Today and Again

Do you ever have to slow down and find your center? It can take time to remember who you are and for what you are meant. We so easily get lost in chasing the things we need and want and plowing our souls under the toil. Stillness helps us see our persons; music can raise us; reading can picture us; art can show us reason; writing can free us.

We deserve to live creatively and with such love that we feel we can accomplish our hopes and dreams. Some find inspiration in a relationship with Christ Jesus; some follow other paths. As we meet in lives so often hectic, we need to share love and kindness no matter the circumstances in which we exist. Our differences make the world fascinating and rich. We learn much when we open ourselves to one another.

Stepping out of space and time to give ourselves peace to clarify our goals is worthwhile. Sometimes this is done in silence, some creation, some before the eyes of the world. Whatever our method, we must never give up. We are the outworking of the prayers of generations; our promise and purpose must continue.

Today is the moment we grasp; it is our time to build within. Letting it slip through our fingers is not an option—love, love, love. We should be a blessing in whatever places life carries us. Time and again, we can begin a better beginning, for we are living gifts.

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan.

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!

Wookie
© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan