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Celebrities make poor politicians.
Poor politicians become celebrities.
Click. Clique.
Makes one shutter): Why are politicians celebrities? They have enough power without fame and its accompanying influence. I understand entertainment, sports and writers becoming famous because they've actually done something, but too many politicians lack what we deem desirable (Jesus is the exception).
 Jan 2019 Terry Jordan
Eyla
most people see me as
a happy person because
i laugh easily,
i smile a lot,
i joke a lot.

but deep down
in my heart,
i am fragile,
i can get hurt easily,
but i choose to not
show it to the world.

instead of being sad,
i choose to laugh to cover it.
maybe you can call me
"the queen of the mask"

by this,
you can tell
that most of the time
when I'm laughing,
I'm not really laughing,
i was trying so hard to hide
my sadness.
 Jan 2019 Terry Jordan
Pyrrha
I find it strange that when I look into your eyes I'm not met with an endless starry sky. The world around me doesn't freeze or turn monochrome around everyone but you. I don't see an endless sea or visions of a setting sun, no matter my determination. So how do I know it is love if it isn't as the words I've heard all my life describe?

Yet my heart still drops when you walk into the room, even when your focus is a place far off. People say it's like a flutter but this is far too heavy to use such a light word to describe such a feeling. It's painful, but I know it isn't something ominous or bad because it feels right. How do I know it is love if none if my words describe it right as they should?

I get it every time our eyes meet or you tilt your head and smile with your head in the clouds. I get it when you laugh to yourself or say something hardly above a whisper. When you focus so hard you ***** up and let out that silly sigh of aggravation and I feel such deep affection. Yet is it alright for me to say what I feel is love when I can't even tell myself what love is?

I don't think your eyes need starry skies or my stomach needs a million butterflies. Your smile doesn't need to illuminate the room and my thoughts for you don't need an anchor. Your love shouldn't have an expectation and my words don't need to have a proper diction.

Perhaps I'll see it in your heart or feel it in your touch one day if you feel the same regardless of what the world has sold me with their modern day poetry. I promise you that no matter how hopeless I become I will find out for myself  what it means to love you wholly, even if I have to find out from loving at a distance.
I don't understand why I write so many poems about love when I am not even in love. It is so frustrating to have words without a muse and a muse without words.
 Jan 2019 Terry Jordan
CK Baker
through the streets and column cracks
culture weaves and summer smacks
sacred figures, holy shrine
monastery in grand design

cathedrals, convents, heaven’s stars
god of neptune, god of mars
doge’s palace, alley ways
gondolier on full display

winged lions on pastel breeze
cicada singing from the trees
pillar walk of saint mark's square
basilica in all its flare

crosses shade the carousel
a bridge of sigh that leads to hell
golden stairs on placid ridge
arches of rialto bridge

torcello! murano! grigio!
the countess rides the river poe!
sins of seven, fiery hides
poplars bank the levee side

black plague, attila the ***
eden formed before the sun
paradise above the marsh
high alter, gothic arch

middle age, religious wars
celestial fountains, marble floors
sculpted peacock, catholic faith
all is true the great god saith
 Jan 2019 Terry Jordan
laura
My Changing World.
I look around my house.
First of all, my bedroom,
My queen bed,
That I shared with my sister,
For the longest time, is no longer there.
I have a bunk bed now.
My old dresser, that I needed help,
reaching the top,
Is no longer there.
Next, my living room,
My old box tv is gone,
My old couch, that,
We had to cover up
with a brown cover,
Because of all of its wear,
was replaced with a new,
leather one.
My brother’s room,
Used to be my sister’s.
Instead of the little,
toddler bed, it’s a twin bed.
Guess he’s not
Such a baby anymore.
When I look outside,
Where I have spent
most of my afternoons,
Rain or snow,
sun, or shade.
Our tree is gone,
that was there forever it seems.
All that is left now is its stump.
Our basketball hoop,
More rust each year,
Where countless people,
Have attempted countless shots.
We now have a soccer goal,
Which has had many,
many, shots taken at it,
Many missed, many goals.
We no longer have our swingset,
Which my sister and I,
spent several hours on.
We did keep one slide though.
The one we used to set up
by our mini pool,
And splash into it,
Like we were having,
the time of our lives.
Some things haven’t changed,
Like the memories,
we all have of everything,
And they never will.
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