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Terry Jordan Apr 2016
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
© by owner. provided at no charge for educational purposes
Terry Jordan Nov 2015
Whose woods these are I think I know.  
His house is in the village though;  
He will not see me stopping here  
To watch his woods fill up with snow.  

My little horse must think it queer  
To stop without a farmhouse near  
Between the woods and frozen lake  
The darkest evening of the year.  

He gives his harness bells a shake  
To ask if there is some mistake.  
The only other sound’s the sweep  
Of easy wind and downy flake.  

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep.
One of my favorite poems and, being from New England, the 1st poet I learned to love even as a young child.
847 · Oct 2015
I Live to Cook
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
I live to cook
Saute and fry
Google a recipe
To bake a flaky pie
Good soup from scratch
Baked stuffed chicken
Tasty and Succulent
My dishes-finger-lickin'!
To keep it fresh
I"m not just *******'
You know this gift from God
Needs The Replacement Kitchen
This was a plea to my man to remodel our very out-dated kitchen...it worked and I love my new kitchen!
839 · Dec 2016
Sincerely I am sorry.
Terry Jordan Dec 2016
I’m sorry that I’ve cursed you
Judged and criticized
Neglected disrespected you
Your feelings pulverized

I know that I took for granted
Your Beauty and your Grace
And for the times that I ignored
The tears upon your face

Sincerely I am sorry for
My ignorance and greed
I have not known the difference
Between greed, love and need

Masquerading for each other
Unnoticed in between
So many moments of beauty
I let slip past unseen

I’m sorry for the wasted time
I have not understood
My power both to hurt and help
Forgive me if you could

I make sincere apologies
Praying for the fitness
To open that inner vision
With God as my witness

If I’m to hold onto your love
The life I’ve often cursed
Though forgiveness is freely given
I must forgive me first
Reflecting on my life, all the mistakes that I'm letting go of, moving forward in love.
Terry Jordan May 2016
I sit satisfied
Smiling smugly
Ha!  I think.
Go ahead,
Just ask me anything you want to know
Go ahead.
I defy you!
Huh?
Whaddaya mean
Is it dark
Inside of
Snowballs?
Getting ready to move, I found this poem by my brother Danny Fitzpatrick, "Fitzy", who passed away in 2005.  It was great finding this since I'd been looking for years, asking his daughter Joey & son Tim to look also.  All I could recall was the title.
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
We camped at the Wanee Festival                                        
                                 We came to hear Gregg Allman play
                                 We did some primitive camping
                                  But the stage was 3 miles away
                                                            ­
                                  Through the woods we walked in the darkness
                                  After Widespread Panic had played til midnight
                                   No shiny pebbles and no flashlight
                                   To help us back to our Primitive Campsite

                                    We were Hansel and Gretel just groping
                                    Night fell a long time ago
                                    We had no reference point, no direction
                                    Only darkness and fear could grow

                                    We walked all 1800 acres
                                    Of Live Oak's Suwannee Music Park
                                    Til we flagged down some park rangers
                                    Who gave us a ride home in their cart

                                    I'm just lost in the woods without you
                                    Though we started it all as a lark
                                    You left me stranded by the port-o-potties
                                     Paralyzed all alone in the dark
                                                          
                                     Forget about those cold showers
                                And no power to call or text
                                      Or the cold, and blow-up mattress blues
                                       Are we ready for 'Burning Man' next?
True story-great music but got so lost, slept very little in a leaking blow-up mattress; now he's planning to go to Burning Man!
826 · Dec 2016
Christmas is Love.
Terry Jordan Dec 2016
It can’t be bought or sold
It never grows too old
It’s hearing an old song
A friend who’s long since gone
A clear star in the sky
A baby’s first shrill cry
It’s never losing hope
Though in the dark you *****
It comes just to remind us
Of all that is behind us
It’s all we see and feel
Christmas is very real
I wrote this for my Christmas cards many many years ago, and Love is only in the title.
820 · Apr 2018
Each newborn star
Terry Jordan Apr 2018
I see the universe expanding
Has been for 13 billion years
While stardust breeding planets arose
And that Dark Energy I fear

Can’t understand Dark Energy or
700 trillion miles to bear
To reach Andromeda Galaxy
When water was discovered there

Believing acceleration slowed
For 200 billion galaxies
Science proved that hypothesis wrong
Questioning even more fallacies

Each newborn star illuminated
4 billion times stronger than our eyes
Their galaxies currently revealed
Expansion’s not slowing- surprise!

Brilliantly more supernovas flew
Among 100 billion stars
For all we know this still is true
No water or air- can’t live on Mars
just exploring my lifelong fascination with space, all those big numbers describing distances between planets, the moon and stars...I enjoy seeing the marvelous pictures captured, but would prefer keeping our Earth healthy to live here, not counting on Mars or finding another planet.
815 · Oct 2015
When I Retire in Ireland
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
When I retire in Ireland
I'll be fit and sixty-five
Then I'll ride the DART for free
and explore the country-side

I'll rent an old thatched cottage
Buy a bicycle with gears
Tool along Connor Pass Road
Out to ******, drink some beers

Eating the Irish breakfasts
Drinking too much Guinness to mention
Uncle Sam sends my social security
I'll collect my teacher's pension

Mornings I'll write a novel
About my Irish sojourn
A boat to Blasket Islands
Some Gaelic I'll be learnin'

I'll check my geneology
The DART to Cork and I go
Fitzpatrick's, a talented family,
Doctors, fighters, writers in the know

Always an ear to the music
Familiar faces all around
Perhaps some long lost relatives
Still in Cork who could be found

Yes, I'm in love with Ireland
The Cliffs of Moher call to me
I'll go hiking west of Doolin
Rent an apartment in Dun Laoghaire (dun leary)
I've enjoyed 2 trips to Ireland and both times felt as if I belonged there, that the faces I saw seemed familiar, like family.
811 · Nov 2015
by William Blake...
Terry Jordan Nov 2015
To see a world in a grain of sand
And a heaven in a wild flower
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour.
799 · Feb 2017
I saw the vision of my soul
Terry Jordan Feb 2017
Having my coffee on the porch
Just basking in the morning light
A peaceful time until my eyes
Were drawn above by light so bright

Thousands of previous mornings
Never once took my breath away
As I gazed up in amazement
On this illuminated day

I saw the vision of my soul
A breath, a glimpse as pure as gold
The light illuminates my mind
In God's tender love I enfold

I closed my eyes to better see
My heart was open, lips are sealed
Right to an inner higher place
Where new perspectives are revealed

In the innermost part of my being
I prayed to let go of any resistance
And I felt such peace washing over me
As I recognized love behind all existence
This happened once, along with reading a Daily Word page that I was holding  entitled 'Illumination' with the passage about "The tender mercy of our God shall break from the dawn on high"-it woke me up on my faltering spiritual journey.
Terry Jordan Mar 2017
Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there.
I did not die.
The 1st poem that Mary Frye wrote, in 1932, for a friend who had lamented that she couldn't even weep at her mother's grave, a mother who died in a concentration camp then.  Check youtube for a flawless rendition of this by a choir boy and many others, too.
Terry Jordan Apr 2017
I sometimes search the Internet
Looking for my father’s Rickenbacker guitar
Though I rarely heard him play it
That sliding sound, with my bedroom door ajar

More often I can see it still
In our parlor in its dedicated space
It must be strum while sitting down
Its elevated strings silent in its case

I couldn’t comprehend it then
Though looking back now it seems a little cruel
That on the day my father died
Like any other day, I went on to school

That day began as usual
My father and I-an ordinary ride
Until he swerved right off the road
While I lurched to his side and watched while he died

His heart had stopped, and even now
I try to remember a look or a trace
Wondering why his lips turned blue
And a wave of pale, deep pain was on his face

His death was never talked about
I was clueless about what to do or say
No one ever spoke to me then
When I was driven to school on that same day

I can’t remember anything
About the details of our lives before then
I catch up watching family films
He left when I was only 9, almost 10

I know we have gifts that differ
I believe according to my Father’s Grace
That the gift my father left me
I sometimes see it written on my own face

And in strains of music heard
That sliding, soulful sound in Hawaiian songs
Or when Neil’s Harvest album plays
I stop-and like a prayer I sing along

I looked for his guitar again
It’s now worth so many thousand dollars more
All I have is faded memories
Haunting strains of music coming through my door

She might have needed 50 bucks
When I asked it was the story she would tell
About my dad’s Rickenbacker
That I fiercely begged my mother not to sell
a repost of a poem from Bill's point of view; a story he told me over many years about his father's death.  I was moved to write it after he told me how he was taken to school that day as if nothing had happened.
772 · May 2018
A Matter of Time
Terry Jordan May 2018
Time speeds by doing
What we hold most sacred
While crawling slowly
Feeling pain and hatred

Time is on my side
Believing ****’s words were true
Time after time there's
Time for every matter, too

Once upon a time
Barrels recklessly ahead
Time’s up never comes
There is no time left to dread

Make time or waste time
No time to ask how
Take all the time you need
If time will allow

Being in the Now
Deserves a fighting chance
Now was once the Future
Without a backward glance

Now’s the time-Time’s up!
The truth comes out in time
Time always changes things
Revealing every crime

Once upon a time
‘Time is Money’ ran scared
“There’d be Peace for our Time”
Chamberlain declared

Now turns to the Future
Soon to be the Past
Over eons of time
Time stands still at last

Give it time, they say
Only time will tell
Now will be the future
For then tolls the bell
My favorite saying is "Time enjoyed wasting is not wasted time", since I spend a lot of time doing it...and Gibran's, "Tomorrow is today's dream", and Dr. Seuss, "How did it get so late so soon?"  And lastly,  J.R.R. Tolkien, "All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us."  Keep writing, and reading, poetry!
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
My son is tall, smart and handsome, too
But he was never quite the romeo
Not until he scouted for a job
And met a girl from SanAntonio

Lindsay caught his eye and she looked his way
On OK Cupid, not oddly
And since that day his friends all say
Josh never smiled so broadly

Their journey, their story continues
From Texas to Palm Beach and back
How many times did they drive back and forth?
At last they can finally unpack

Angus, her dog, endured by her side
Today he witnessed every vow
Like him the guests wish them the best
Josh and Lindsay are married now

So lets celebrate their marriage
Raise your champagne glass or water
Dearest Josh and Lindsay, I love you both
My son-and now a daughter!
I just returned from my son and his brand new wife's wedding in SanAntonio, Texas.  This was my heartfelt, sentimental toast.  It was a fascinating, Texas-style celebration at the SanAntonio Museum of Art that had only one major glitch-her dog, Angus, the ring-bearer, lost the rings that were fastened to his tuxedo when the flower girls were walking him about...even the metal detector failed to find them.
766 · Feb 2016
Happy Birthday, Baby
Terry Jordan Feb 2016
Happy Birthday, Baby
The countdown now is done
Though last year was quite a surprise!
You now are 61…

That’s cause for celebration
Despite what you have said
So sing a Happy Birthday
Raise a glass-break some bread!

I know how hard you work while
Those copy machines keep breaking
Those customers keep on *******’
Is it worth the price you’re making?

So punctual!  Dependable.
Clever at fixing things, too
While I’m at home in our garden
Harvesting whatever grew

Watching tomatoes ripen
While you’re crawling on the floor
Looking for that wayward *****
On your 6th call-and 2 more!

I might be on the back porch
With Danielle upon my lap
Wishing YOUR day goes swimmingly
Maybe time to take a nap?

I stop to pick up flowers
And your birthday cake I’m mixing
While machines keep on breaking
And you keep right on fixing

Just consider this, Dear Bill
And believe it can come true
By next year you COULD decide
To retire at 62!
Bill didn't want to celebrate his 61st, saying that his surprise party last year was enough to last 2 years.  So I gave him this & out to eat at his favorite Chinese place.
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
A Dream Within A Dream    
by Edgar Allan Poe
(published 1850)
  

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow --
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand --
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep -- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
One of my favorites, "Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?"
751 · Nov 2015
Reflections of Theresia
Terry Jordan Nov 2015
Daughter of Clifford and Edla
Mother of Josh, sister, too
Of 4 quite different brothers
And good friends, there are a few

I favor holistic healers
Over things that are fake
If I’d been born back in Salem
I’d have been burned at the stake

Animal lover, radio girl
Jazz, rock or blues, I’ll give it a whirl
Aging athlete, my red hair is grayer
I’m now a bike-riding ping-pong player

I’d rather be reading, alone time I need
Sentimental poetess, kindness is my creed
Organic gardener, kayaker, seeker
Herbalist, meditating autism teacher

And now I can no longer
Say I’m middle-aged
I thought by reaching sixty
I’d become a Sage
746 · Dec 2016
The Pauses and the Spaces
Terry Jordan Dec 2016
Appreciate a pure sunrise
See all its glory
Yet just before Amazing Dawn
Has its own story

Before you have a choice to make
Turning left or right
First pause to contemplate the spot
Right within your sight

Body language will belie the
Loud clang of false words
Look into a person’s eyes or
Miss the message heard

What makes a brilliant orchestra
Or pastoral scene
What defines their beauty is the
Spaces in between

In the pauses, in the spaces
Feel your resting hearts
Waiting for the curtain rising
Just before it parts

All the spaces in the painting
Give it life and depth
Sea shells overlooked make precious
All the ones you’ve kept

Hold that hole in that sweet donut
Just before it’s dunk
And keep an eye right on the ball
Right before it’s sunk

Anticipating Christmas morn
Or Baby’s first step
The moment he’s still holding on
Right before he leapt

Savor that bite, unopened gift
Mere ghost of a smile
Forget the end, appreciate
Running your last mile
An edited repost
729 · Mar 2016
Buddy, Our Rescue Dog
Terry Jordan Mar 2016
You demand that we stop waving our arms about
While talking or whenever I do the 3-legged downward dog
That reminds you of being abused in another life
I know you recognize the delivery man as the abuser
Who you bark at fiercely, relentlessly
Just as you always growl jealously at Hazel, our neighbor's dog,
Despite her best efforts to be your friend
I see the wolf in your eyes when you're stalking lizards
Running, unleashed, leaping impressively from a standstill
Unsupervised in what substitutes poorly for wilder places
In our Florida backyard
You stare accusingly whenever I talk on the phone
Demanding to be heard, too
You hear and smell things I cannot imagine
Long before they reach my ordinary ears and nose
I see you cannot stop digging that hole
Next to the patio in my wild grasses garden
You eat the finest organic dog food
But prefer something dead on the path
During your afternoon jog to the beach
With Bill, so dismayed, that you enjoy smelly rolling
Though you endure your punishment, a scrubbing in the shower
Just to cuddle with Bill on the couch all clean and loved
I command you to COME HERE when doing yardwork
Ignoring me, you trot off towards Federal Highway
Or slip through the hedge when I’m weeding-you're a wily one
Hoping for wolf adventures like the ones in your dreams
Those that turn scary, maybe you get pounced on
When you're making terrifying yelping sounds
And trembling uncontrollably
Waking us all up, leaping up on the bed
Scooching to a safe haven between us
Beseeching, "Hold me, squeeze me, say it's OK for me to be here!"
Hugging you Bill says, "It's OK, there there, he's a good doggie."
Buddy found Bill, after being abandoned to the street, but never stopped showing his fears & phobias that apparently reflect his life before he was rescued.
703 · Nov 2015
Blue Springs Park at Night
Terry Jordan Nov 2015
Very near the she-bear lumbers
Past the sharp palmettos
Paw prints on the garbage can
Under star-filled skies
She walks silently
Obscured by the quiet night
Leaving scant paw prints on the path
While we slumber
Crickets serenade us
Three manatees see
Bright moon, darting gar
Cold springs empty of visitors
I walk in the dark dreamworld
And move without sight
Surrounded by sure feet and wings
Stillness finds darkness throbs and sings
While camping out at Blue Springs Park in Florida we saw evidence of bears at the garbage can area, but never saw more than paw prints.  A magical place, especially at night when all the snorkelers go home.  Water is 72o, lots of gar & manatees.
Terry Jordan Mar 2017
Don’t play out in your yard in Miami
I heard it on the evening news
The newsman’s lips slowly moving
Repeating words he’d never choose

An 8 year old girl caught in the crossfire
A shooter so blinded with rage
That he never noticed she was singing
Standing up on her homemade stage

The reporter keeps giving the details
How the shooter had aimed for another
Over getting revenge for a break-up
How he got the gun from his big brother

He found it under the seat in his car
Children find what adults hide all the time
That it’s not unusual to hear when
A toddler shoots his mother in the spine

One mother grieves while another’s relieved
Either outcome leaves one dead kid
Playing out in her yard in Miami
The last thing that she ever did
All too true and too commonplace that we become numb to these tragedies.
687 · May 2017
The Lesson
Terry Jordan May 2017
Open the window in my heart to
Epic pleasure, pain, despair
Those highs pass away, same as the lows
I’m in this journey aware

The Truth when lies are all the rage
That sweet slice of life we seek
Something for sure to depend on
Inherited by the meek

Perhaps I try to get used to it
Those troubles we’re forced to face
Be still, listen, turn off the device
Hear what’s missing, have a taste

I digress from offering Hope
Maybe Hope already dashed
Pulling us all back from the edge
Defending a life that crashed

I strive to take it all in stride
Troubles push me off course
I weep and laugh-loud as I can
The lesson is the source
662 · Nov 2016
Seasons of Past
Terry Jordan Nov 2016
It happened fifty years ago
It’s yesterday to you
Holding onto dreams that seem
Never to come true

Seasons of Past so plague you
A long-playing Revival
Gathering an audience
Is key to your survival

A pattern of yesterdays
Mired in fear and shame
Staying insignificant
While projecting all the blame

Letting go is good for you
A cellular release
Down comes that wall Resentment
A chance to find some peace

An embryonic valve released
To play a different song
Soften your face, creating space
Held hard in your heart so long.
Happy Thanksgiving to my fellow poets; thinking about dealing with negativity, working on letting go, facing forward, being here now.  Being grateful
662 · May 2017
The posse is coming
Terry Jordan May 2017
Tell me how much time has passed
Gathering the clues
Suspicious, that collusion
On the evening news

Ivanka, check his breathing
Is he in the House?
Is his heart even beating
Can you feel his pulse

Democracy keeps chanting
trump’s tweeting so ******!
Stand up, march America
We won’t go down easy!

No person as our POTUS
Can stop The Rule of Law
3 investigators fired
Does that not drop your jaw!

The posse is coming
So merciless its ******
A Reckoning, Come-uppance
trump’s enemy is US
I have to get it out how I feel about what's happening to our Democratic Republic
654 · Jan 2016
by Victor Hugo
Terry Jordan Jan 2016
There is one spectacle grander than the sea,
That is the sky,
There is one spectacle grander than the sky,
That is the interior of the soul.
647 · Apr 2019
We're in this together
Terry Jordan Apr 2019
We’re in this together
Share the world’s seeming insanity
Look at yourself when you
Study the whole of humanity

Observe the universe
We’re all in this together
A connection made of tears
Flows as rivers forever

Why ever go it alone
Lonely cuts like a knife
We’re all in this together
Connected to all life
Terry Jordan Oct 2017
I know what a crash dummy feels
While pouring down rain was humming
Bracing myself with nerves of steel
Eyes wide won’t stop trouble coming

Driving cautiously in the storm
So many cars speeding on past
I’m thinking easy, slow, steady
Not fight or flight before a crash

I know how a crash dummy copes
Eyes wide open with teeth revealed
Safety first face forward bravely
Ever expecting he will yield

Disbelief that it’s barreling
Faster and faster, I lean in vain
No place to go but the shoulder
That whizzing missile blurs in the rain

I saw it coming without the squeals
Pathfinder’s barrel fully loaded
No skidding tires or screeching wheels
Slow motion shards of glass imploded

My little red car lurches forward
In a bang she begins to swerve
That SUV slammed into me
Before dropping back at the curve

I feel what a crash dummy feels
Releasing the damage inside
To let go the past and its sorrows
Straight ahead, there’s nowhere to hide
Even though my car was totaled, hit from behind by a rented Pathfinder driven by 2 French guys rushing to make their flight, I am appreciative to be ok physically-though jumpy about driving ever since-especially in the rain.   Felt there was a poem in there somewhere, but kept thinking of crash dummies.  I  appreciate how so many suffer from PTSD from way worse life experiences than this!
638 · Mar 2018
Her Hands of Seventy Years
Terry Jordan Mar 2018
Her hands of seventy years
Teach without saying a word
All those baby’s heads cradled
All of her recipes stirred
Delighting in gardens she’s planted
Her hands bring deliverance
Pure fluidity like a young child
Textured by experience
All the stitches embroidered
All the cake flour sifted
So intricate, seasoned, lovely those
Hands creatively gifted
Precisely she chooses vegetables
So tenderly and knowing
Arranging flowers from her garden
All those seeds she’s still sowing
With hands of seventy years
Assured intention without guessing
That teach me without speaking
Is why I can’t forget the lesson
623 · Apr 2016
Live in Eternity Now
Terry Jordan Apr 2016
We're all seeking Paradise
But never wish to die
Heaven is a state of mind
Let Go and say Goodbye

Look into your heart and mind
Embrace all your good luck
Release all those resentments
Don't accept that you're stuck

With joyous expectation
Now new dreams will call me
Doors will open for me
No devil will ever gall me

Yes all the wisdom needed
To play the part we're given
Patience, persistence, and strength
Is how the soul is driven

Heaven's at your finger-tips
Transform your world right now
Don't wait for the End Times
Live in Eternity now
Just playing around with Eternity....
613 · May 2017
Those angry words
Terry Jordan May 2017
Those angry words you’ve spoken
There’s no way to take them back
Unleashed the chain is broken
A wild dog gone on attack

Once unshackled, they live on
Like a cancer they swirled
Unrepentant never gone
Repeated to the World

Once calmed down and quieted
(Darth Vader’s voice you used)
Strongly your words rioted
The argument unglued

Apologies may follow
You hope (s)he hears you out
Remembering to swallow
Those words from your own mouth

Negativity fleeing
A Disarmament for two
Be a peaceful human being
Why is that so hard to do?
Terry Jordan Dec 2015
I sometimes search the Internet
Looking for my father’s Rickenbacker guitar
Though I rarely heard him play it
That sliding sound, with my bedroom door ajar

More often I can see it still
In our parlor in its dedicated space
It must be strum while sitting down
Its elevated strings silent in its case

I couldn’t comprehend it then
Though looking back now it seems a little cruel
That on the day my father died
Like any other day, I went on to school

That day began as usual
My father and I-an ordinary ride
Until he swerved right off the road
While I lurched to his side and watched while he died

His heart had stopped, and even now
I try to remember a look or a trace
Wondering why his lips turned blue
And a wave of pale, deep pain was on his face

His death was never talked about
I was clueless about what to do or say
No one ever spoke to me then
When I was driven to school on that same day

I can’t remember anything
About the details of our lives before then
I catch up watching family films
He left when I was only 9, almost 10

I know we have gifts that differ
I believe according to my Father’s Grace
That the gift my father left me
I sometimes see it written on my own face

And in strains of music heard
That sliding, soulful sound in Hawaiian songs
Or when Neil’s Harvest album plays
I stop-and like a prayer I sing along

I looked for his guitar again
It’s now worth so many thousand dollars more
All I have is faded memories
Haunting strains of music coming through my door

She might have needed 50 bucks
When I asked it was the story she would tell
About my dad’s Rickenbacker
At 10, when I begged my mother not to sell
This is inspired by Bill's story, a real life experience when his father died while driving him to school.  He can't remember his life before this.  When I met him & asked the usual questions, he quickly showed me family films on an old projector in his attic to show the life he had but can't recall any other way.  I hope this poem helps him grieve his father's death and his terrible loss at 9 years old.
608 · Oct 2015
Leaving LosRabanos
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
After I left Los Rabanos
The grapes were still not ripe
The cranes atop the churches spire
Had not yet taken flight

Soon they'll fly to Africa
I will not see them climb
A feather loose, an empty nest
How do they know it's time?

The gladiolas barely bloomed
Sweet lavender a blur
And now that scent stays on my mind
The feelings that they stir

The RioDuero calls to me
Her rock cliffs echo still
Of peace and laughter plentiful
I did not get my fill

At work I find my focus gone
To casa de verana
And what I should be doing now-
Put off until mañana
I wrote this after visiting the village of LosRabanos, Spain for a month, with my friends Bernadette & Jose.  A real village of maybe 500 people, surrounded by vegetable gardens.
Terry Jordan Feb 2016
Well, son, I'll tell you:
Life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
It's had tacks in it,
And splinters,
And boards torn up,
And places with no carpet on the floor—
Bare.
But all the time
I'se been a-climbin' on,
And reachin' landin's,
And turnin' corners,
And sometimes goin' in the dark
Where there ain't been no light.
So, boy, don't you turn back.
Don't you set down on the steps.
'Cause you finds it's kinder hard.
Don't you fall now—
For I'se still goin', honey,
I'se still climbin',
And life for me ain't been no crystal stair.
I read this to my son on his birthday a while ago; this speaks to me
Terry Jordan Jan 2016
I see no purpose in your poem
One commenter told me
That it somehow fell short
He just had to scold me

But that’s just the way I meant to
Leave the Reader wanting more
Not to mend a broken heart
Heal the sick or feed the poor

Or split apart an atom
Cause the sun to set or rise
Maybe yes, maybe no
Win a Pulitzer Prize?

My poems tell a story
In an epic or a wisp
Stands alone all on its own
Not conforming to your list

So I see no purpose in your comment
And just need to tell you
That poem of 17 syllables?
It’s a simple Haiku
This was not someone on HP, but he taught me to think before I critique anyone's work.
603 · Nov 2015
Sweet William
Terry Jordan Nov 2015
Brother Billy, Sweet William
Though now we call you Bill
Your 5-year-old self loves on
I see your sweet face still
Even when you were a child
A round Abe Lincoln at 6
Fair, true and from the heart
Honest down to the quick
But you wear no crown of thorns
Like saints often will
Steady as a rock are you
My dear brother Bill
Those times you gave wise counsel
I listened-every word
And still our favorite brother
Of that you are assured
Brother Billy, Sweet William
Just when push came to shove
God sent you to our family
To show us how to love
601 · Jan 2016
Knockin' on your door
Terry Jordan Jan 2016
When I'm alone with my dog Buddy
My lonely nights could not be sadder
So I ride my motorcycle
Through rain & cold, it doesn't matter

Ramblin' down ole Dixie Highway
The cold feels like sunny weather
My head is soaring in the wind
And my heart's light as a feather

There are 2 times I feel happy now
In case you haven't got a clue
It's when you're comin' down to me
And when I'm comin' up to you

Just to reach you & to kiss you
Did you hear my motorcycle roar?
But my waiting keeps on lingering
While I'm knockin' on your door

I'm here knockin' on your door
Open up and let me in now
Can't you hear me loud & clear?
Don't you know I came to love you
Just to hold you, I am here

It's cold, I'm feeling weary now
Don't wanna be standin' here no more
But then she warmed up my heart
When she came and opened up that door
I wrote this from Bill's point of view when he used to ride to visit me during our 1st year together; sentimental I know...
598 · Nov 2017
Seasons of Past
Terry Jordan Nov 2017
It happened fifty years ago
It’s yesterday to you
Holding onto dreams that seem
Never to come true

Seasons of Past so plague you
A long-playing Revival
Gathering an audience
Is key to your survival

A pattern of yesterdays
Mired in fear and shame
Staying insignificant
While projecting all the blame

Letting go is good for you
A cellular release
Down comes that wall Resentment
A chance to find some peace

An embryonic valve released
To play a different song
Soften your face, creating space
Held hard in your heart so long.
Gratitude for this day, for sharing a Thanksgiving with caring friends.  So grateful for HP, a place for sharing with other poets who put themselves out there, too.  This poem was a reflection of spending time with people not so able to let go of negativity from their past.  It feels good to look forward, instead, with hope and kindness.
Terry Jordan Mar 2016
If I could only carry a tune
I'd write songs to go on tour
Sentimental ones-oh how I’d croon
Just so you would love me more
My Dear, just so you would love me more
If I could just win the Lottery
There’s your Instant Retirement!
Oh, what fun to hire that limousine
That’s only my first requirement
For when I win all those riches then
I’d hire us that limousine
To take us to Cruise America
Pick up our brand-new Airstream
We would drive North to Tallahassee
Pick up supplies along the way
Stop at Sam Ash for your dream guitar
Then could you love me more, I pray?
Just so you would love me more
I’d shower you with presents galore
“Can’t buy me love”, you say, my Dear
You sang that song I’ve come to adore
So say those words I long to hear
As we drive West to see The Rockies
The majesty makes your face glow
What matters to me on this journey?
That you love me more and say so
Inspired by my muse, a guitarist, who likes me to practice with him, occasionally, & I'm not able to carry a tune at all!  I can sing 'Sixteen Tons', by Tennessee Ernie Ford, however.
590 · Feb 2016
Shoot Straight
Terry Jordan Feb 2016
Shoot Straight, Sister
The Burly Man yelled loudly
Shoot Straight, can’t you?
Pointing my new gun proudly

Shooting Practice
My brand-new Smith & Wesson
I’m having my
Very first shooting lesson

Shooting’s easy
I hit the target’s bullseye
Brilliant shooting
Like Annie Oakley was I

Shoot great, Baby!
Where’d ya learn to shoot like that?
I’m scouting for
A new Wild West Circus Act!

Shoot straight, Mister
Only if I’m Top Billing
An Airstream, too
And for that I’d be willing
Silly, really; inspired by a commercial I heard on the radio, selling guns-I think the gun store was called SHOOT STRAIGHT
Terry Jordan Jan 2016
I’d never met Mr. Campbell
Or heard of Mr. Stone,
But now I’ve ceased to ramble,
They’ve provided me a home.
A place for old and older,
Not poor or broke nor rich.
For meek and mild and bolder,
It runs without a hitch.

A bus to take us shopping
Or cruising to the mall,
And even island hopping
There’s something for us all.
Pat Pepper keeps us busy,
Not anchored to a chair
Al Widener’s in a tizzy
If we’re not happy there.

The staff is neat and clever
At Bradshaw’s restaurant
I plan to stay forever,
‘Cause it’s my favorite haunt.
No need to roam or gamble
For we are not alone,
God bless you Mr. Campbell
God keep you Mr. Stone
My dad's poem, my 1st poet ever, honoring him on what would have been his 98th birthday.  This was his only poem that I could find, a good one I think.
577 · Jan 2016
Monday Morning Meditation
Terry Jordan Jan 2016
In silence comes God’s meaning to the heart
When I need it I find it there
To gently soothe the terror-stricken part
With tender compassionate care

No longer unseen and isolated
Trudging with troubles like boulders
I’m amazed to feel burdens abated
Deep pain subsides in my shoulders

Peace like a calm, flowing river I felt
Forgive me for the violence
I perpetrated against my own self
I will take heart in the silence

I know now’s the time to release the past
Forgiveness, love would-be talents
I must let go held resentments at last
To restore my inner balance

Carl Yung said we must climb up that mountain
With courage and strength for direction
My journey to Light flows like a fountain
As I make a sharp shift in perception
I struggle with meditation, silencing my "monkey mind" all the time.  This poem was inspired after meditating and then reading Yeats:
   "Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn,
Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;
Laugh, heart, again in the grey twilight;
Sigh, heart, again in the dew of morn."
                                               --WB Yeats
577 · Aug 2017
One moment at a time
Terry Jordan Aug 2017
Be open to the present
Don’t milk the daily grind
Life’s the gift that’s given
In one moment at a time

Flow with the dualities
The mystery goes on
Each storm defines the gift
That we’re given in the calm

Everything’s so dangerous,
The wise Gertrude Stein said
That nothing is frightening
So let go all fear and dread

The pain of love we yearn for
Like willows in the wind
We bend but will not break
While we’ve lied and loved and sinned

It’s the journey that matters
I know you’ve heard it said
Tomorrow never comes
To this second we are led

Don’t hang on to those moments
You’ve lived it now it’s gone
Being here in the now
Is our best hope for the Dawn
572 · Jul 2018
Happy Retirement, Bill
Terry Jordan Jul 2018
Happy Retirement, Bill
The countdown now is done
After 35 years working for Milner
Your new life has begun...

