Paradise, they would let you think you can buy it. I hope you know; it is not for sale.

I am a dreamer, a lover, a soul adrift; I live the creative life as best I can, a poet who believes. Some call me crazy… But I still have a lovely mind. TMI. Well…

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Stop, Do Stop!

A hole wide open
Met inside experience,
A phone call today,
Ignored again, it remains
A worry of mind, all mine.
Will it never cease?
Calling, calling, no answer,
It will not become;
Forcing is no way with me,
I quit, will not engage, talk.
Months, and still pursued –
Why? There is no one, nothing
Here, to cling onto,
My properties, forsaken –
My attributes, verboten.
I erected boundaries
For all the best of reasons,
No coward am I, but fear
It has become acid inside.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I have two phone stalkers who will not desist. Many months have passed, it continues. Forgive me, I need to let my fear vent.