
SUMS


Life is not squeamish
It takes vital fluids, flesh,
All the energy
It can siphon off, away
Leaves one to decay slowly.
Still, souls are stronger,
Meaning lets us stand longer
With belief, hope, dreams,
Love provides our belonging –
Eternity becomes home.
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Sadness – written in
Shades of shadow, black and gray,
No way to escape
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The music plays, songs
To lift weary hearts, giving
Hope enough to live.
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Profuse the lilies
Blooms coloring everything
With smiles, happiness.
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Borrow the chatter
Of the squirrels chasing round
A filled bird feeder,
You might find greater delight
Than sitting alone tonight.
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Someone left the doors –
Wide-open to delight my heart,
Love, smooth, sauntered in.
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
These are my brand of haiku and tanka. I always have fun with counted syllables. Sometimes, the truth will take a chunk out of you when you work with these because being constrained seems to give the mind some ease with content.
Prompt: If you feel inclined, write some haiku and tanka of your own.
Gratitude:
My appointment on Monday went exceptionally well.
I am reading some great books.
I went to Aldi and got some food.
Having my little piece of real estate on the internet.
I keep trying even when I am discouraged.
If you enjoy the content you find here, please give feedback by likes, comments, follows. I appreciate each one more than you know.
Have an excellent downhill slide to the weekend. God bless and keep you always.
Knowledge is, is not
Secure enough for full trust,
Hidden remains, much.
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Strange, strange, and stranger
The games we all join and play
To avoid boredom.
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Finding it again
An unlikely happening
Still, we keep dreaming.
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There exist moments
Of which none possess knowledge
Even those present.
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Where did we find it?
How were we bound around it?
Why does it exist?
Though it guards it jealously –
Perhaps love knows the answer.
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Prompt: I played with Haiku and a Tanka here. Should you wish, do some of your own.
Gratitude:
After days of shortage, I finally slept.
The gift of writing.
The gift of reading.
The presence of my dogs.
The luxury of time alone.
The sword hangs above –
Mantel – put safely away,
But eyes caress it
Palms itch its hilt to hold, grasp
Power the blade promises.
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Right or Wrong, we can
Become who we mean to be
If we follow dreams
Which take us, loving, beyond –
Familiar habitations.
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Writing the wishes
No magic ever renders
For humans are free
Souls crave every destiny,
Love guiding all that will be.
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan
Prompt: Do you tanka?
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