That’s cause for celebration
Despite what you have said
We’ll sing “He’s a jolly good fellow!”
Raise a glass-break some bread!

I know how hard you’ve worked while
Those copy machines kept breaking
Those customers kept on *******’
Despite the best effort you’re making

So punctual!  Dependable!
So clever at fixing things, too
You’ve worked hard all your adult life
“Hardly working” is new for you

Thousands of machines you fixed
Often while crawling on the floor
Looking for that wayward *****
On your 6th call-and then 2 more!

Now’s your time to put those feet up
With our cat upon your lap
Dreaming of surfing and traveling…
You’ll have time to take a nap

Instead you took your surf board down
Since you’re feeling quite inspired
To be a dedicated beach ***
Surfing ev’ry day you’re retired
Bill had quite a send-off at the Grand Bohemian Hotel in Asheville, NC last week, and is now taking a nap, dreaming of those waves to ride...
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
Remember Mariano and Jose
Driving us down from Laguna Negra
Listening from the backseat as they sang
Renaye, Bern and Terry, so merrily

At the top of their voices we drove down
Feeling the dance of it, hearing them toss
Their unrehearsed duet, swelling sweetly
Mariano and Jose, Synergy

Chuckling and singing
We stopped for the boy scouts
Marching full-tilt
With straight lines of gusto

They couldn’t hear us and
No one looked back
While they barreled ahead and
So did we, merrily, merrily
Nostalgia for my phenomenal visit to spain,  to a little village outside Soria, LosRabanos.
Terry Jordan Jun 2017
I’m coming apart at the seams
No longer sprint like a deer
Except in occasional dreams
I struggle in my yoga class
Since getting titanium hips
The lotus and pigeon I pass
It’s so difficult to apply
Mascara to my lashes
I look in the mirror and sigh…
I can’t see without my glasses
But it’s difficult to ignore
Those itchy, mystery rashes
It’s over, now, wearing short skirts
Got to keep knobby knees hidden
While I try exercise in spurts
Joints in my ankles hips and knees
Are letting me down so fast
That climbing stairs is no breeze
I’m shrinking, less one inch this year
My hands crawling with blue veins
Spelling out, “THE END IS NEAR"
HAHA! in response to my son asking me how I was doing getting old and all...
566 · Oct 2017
I want to write a poem
Terry Jordan Oct 2017
I want to write a poem
Like a yogi’s meditation
Every minute of the day

Through blackness of my sadness
Red is glory close to heart while
White arises pale and cold

I tried to write a poem
All about the triumph of love
That took me 10 years to write

Despite my fierce suppression
That passion in all its hunger
Realized like turtle doves

I wrote my heartfelt poem
In a trance of deep rem sleep
Feeling the ruthlessness of truth

I must complete this poem
Awake to writing its wonder
Instead remembered this one
Awakening from a dream of writing a poem, a marvelous poem about love-I dreamt I woke up to write it down, but only found scribbles in the morning...writer's block for a while since PTSD from an accident that totaled my car on the Turnpike.  I'm unharmed physically, but struggling mentally to even leave the house.
Terry Jordan Nov 2015
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard,
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
One of my favorites from Emily
Terry Jordan Nov 2018
Dear Eliot, I wonder why
When members post their rhymes
You gave us all those choices how
To give some feedback every time

Like it, love it, leave a comment, too
Even click on “thumbs down”
The best is when a reader is moved
To send it all around…

Or when it’s picked “The Daily”
It feels like quite a treat  
when someone shines a “Sun” that
Feels marvelously sweet!

We poets see who likes our writes
Who sends them all around
But just what is the purpose for
Those mean, faceless “thumbs down”?
When the "thumbs down" choice was added, I remember some grumbling & questioning about it.  What is its purpose?  It's not constructive or helpful.  I just started noticing, and I don't like it.
Terry Jordan Dec 2015
The strings of my heart have snapped, said Job
Have I had sorrow like that?
That return trip I take to anguish
All my energy is sapped

It feels like too much sorrow
No hope of coming up clover
Like the tongue to the sore tooth
Replays it over and over

My broken heart cannot stay away
From what has hurt me the most
It takes up hours of my time
While I’m hosting my own roast

Lamenting, regretting, I'm busy
Ruminate, perseverate, too
I disconnect from reality
Not seeing how I’ll make it through

Composing clever conversations
For a moment I see light
When my heart opens wide to recover
Making all things turn out right

But, no, it’s not meant to end well there
I must suffer for all my crimes
And relive how my heart got broken
Once again till the end of time.
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