Haphazardly Alone

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I felt this topic applicable and have not posted from my journal recently, so I shared this. While doing my Creativity Project on Chronicles, I entered a handwritten piece almost daily.

I have been having difficulty with handwriting for a while. I recently discovered my vision impacted that because, on a whim, I picked up a set of reading glasses. I wear contacts that are an adequate adjustment, but close work like writing demands a bit more.

Being a bit perfectionistic, I hate to bring anything not up to my standard here.

Prompt: Do something unusual in your creative practice; share it if you dare.

Gratitude:

One of my most challenging times of year ends within the next few days, Easter being the culmination of it, and I made it through without a major meltdown.
Back on track with handwriting.
I cooked from scratch the other night, and it was not all bad.
Having a dishwasher.
Running water.

Sometimes I wonder why I continue with this, but it is my practice. If I were not doing the Creativity Project, I would not work as hard to produce something viable every day. If you would like to follow the site, see the sidebar for three methods. Communication from you as a reader gives me some clue whether or not I am engaging you in a manner that pleases you.

I hope all of you who celebrate Easter have a blessed one. To those following other paths, may you find hope, joy, and peace in your daily realm.

Emerge, To Be

A saber struck through
My heart, failing to understand –
Why I am here, and they are gone.
Tears cut furrows down my cheeks
My sobs the neighbors, awake.

Each one a star of heaven’s sky –
What IS this? Who AM I?
Others say, “It’s not your time!”
But why theirs, if not mine?

My soul quakes, aches, to call
Them all, bring them back
Their parts to play, the stage
Devastated with their absence,
The curtains fallen, crimson glory.

I could name them, one by one,
Those precious, who are gone
Through actions, they cannot unmake,
We cannot restore them, taken
By the working of their hands.

Please, please understand
No matter what you have done,
Been, seen, experienced –
There is still enough, still love,
Still more, friendship, joy in store,
You belong; you are pricelessly dear.

Reach out, find someone, let them
Be a heart to catch you, help you.
Reach, keep on until you find one
Who shows you there is meaning
And a hungry need for you to be.

Life without you is less shiny,
It is incomplete; your smile
Fulfills someone’s need, you are
A blessing indeed, and there exists
A purpose suited to your unique identity.
I know the battle is exhausting
But let us not give up; I am counting
On you to recognize life as a gift;
Stay, continue fighting, together
Everyone can make it.

© 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

Whilst

I am neither
Convinced it exists,
Nor certain it does not.
It is perhaps something
Like the proverbial cat
Who may escape
Judgment until
By a concerned party
Observed;
But life, generally,
Is not in strictest sense
Measurable.

There obtain multitudes
Of variables of which
All cannot be ignored.
A mind may
Ascend or descend
According
To the temperments
Of the heart which
Is in best of times
Begged askance for
Tendency
To ride the fickle whims
Of ungovernable passion.

All, blind and unknowing,
Believing liberty abounds
While charmed by aspects
Of affinity only illumined
By creativity, which we
Purport to control,
But, reality,
If it be,
Assaults us with falsity.
The cat upon the sill
Cries
Its soul, besieged,
By want to
Exercise
A given instinct.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan