Rise Up

Inspiration Comes

It was a tearful day, like any number of other days. The losses weighed, and regret played, but somehow, something, somewhere, changed. It was as if a door opened, and a bit of hope took root in a heart for whom so many dreams had become moot.

The rescue climbed up, licked away a speckling of tears, and gave a look that conveyed, ‘You saved me; it is why I am here, and for that, I give you what comfort exists in me.’

There was a miracle wrapped in the space between those two, born of Love, fragile but true.

Whenever, wherever compassionate, kind, passionate hearts, even across species, or perhaps especially so, meet, Love is fully unleashed, and new dreams, music, stories, and worlds grow to bless lives as onward, outward the sweet generosity of spirit, souls goes.

Every time someone, whether human or other living feeling being, reaches across the chasm of indifference and tries to impact life positively, Love can take hold and change the fabric of reality through the miracle of creativity.

A heart broken by missteps, mistakes, trials, and troubles can learn to trust, take a chance and embrace life, Love, and fully live again.

Each of us is to others a blessing, a gift, a magic, a miracle who lives to present an opportunity to become most precious in one another’s lives. We are our helpers, keepers, and inspirations for greater and greater greatness.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Monday, November 7, 2022

Beginning Maybe

A Design for Me

It is yesterday’s news, but you might read it some distant tomorrow, never knowing the when of it all. It fell apart again, but no one knew the signs; they were too busy in their lives of satisfactory rhyme.

The dregs in the pot that provided the coffee could perhaps illuminate, but by then, it was probably too late. Broken hearts litter the ground where discordant words often find their sound.

A whisper of waking to the morning linen gives hope, but the bed contains only one body, insufficient for an incident of joy.

Tomorrow is the predicate of yesterday, but today wends away. Fortune is no lasting friend but slips off with a passing wind. One seldom remembers but never forgets a love vanishing to purchase what survives beyond regret.

Familiar, those bonds forged over a bundle of years breaking down into stifled tears disallowed to tumble from wary eyes. No one left to ensure feeling together thrives.

©Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Friday, October 28, 2022

2022 Creativity Project – Feb. 1

I think I shall be happy to keep to date going forward.

Living Time

It could be Tuesday, though any day would do as well. Francis never thought to specify this time, and it had simply become too dangerous to stay when they were.

He did not often have Morgan with him on such jaunts, but he had invited her to engage in some tourism. Now he was more thoroughly convinced than before that he preferred her safely at home.

In his careful examination, it appeared that this snafu was due to no malfunction or mistake of his own. He cleared his reports, but those revealed that someone, somewhere, somehow, somewhen was purposefully ignoring his longstanding imperative directive on the methods and devices he held total responsibility for creating.

The misuse of proprietary developments was a severe problem. No one else could set the variables straight, and Francis entertained a suspicion even he might fail. It was an unprecedented disaster.

He realized earnest prayer was in order. Action must be taken with haste. It seemed a saboteur was in the machine, actively fooling with time.

Buds Awaiting © Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Tanka
Eagle in full flight
Knowing Earth is bountiful
Stretching forth talons
Spying the many creatures;
We aware power features.

Prompt
I riffed on the thought that it was Tuesday in the depths of night, do something similar and create something. You could pick an object, sound, conversation, whatever catches your imagination.

Gratitude List
I am thankful:
1. I went outside without the dogs and took some photos.
2. Solitude.
3. Powerblocks.
4. Imagination.
5. Creativity.

I am so glad you chose to visit Haphazard Creative. If you will, please click the like button, follow the site, and come back often. I am in my second month of a year-long Creativity Project. Your comments, suggestions, and ideas are warmly welcomed. I do a prompt most days; check them out.

As always, all work on Haphazard Creative and Chronicles is © Jo Ann J. A. Jordan, unless otherwise indicated.

Ready, Go Create

Sometimes creating is hard. Life intervenes, or feelings get in the way. When you find yourself unable to practice your art, here is some encouragement:

  1. Pick up a book, turn to a random page, read the first entire paragraph, create a work inspired by the whole, or just a word. You do not have to relate your creation to the meaning of the paragraph at all.
  2. Think of a place you would like to go, Google it or use Wikipedia. Do some searching; when you find something that intrigues you, create whatever you are inspired to do.
  3. Go somewhere nearby and see it with new eyes, like a stranger. Take your impressions and create from that starter.
  4. Create an ad for an item, band, show, or movie you love. Probably change the names involved.
  5. Give your pet, or one you had, an adventure backstory. If you are a visual artist, create from there.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I hope those give you some ideas. All the best to you always.

Rathadorn’s Bane

It had come to this, finally, and the ending was near. Trenton, Samuel, and Zonal took significant damage and became disarmed. The paladin and cleric began to say prayers to their Maker. The fighter, thinking he lost enough blood, believed himself delusional.

He watched Ellen, the bard, closely. She set her harp and bow aside. Both were useless, nearly unrecognizable; the dragon’s talons had their way. Zonal could not believe or understand what he saw.

Ellen stood only yards from the cruel beast. She had a small black notebook in her left and what must be a ruby pen in her right hand. He could not imagine writing poetry or songs in this dread situation. He had marked the bard as a unique character, but she must recognize the danger to them all. What could she be thinking?

The gigantic dragon shifted its weight upon its priceless bed of treasure, which included golden coins that scattered and clinked. The dragon’s richly furnished hoard was collected over many lifetimes of humanity.

Ellen stood exposed, writing, glancing at the human-killer occasionally, probably checking that it remained relaxed. Zonal guessed she wrote more than one page. He was aware that a bard might be akin to a mage. There was no prior evidence of this in their adventuring.

As she wrote, the notebook covers began to give off an ebon glow, and the pages lit her face with a creamy shine. The dragon growled like nearby thunder and shifted its dinosaur-like head in the bard’s direction.

She made a few additional notations and put the ruby pen in a pocket. She straightened her robes and seemed to stand straighter. Her emerald eyes almost sparked as she entirely focused on the dragon, Raptadorn.

She began to speak in her clear melodious tones:

“I stand before you honored Raptadorn, a bard of lesser renown, Ellen Whitskiene. I have heard your exploits and famous legends of the many humans you have removed from living lands.

Now, if I may but bring your attention to the fact that you grow less ferocious and decline into age. It is not my place to force you, but I think you must agree; it is time you retired into a pleasant secluded place. There no one would disturb your restful peace.

My friends and I shall take command of your hoard of money and rare items, which you may sign over as our reward. We will then refrain from killing you. We will make sure all you leave we competently disburse, so you need to suffer no remorse or lingering regret.”

Zonal could not believe this wisp of a woman was a bard powerful enough to enchant the deadly dragon. He watched Rathadorn as Ellen spoke when he could draw his eyes from her. All during the speech, the beast grew smaller. The creature, reduced in size, had humanoid proportions. Her voice seemed a melody. Zonal could almost remember the tune, but it was the most beautiful ever. He decided incredible magic was in play but was it the book or the words she said?

Where did this notebook and ruby pen originate? He concluded Ellen was no rookie bard. How had she hidden herself and the truth away?

The dragon becomes an aged man with an ivory staff and walks confidently over to Ellen. She retrieved her pen, placed it in Rathadorn’s hand, and held the notebook for his signature. After the elegant script swirled onto the page, she looked into his golden eyes and said, “Go now in peace, Rathadorn, and trouble the world and humankind no more.”

Zonal, Samuel, and Trenton watched as what was once a fearsome and magnificent dragon turned into a pure gold mist then disappeared.

Ellen looked at her companions and said, “Well, we have to rid this place of all the signs of dragon lair and treasure hoard quickly. Our trucks stand by; we have maybe a half-hour before the androids discover what we have done.”

The three look at one another and, in unison, say, “What? What just happened?”

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan