More of my poetic musings:

 

Until It Is Gone

 

There is something human

That does not realize

How precious is a thing

Until it is lost forever.

 

There is something human

That can look at beauty unmoved

Never comprehending the fragility

Until it is lost forever.

 

There is something human

That does not love too deeply

Nor purely any other creature

Until it is lost forever.

 

There is something human

That takes all life for granted

Not enjoying sweet essence

Until it is lost forever.

 

There is something human

That does not realize

How precious is a thing

Until it is lost forever.

 

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

 

Wanting More Me

 

I worry a lot

About what I have become

The who that I am,

But do not know how

To be any more than this.

I wonder why I am

Discontented with myself,

What more could I be

If I were someday different?

I am quite simple, a by product

Of the immense loneliness that

Reigns supreme inside

My American mind.

I try fruitlessly to fill the empty.

I call on omnipotent God to fill

But still feel miserable, hopeless;

Then suddenly understand

Who I am is what really bothers

But how can I be someone more

When all that remains to work with

Is just this: Me.

 

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

 

Washing

 

Take your laundry that

Is soiled, dirty,

Place it in washer

Listening quiet

For the smooth swish clothes

Make sliding into

The huge metal drum.

Then imagine all

Troubles and problems

Are locked away

Inside narrow space

Being sure cleansed

By the loving force

Of our Creator.

Take your fresh laundry

Out and examine

The gleam scented clean

Realizing anew

What a blessing it

Is to be dressed

In the love of God.

 

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

 

Whole

 

Whimpering, wanting

Something, willing to

Explore beyond the

Barriers placed so

Dauntingly in way

Of true consciousness.

Reaching further down

Into abstract being

To the core essence

Of what composes

The unity of

Everlasting oneness.

 

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

 

Boundless

 

Each individual possesses

Unique gifts which

Enrich the universe

In vast immeasurable ways

The importance of

Each life is infinite

Lending magnificence

To the boundless eternity.

Every creature should

Therefore stand erect

In recognition of significance

To the greater whole.

 

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

 

Those are some more of my happy finds today. I hope you enjoy them as much as I did when I discovered them again.

 

Always,

Jo Ann

I was trying to think of where my haiku were hidden and finally found some in a notebook. I think the others must have been on Alex’s computer when we formatted the hard-drive. I went to bed at 3:30AM and woke up when Mom called me at 11:30AM. She wanted to go to town, so we went out despite my upset stomach. I feel really nauseous today, just took Pepto to try and calm everything down.

 

I am posting haiku partially because I love the form and partially on account of Loach’s suggestion:

 

Rain water pours down

Like my strong desperation

Causing growing pains.

 

April here again

The time I long called love

But shadows now blight.

 

Sun rises, shadows

Fall to ground graying darkness

But the light conquers.

 

Confidence I need

So I can stand strong once more

But my faith narrows.

 

Did you really know

Who you held tightly in arms

Before you said bye?

 

©April 24, 1997

 

The trees are bare now

Like the circle of my arms,

Winter continues.

 

Bright days are coming

When beautiful flowers bloom

Spring-time beckons us.

 

Limbs like skeletons

Reach toward the clear blue sky

Winter is waning.

 

The cold is biting

Like old memories hidden

Yet not forgotten.

 

Anger burns like fire

Eating at one’s inner parts

Until the harm mends.

 

Sons grow fast as grass

Surpassing our daily dreams,

Finally leaving.

 

Old age is not kind

Leaving one brittle, broken,

Winter wasted trees.

 

Dawn breaks upon us

Awakening out senses,

Soft roses open.

 

When we are happy

Sunlight streams bright over us

We know Spring will come.

 

©March 8, 2002

 

Dreaming once again

Days when warmth finally comes

Spring rains down on us.

 

Rising from the grave

Of dreary Winter dark days

Spring beckons flowers.

 

On Easter morning

The Savior new arisen

Wakes His creation.

 

©April 15, 2003

 

Smiles light the sweet eyes

Of our much blessed children

Sun lit blossoms bloom.

 

Gray skies like Winter

Still hold windy mighty sway

Trees like us then bend.

 

©March 19, 2005

Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

 

I am sure there are more of these around here. I will keep an eye out for them when I am puttering around. I think Alex has floppies with all my content that was on his computer so I may reload them onto his computer and transfer them to CD so my computer can read them. I do not have a floppy drive which is unfortunate sometimes.

 

I found these in my notebook too:

 

Spring Arrives

 

The cold gray of Winter

Fades gradually away

Blue taking over the canopy

Green surging forth

In places where bleak skeletal

Branches only recent were seen.

 

All life seems to cry

Come out join the festival

Death is only a season

Be revived in joy

Awaken and arise

Blush and welcome surprise.

 

©April 24,1997

Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

 

Glow

 

Carry the glow

Of light within

You even when

The world sore forsakes

All your hopes and dreams.

 

Let it nourish you

And those who round you

Are sinking into

Deep waters of despair

You will have well done.

 

Upon your life

Sweet grace and love

Will then abound

And you live to see

The victory no test can confound.

 

©April 23, 1997

Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

 

I thank Loach for encouraging me to find the haiku and so discover these forgotten poems. Pretty cool for me.

 

Hope you have a wonderful Saturday!

 

Smiles,

Jo Ann

I cannot find any haiku to post, but am sure there are some somewhere on the computer. I am still searching.

 

I added some stuff to my profile. I thought I would be a little more open here, not that I have not been in the past.

 

I thought if Red Kitten on Abnormally Normal People could post about her search for "the right one" that maybe I could do the same. I opened up my account on one of the search services tonight and wish I could edit more of it.

 

I don’t have an exceptionally witty ad to post, but maybe someone will talk to me eventually.

 

I forgot to tell you about my adventures in the rain yesterday. I looked at my leg in the shower and have an big black bruise on my knee and it reminded me. I was coming up the steps into the house and fell up them. Everything in my hands went flying. It was a mess and hurt too.

 

Some more poems:

 

What is Real

 

Some days the wishes

Seem dreams we never

Realize in our day to day,

But that is not what

Our souls have to say;

We are winners in reality.

 

Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Copyright December 31, 2000

 

Why We Die

 

Long ago when time began

There came along the race of man…

The first one having done

All that he could finally do

Grew somewhat tired and bored

Realizing nothing more for him

Remained within scope of earthly planes.

So he chose to go back

To the source from whence he came

Others found his body but not his self,

Then after some long discussion

All decided they too must someday go

To see where their friend had gone

But not all at once, just along and along

And ever since people have followed.

 

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

 

Finger Plays

 

Fingers lightly skim surface

Of exposed arm just enough

To send shivering delight

To sensation starved mind.

 

Words tumbling from loosed tongue

Cease because distraction halts

Train of winsome thought beyond

Ecstasy of tender touch.

 

Long remembered feelings

Come fully realized to fore

Heart speeding happily beats

In tempo of our own love.

 

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

April 3, 2003

 

Well that seems to be all I have right now.

 

TTYL,

Jo Ann

T.J. Does Windows – Revisited

 

She is not sophisticated

In her manipulative use,

Still it is her desired program.

She arrives by invitation

Of the sheer openness to lounge

Gazing out at the spacious world,

No blinds to obscure her vision.

She slumbers utterly content

Upon the eggshell windowsill,

Her sable nose twitching softly

As she seizes some slight fragrance.

She leaps sudden, down gracefully,

Slinking lithe ebony and white

Elsewhere to dream or spry engage

In her coddled cat wonderland.

 

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

March 11, 2000

 

For  the cat lovers out there. I wish I had a picture to put up with it, too.

 

Smiles,

Jo Ann

This is on my mind for some reason today. What happened on September 11, 2001, still haunts me.

 

One September Morning

 

One September morning

The entire world awoke

With no inkling or forewarning

Cherished dreams would die in smoke.

 

Another Tuesday

Like so many others…

No one apprehended that day

Would affect so many mothers.

 

One September morning

Terrorists tried to destroy

Our country without warning,

However, it did not work, their ploy.

 

Another Tuesday

That will live forever;

The bravery and sorrow of the day,

We will not forget, not ever.

 

One September morning

Love reached out calling

Even as we all began mourning,

Our nation was not falling.

 

Another Tuesday

When God was in control

Although throughout that dark day

The catastrophe tried every soul.

 

One September morning

Remembered by history;

A brilliantly promising morning

In a place proud and free.

 

Another Tuesday

When America found unity…

No matter what people might say,

We still have our liberty.

 

One September morning

When the whole world did cry

With new respect aborning

For the noble flag, we yet fly…

 

Jo Ann Joyce Anita Jordan

© September 8, 2002

I have been trying to post to my space for over eight hours now. I do not know what is wrong, but that is why you have not found any newer entries for me. I have closed MSN, reopened it, restarted the computer, reopened MSN, and none of it works in the least. I am about ready to give up. I fail to understand what is going on.

 

I can open my Space, open and entry window, copy my stuff into it hit post and it tells me Space Unavailable. I would curse but it would do no good.

