Trying The Drabble

Time is fundamental. It may be said, “Time governs the world, and especially the fortunes of humankind.”

However, time is a radical thing, capricious and mutable. It might propose futures bright and pleasurable but may deliver obstacles multifariously.

When Allen sat down on the floor of the house he had lived in for three years, he tried to sort out the confusion that plagued him. The moments sped as tears fell. The future, always held within his command, now came undone and became unknown. Depression took a shot at his psyche. Time, he knew, could be made, melded, or overcome.


A drabble is a story of 100 words. The above text is my first try. Generally, my stories are more verbose. Probably, I should take this further, but maybe or not. I have been reading short stories to acquaint myself with the form better.

As a prompt, write a drabble. If you like, toss me a link, and I will check it out.

Thank you for visiting Haphazard Creative, there is a follow button, or I hope you will come read in the future. Comments are always welcome, and participation is a boon.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Dribbles

If you want to change
Your life you may rearrange
The furnishings of
Your placement, occupation,
Moving across the nation.


Tadpoles in water live,
Sprouting legs to become frogs,
Taking to land, air;
We form environments for
Our growth and satisfaction.


Music collides with
Feelings making everyone
Obtain happiness.


I held a droplet
In my hand to understand,
The lives of humans.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Empower

Open the doors, gates,
Let love be the preeminent state.
Know the beauty, find the grace,
Turn all of life into a pleasant space.
Let go of the fear and pain,
Nothing long remains the same.
Hearts beating a tempo new
Where negativity once grew.
Love the utmost power –
Proven, upon others, hour by hour.
No claims made without due consideration,
Can elevate – unless love is in the deliberation.
Each moment a precious gift
Reviving spirits, souls acquiring lift.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Deep Notes

Death is a vigil
Kept leaning over every
Moment, a salient shadow
Stealing who is, who might be.
Life is the energy, activity,
Driving, growing, making,
Unfolding all treasure
Of experience and being.
Love is the music
Arising in the souls ready
To dance the hopeful steps
Of long-awaited romance.
Hands held, kisses longing,
Filling, gentle remembering,
Holding the tenderness
Of memories keenly made.
Take advantage of the times –
For they swiftly disappear,
The aching pain of absence,
What is lost and cannot
Be at any cost retrieved,
Over the passage
Evaporated years, opportunities
Missed, turned aside in life;
Finally, it sears the heart.
Grief is a cruel thief.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

The way this evolved was unique. I was reading a short story in which a character was sitting at a dying relative’s bedside. The line, “Grief is a thief,” came to me. It resonated with me. So the poem began with death and worked round and about to the line with which I ended.

I did a small portion of it in my journal. I left for several hours and came home to type it in. As often happens, much of it changed in the process. I hope you enjoyed it, even with the darker notes.

Thank you for visiting Haphazard Creative; please follow the site, or return often.

At this point, I am considering whether to continue my vow to post every day into 2021. Some days I am quite mystified over what I will write. 2020 has been very productive. There was even a month I posted 75 times. This is not my first engagement of this sort. If you visit my Chronicles site, you will see what I mean.

As a prompt, I challenge you to evaluate your creative life and see if posting every day of 2021 might move you to be more productive. If not every day, more than you currently do, would be an improvement.

Touch/Go

The fuel rigidly resists
Not responding to flame
Even when applied over again,
Fire cannot burn without catching;
Warmth smothered in neglect.
All can be very urgent,
But set aside without tending –
Heavy darkness grows, overflows;
Stumbling steps have little traction,
Losing what grew, attraction.
Continuing deep in attrition
Burning snuffed – ends the mission –
Nothing left but blown-out matches.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan