The Dog Is Not…

The dog is not about the rain. Miserable brown oval lakes accuse me of cruelty. For the raindrops fall, she sudden stops, still and quaking, shakes from nose to tail. I am unwilling this walk to take, but duty tethers me. She cannot count the scents for cover of water; slick it leaves her empty. She tucks her tail, turns, trots me to the door. I warn her, in vivid terms, not to make a deposit in the floor, but does it go beyond her flying nun orifices for understanding? I doubt it; stubbornness is her template. She is that dog, glimpsed, my heart forsook reason, had to adopt, immediately. Love names her mine; pain asks me why? The dog is not about the rain.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

I guess this is a prose poem. I do them on occasion. Sometimes breaking lines is an inconvenience.

As a prompt, create something in a form you rarely use.

Bless You!

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan


Old lions steady lope
Aware of things imagined
Unseen in high grass
They seem settled, but their minds
Know by heart, giving them speed,
Rousing understanding
Which youngsters lack.
Time-worn lions carry the weight
Of pride upon broad shoulders
Unwilling to abandon the hunt
Or leave the dangerous fight,
Protecting who and what belongs
Is reason enough for believing
And the choice to abide, thrive.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan


© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

To every woman who has borne a child, to those who have offered hearts of love to children in need of tenderness, you have my undying gratitude and respect. More than anything else, those who nurture children are heroines of the super denomination. God bless every one.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Eligibility Indeed

Some said there was not
Any way it could work out
Too much at stake, about
A zillion ways to go wrong,
But hope stood by in support.
The ideas seemed solid, right,
No one could stop what began
Not one found, as an also-ran
No guarantees but love, delight,
Laser-lighted heart and mind.
Could it happen? Would it be?
Might the practice succeed?
Should impossibility thrive?
Naysayers did not a defense rally,
Many tried to end opportunity.
All hours, days, months, years
Progress delivered with salty tears,
Mistakes, failures, dead stops
Such negativity bore down a lot;
Somehow creativity survived, a poet
Poetry unleashed – becomes the poem.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Prompt: What is your experience of creativity? Is it always cheerful and pleasant, or does it sometimes come when it lifts your mind from depths of darkness? Create something juxtaposing the good and bad parts of your practice.

Not Being

I am not being today,
I am still human
Because I was born that way –
But being, I have not
The energy, inspiration, or heart
I cloak myself in gloom
And hide away cocooned.
I disappear best I can
Make no contact with humans,
Maybe I will burn out
Like the main over-loaded,
Or fade away like jeans
Worn and washed too
Often because they fit a way.
I cannot be; alone is too
Much for me, but there is
No one who wishes me
To see, speak, love
I am a left-over no longer
Fit to any appetite.
Life becomes a tune
Turned down, a whisper,
I cannot dance it right,
I continue, locked out the doors
So living is a complex device;
I am not being today.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Moods steal over me from time to time; I am okay, just aware. I guess it is incredibly revealing, but I am honest.

Prompt: Create something that reveals a portion of yourself often protected from view.