 

I think I’ll try pasting a poem in here.

 

A View of Time

 

Immersed by the ocean

Of time’s onward flow

I travel to destinations

I only later begin to know.

 

Space eddies round me

Showing settings I recognize

As at least feasibly real

Though the patterns tease my eyes.

 

The waves of time

Flicker with the tide

Feeding me fresh memories

From when we traveled side by side

 

The shore seems close

Then further away again

For time’s ocean continues

Carrying me toward my end.

 

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

March 13, 2003

 

Well, I am going to try one more time… I hope it works.

 

Smiles,

Jo Ann

I have been busy. Today has brought up some things I need to express so bear with me. I went to bed at 2:30AM and woke at 7:00AM. I took Alex to the bus and came back to bed until 9:30AM which means I slept through the alarm for thirty minutes… I keep forgetting to get a new alarm.

 

I left the house at about 10:00AM and drove a more reasonable speed than usual so I only made it a few minutes early to my 11:00AM appointment with my counselor. I had not finished the worksheet so I tried to complete it in the waiting room, but did not finish.

 

I admitted to my counselor that I had read all the assigned pages, but had not completed the worksheet. She was very understanding. I did explain to her that I was resistant to exploring my past feelings because I am a little depressed right now and looking back on what I feel were better times might drive me deeper into that state. We also discussed my habit of procrastination and my perfectionism. These things block me from action at times. I am working on them but discussing them helps clarify why I do this self-defeating behavior.

 

Then I brought up how all that links to my personal demon, my inner critic. I struggle with this hellacious part of myself constantly. This morning I looked in the mirror and was attacked by the thoughts that I am fat, ugly, disgusting, incompetent, poorly dressed and groomed, patently inferior, and basically useless. Plus some more truly scathing adjectives. My counselor said that was a lot of venom to have thrown at oneself when looking in the mirror. She asked how I dealt with it. I replied not nearly as well as I would like, but I told the bitch to shut up. I then told myself that I was okay, and went on to face the day.

 

Since this critical part of myself is so destructive we discussed it at length. I went on to talk about the nagging I get when I try to do anything creative, like write this blog or do something artistic. I have to exert a great deal of energy to create anything, because the self-talk is you can not write, you are not an artist nor writer, no one is interested in your thoughts or vision, you are stupid, you can not do anything right, you think that is a sentence, you can not even think of the right word, that is not a picture a two year old could do better than that. This goes on consistently while I continue to press out words or images. My counselor asked what I do to counter it and I again said I send the critic to the corner and tell her to shut her mouth and I tell myself that I do have something to say, I am a creative person, and I am a writer and an artist. I just need to create. The will to do this consumes a lot of power. Sometimes I feel exhausted when I get done, but I refuse to quit. Maybe one day the demon will be banished or at least I can duct tape its nasty mouth shut and close the door on it. Writing about it makes it seem smaller and less threatening, though of course I am not sure I should post this.

 

I have a poem I wrote about this horrible creature a while ago:

 

The Critic

 

I wrote some words

Upon the empty page;

Looked at them

For what seemed an age.

 

Then my mind

Filled with rancid hate

For what I had written

Was only second rate.

 

How could I be

So deadly blind

To criticize my voice

And be so unkind?

 

Now the gentle words

Have ceased to flow

And this hurtful block

Continues to daily grow.

 

Jo Ann Joyce Anita Jordan

© September 24, 2002

 

I think that sums it up pretty well and explains why my creative block is so entrenched. I am working on it, chipping away at it, but it is hard work.

 

I thank you all for reading and encouraging me to keep up the fight. This Thursday will mark the third month that I have written something here every day. That is an accomplishment for me, because I have not worked creatively that constantly in a long time.

 

I hope you are having a wonderful Monday. If you have one of these infernal critics I encourage you to shut it up and do what you really want to do, whatever that may be.

 

Always,

Jo Ann

I added some more links. Not all of them are Spaces, but that is okay I think.

 

I cooked pork chops, broccoli rice au gratin, and carrots for supper. It was very good. Alex ate it up even though he had just snacked out a while before. I noticed today that he had two pair of pants laying in the floor. When I asked what was up with that he said they don’t fit. I guess it will not be too long before I have to make a trip to Old Navy to get him new pants. Always something clamoring for my money. The kid is a money magnet, but that is okay. I love him so much.

 

I messed around with BlogShares some more today. I think that could get addicting. If you have not registered or claimed your blog you really should. It is a neat thing.

