Through Support

They are lit, limelight,
Center focus, open stage,
People we adore
Though rare speak we in homage,
They are loves, pleasures, and more.
When we think, purpose,
Reason to continue on
Our meaning, given,
Those relative unknowns who
Populate our lives are enough.
Sometimes memory
Must sustain us over years –
Because loss appears,
But recollection carries
Us through times of doubt and fear.
Those brave-hearted souls
Who inspire, we always have
Within us retained
To bolster our courage in
Times when giving up is easy.
Quiet warriors,
Unremarked these denizens
Of love’s sweet country,
Are life, breath, health, sustaining
Every achievement, gain, deed.

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© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Impression

The reach was further
Beyond ordinary magic
Than creative imagination
Allowed
Love, though, remained unbound
Like the expanding universe
Unbordered by any expectation
Concocted
By human mental faculties
Enshrouded in a limited matter
Hoping to transcend experience
Lifted
Outside into the rarity
Of all that passes for probable
Infinity, which is only uncountable,
Justified
This love, faces, races ahead present
To present catching heart
Kindling immediate need open
Desire
Calling alive each precious life
Birthing every impossibility
Which grows, becomes, builds,
INSPIRES.
Seeing, what is seen?
Knowing, what knowledge is known?
Becoming, what change is, becomes?
Impression
Lies in between thought and reality
The unwilling limit, calculated
In freedom, love redeemed,
Creativity.

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Fear is a strong force
Often able to strangle
Warm feelings of love.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Creativity, Due Activity

I have to think that paradise exists because there must be something to counter this absolute.

I remember I was a tyke, my cousin (adult) who visited saw me writing. Colored pencils on pieces of notebook paper I cut down to fit my lines. This before school years, he looked, saw I was writing positive ideas, I was happiness. He asked me if he could take those words, lines, kid musings, and publish them to help others. I said yes, then asked if I would get my name or money, acquisitive child. He said I would help make the world a better place. I wonder, sometimes ponder. The expectation became, an maybe always was, do good, be love, help.

I have been part of publishing almost my whole life, not that it paid the bills, but that does not always motivate me. I have read so widely, owning an ark of books, and we do not talk about my Kindle library. Libraries have been my oasis, to the point I was there more often than anywhere but home. The magazines I read were a smorgasbord. This still tends to be the case.

I was told by a near/dear I was too stupid to use a computer, but I bought one at earliest opportunity. I had already exp!ored a Tandy and Atari and had a Pong. My KLH from Sam’s Club was decided after checking Apple in 1991, and that one was soon turned over to my tyke, who was an inquisitive three. I acquired a scanner, cameras, Wacom tablet, more computers, Photoshop, Corel, Office, Pagemaker, and with a little work, a stable of contributors for a digest-sized desktop published magazine. I sent contributor copies worldwide, but the money, like often, was not there.

At the time, were I not me, I probably could have made the deficit up with advertising. I believe rapacious advertising is responsible for many ills of our society. The mental health of many citizens is negatively impacted by the expectations raised and then left unmet because economics prevent people from attaining their inflated desires.

My hopes run toward society recovering its interest in the well-being of citizens, not the unreasonable profits of mega-corporations. Devising restraints on tantalizing over-intrusive advertising would positively affect this goal. I am a single voice, I restrict.advertising’s access to my attention through active cultivation of selected media. I have done this since teen years. My concern is our littlest ones and those who are losing themselves to ad-fueled despondency.

Love is the worthy aim for all who care for life. Personal interaction, attention to those closest to us, recognizing the devastating lure of things beyond possibility, and stepping up when help becomes necessary, these are love’s calling.

Paradise, they would let you think you can buy it. I hope you know; it is not for sale.

I am a dreamer, a lover, a soul adrift; I live the creative life as best I can, a poet who believes. Some call me crazy… But I still have a lovely mind. TMI. Well…

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Rising Thinking

This stone rolling, refuses,
Deep cover over this recess
Fallen on misstep into
Innocently,
A deluge, quickly, levels rise
Drowning should be such
Impossibility,
But the catalyst environment
Welcomed so many years, ignores;
TRUTH,
Ah, become a word
Like other words, read
Contextually,
So it may be judged to vary
Without any precise meaning.
FREEDOM,
A seemingly clear notion,
Emotion, tied up in hustler’s
Knots of privilege and abuse,
Given
Some, withheld such others,
But all when questioned
Believe its existence is
An absolute – RIGHT –
Everyone should possess.
What are
TRUTH,
FREEDOM,
When humans, beings, are
Placed in situations where
Who they are is compromised –
Evermore?

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Been reading current events, not a proposition without the continual engagement of deep thought. As poets, we ignore the public sphere to the detriment of democracy.

You may also recall I recently revisited 1984.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Um, Victory

It is not daily
I choose the outside of things
The challenge it brings,
But braver today I did
For those medical reasons.
Of course, I bear fear
The coronavirus leers
Like a rabid fox
Its grin a horror drooling
Germs so unsightly with need.
Cast about the mind
Safe quarters, fair harbor, set
The self barrier
To foreign bodies entrance;
Beware the pungent sneeze.
A sample places;
DQ, Sam’s Club, Resurgens,
Kroger feels too much,
Who Wants To Live Forever
An appropriate stream, Queen.
Tried to find my voice
To pitch a page, no dulcet
Tones casting, grating off-key
Would have bought peace, health,
But none of those were available.
Bananas, grapes, raisins, milk
Were among what I could retrieve
From the mini-cities titled stores.
The shots in knees, ouch,
For my betterment those are
So far showing some gain against
Debilitating pain, only sleep
Is a disappearing angel when
I still myself, hurt tackles me.
I return home an acquisitive scoundrel
With life-giving plunder, seemingly
Aright, without the blight of acquired
Disease, just overtired wishing
To find my ease in an ocean of
Consonants, vowels, punctuation,
To free me from a too clear focus
On what is become of reality.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

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Just some thoughts. Framed while they remain.