 

I do not really have much to write about. I should say my earlier remarks about men were not meant to reflect on them negatively. More to express my wish to understand these fascinating beings more fully.  I find other females almost as confusing at times. People in general are mysterious.

 

I went out for a walk and enjoyed the sun so much. I did my usual thing and read a book as I walked. Lets me accomplish two things at once, and since I am inclined to dislike exercise it keeps my mind occupied. I know the path I take so well that I do not have to watch where I am going exactly.

 

An older poem:

 

Blocked

 

Like a stream

In its course

Which cannot flow

My mind will

Not let me know

The words I need

To fill the empty page.

I sit and stare

Then sometimes rage

Because I want

To unleash my vision

In imaginative artistry

And make no provision

For this block which stymies me.

 

Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

Copyright September 22, 2002

 

I feel this intensely at times. 

 

The following poem I like a great deal:

 

Doodles in the Sand

 

She stood alone, circled by accusers

A gleeful scow etched upon each face,

No hint of mercy showing.

 

The guilt not solely hers

Yet, she knew she had a part,

She could not deny her fault.

 

They gathered stones,

Each held one in his hands,

Instruments of her demise.

 

Then He entered the circle,

Squatted down to doodle in the sand

She watched amazed His hand.

 

What did His writing mean?

Would He also condemn her?

Children, she thought, doodle.

 

The mob asked Him what they

Should do with one so guilty

He merely wrote in the sand.

 

What, she wondered, did He scribble?

Was that her name He wrote?

Something about sin… shame… love?

 

Maybe He did not hear nor care.

He stood only for a moment firm,

“Let him without sin cast the first stone.”

 

He knelt again swiftly writing

Seemingly unaware of the murmur

That rose angry on their lips.

 

She watched as the elders first departed

Then the younger disappeared,

Suddenly He and she were alone.

 

She gazed at Him in awe.

How, she wondered, did He

Know just the words to say?

 

She had no idea how to thank Him

Wondered if He would judge her,

Baffled she watched this man.

 

He smiled at her tenderly,

“Woman where are your accusers?

Did no one judge you guilty?”

 

She stammered, “ No one, sir.”

He grinned, “Neither do I judge you guilty.

You are free to go now, sin no more.”

 

He forgave me, even me, she thought.

She lingered a few moments

Then skipped away heart singing light.

 

Many times, she wondered

About the doodles in the sand

The Savior had written there.

 

As years passed she realized

The doodles were not important.

“Not guilty” was written on her heart.

 

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

March 22, 2000

 

I wanted to reflect on the position of the woman in this, maybe because I always identified with her. I hope I pulled it off.

 

Well, I guess that is all for right now.

 

Always,

Jo Ann

I went to bed at 2:00AM and woke up at 10:00AM. This without any prompting, so it was very good. I visited other blogs, got a shower, took a walk, and started the first of four loads of clothes I should get done today.

 

Mom has gone out with her friend and Alex is playing games on his computer. I am just hanging out. Trying to think of something interesting to write about.

 

I think I will post an old erotic poem. It could apply to any woman in a truly loving relationship.

 

Table of Love

 

I am a table

Laid out before my love

Set with sweet morsels

For him to enjoy.

 

My cloth is made of

Soft linen, finely

Laundered with fresh

Scents of perfume.

 

My body is smooth, warm

Delicately detailed

The work of Master

Craftsman, made with love.

 

My face is fairer

To him than many others,

My lips sweeter than

Ripe chocolate covered cherries.

 

He takes me to him

With strong delight

For my setting

Arouses his hearty appetite.

 

He devours the treats

Bared for his main course

Consuming my provender,

And settling fulfilled.

 

I am a table

Continually replenished,

A fine feast prepared

For my love to enjoy.

 

© Jo Ann J. A. Jordan

August 3, 1994

 

I once was able to write, nowadays it is harder. I have a creative block that keeps me down. I truly wish I could overcome this. I think I will start reading some of the books that seem to spark my imagination. Maybe I can overcome the stagnancy. I hope so, I enjoy creating so much.

 

TTYL,

Jo Ann

I have a magnetic poetry board and several magnetic poetry kits with words. I use them occasionally for inspiration. The word choices are kinda random when I work with them. This poem has been on my board for months and I have never written it down. Thought I would share it here and take it off the board. I might make a new one since I am still experiencing creative block.

 

Imagine people come down as one

                  their luck good.

              The debate God, neighbors, and liberty

     remember what you want is never free

   civilization and community grow when society

makes open opportunity a must of democracy.

 

Not the best thing I have done, but you have to remember what I was working with.

 

Always,

Jo Ann