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Terry Jordan Oct 2015
I got locked out of the house today
While feeding my cat on the porch
In a bathrobe without my purse
No phone, no key, barefoot of course

So I sprinted to the driveway
Where my man was still backing out
Engrossed in checking his emails
He must have missed my screaming shout

Backed out all the way to the street
His eyes ahead in the early dawn
He didn't see my panicky dance
Off to work, in a flash, he was gone

Despite my last ditch effort
Racing after him down the street
He never looked back, not once
I was abandoned with ****** feet

It's only half past 7am
Time to problem-solve my way inside
Even though I had a ladder to climb
Every lock and bolt let all hope die

That day I spent on the patio
Long and hot it was to be sure
Feeling neglected and left behind
I cried a few tears in a blur

Then I did some overdue yard work
Drank out of the hose like my dog
Relaxed in the hammock instead of lunch
Dozed off in an afternoon fog

Til I found a book on reflexology
I'd been meaning to read for so long
Practiced a few techniques on my cat
And planned how I'd tell Bill he'd done me wrong
True story
Terry Jordan Apr 2016
I got locked out of the house today
While feeding my cat on the porch
In a bathrobe without my purse
No phone, no key, barefoot of course

So I sprinted to the driveway
Where my man was still backing out
Engrossed in checking his emails
He must have missed my screaming shout

Backed out all the way to the street
His eyes ahead in the early dawn
He didn't see my panicky dance
Off to work, in a flash, he was gone

Despite my last ditch effort
Racing after him down the street
He never looked back, not once
I was abandoned with ****** feet

It's only half past 7am
Time to problem-solve my way inside
Even though I had a ladder to climb
Every lock and bolt let all hope die

That day I spent on the patio
Long and hot it was to be sure
Feeling neglected and left behind
I cried a few tears in a blur

Then I did some overdue yard work
Drank out of the hose like my dog
Relaxed in the hammock instead of lunch
Dozed off in an afternoon fog

Till I found a book on reflexology
I'd been meaning to read for so long
Practiced a few techniques on my cat
And planned how I'd tell Bill he'd done me wrong
true story
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?"
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
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 father, Cliff Fitzpatrick, wrote this as an ode to the Campbell-Stone residence where he lived in Atlanta, GA.  I post this in remembrance of my dad, the 1st poet in my life.
Terry Jordan Jan 2017
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
This is in honor of my father, Clifford Joseph Fitzpatrick, who would've been 97 today.  His poem was published in the newsletter of his residence in Atlanta, GA
Terry Jordan Jan 2018
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
This is the only poem that I could find of my father's-my 1st poet.  This is to honor him on what would have been his 98th birthday.
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.
Terry Jordan Aug 2017
At a gypsy’s stall in Soria, Spain
It was a beautiful market day
His tables were filled with French made shoes
Recommended by our friend Renaye

A cute pair of shoes caught Bernadette’s eye
They were ******* with 2 brocade bows
All covered with pink and orange flowers
With low heels and gold-tipped pointed toes

“No mas”, said he, there was no size forty
Only Bern found those shoes in her size
Then we happily tried on so many
Buying 6 pair we thought were great buys

Counting our shoes 2 by 2 into bags
The gypsy’s crooked smile seemed funny
We both grinned, too, with all our swell new shoes
Purchased with sixty euros of our money

Strolling we stopped at the York seeking churros
Too late, we had fresh croissants instead
I decided to try on my new sandals there
That led right to the trouble, Bern said

While awaiting the bus to the village
We both carefully held all our shoes
And watched a man with a rose in his teeth
I asked why, but not given a clue

Once arriving back home to the village
Feeling quite tired from walking around
Bern showed her shoes to Jose at the bar
Sad to learn one shoe couldn’t be found!

Yes, we retraced our steps in search of it
And twice-to check at the York- someone ran
Jose searched the bus, but right from the start
She thought she’d been scammed by the gypsy man

We had to go back, only on Thursday
A leisurely pace, eating churros
Yes we did get the shoe but discovered
We were over-charged by 20 euros
Lighter, happier times visiting my best friend in a little village, LosRabanos, not far from Soria, Spain many years ago
Terry Jordan Dec 2015
My Mom called me a clever girl
It felt like a slap in the face
She said, “My sister did that, too,
Wrote silly poems and crocheted lace”

Since Alpha, her older sister
Had a bad rheumatic heart
Too weak to help with the farm work
She cooked a little for her part

While Mom, the Swedish farm girl
With a rope tied around her waist
Up at four to reach the barn
Six feet of snow was every place

She had to milk the cows then
It was bone-freezing cold
Her older brother Forrest
Plowed the fields at twelve years old

Their father died and left them
To run the family dairy farm
Soon after Alpha passed on, too
Depression inflicted more harm

That year was 1931
Ancient history one might say
Grandmother never recovered
Her depression years there to stay

Cokato, Minnesota
Who could blame my mom for running
Her mother could not forgive her
Til she installed indoor plumbing

She had run away to Oakland
A California nursing school
Her mother called her *******
And disowning her was cruel

But she was the lone survivor
In her family of five
So she nursed her future husband
After World War II arrived

They married and moved to Boston
The Yankee soldier and farm girl
It was 1950’s suburbs
To my father it was rural

Theirs was such a raucous union
Like a constant fire alarm
That when I could I moved down South
My dream came true-I bought a farm

How history repeats itself
And leaves its own impression
Alpha was reborn as me
But treated for depression
Growing up, My brothers & I heard my mother's stories about growing up on a dairy farm in Cokato, Minnesota.  My grandparents were immigrants from Sweden who had 3 children.  My mother's older sister, Alpha, had rheumatic fever as a young child, which damaged her heart and caused her death at 19.  I think that both my Grandmother and mother suffered from depression most of their lives.  When I started writing poetry as a child, my mother would be dismissive about it, saying that's all her sister Alpha did, other than crocheting and reading, while she & her brother had to do all the  hard work.  And we heard the story about when she tied a rope around her waist to get to the barn, and back, without getting lost in the snow-a million times.  She'd laugh at my interests that were so like her sister Alpha's that I believed I WAS her sister, Alpha, especially since I looked like her, too.   The farm girl & city boy, my parents, were a mismatch, like many who met from different places during the Post-war years.  It sounded romantic, the way she nursed him when he was hospitalized for Malaria in California after WWII.  I just had to try and get it out in this poem...
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.
Terry Jordan Nov 2016
The first thinkers were poets
Naming Mother Earth
Beginning symbolic thinking
Of nature, death and birth

Though themes are often repeated
Love, Beauty and God
Poetry in the guise of Religion
A prophet or a fraud

The poet resurrects the Primitive
Through allegory and similes
Disarming the unknown like explorers
Sublime Prophets and Visionaries

They must lay bare those treasured images
That must be expressed
Unraveling and revealing the sounds
At each soul’s behest

Encompassing the entire Cosmos
So lyrical the beat
The poet’s excitement flows outward
Laid at the Reader’s feet

So original, individual
She won’t examine or explain
Letting go the festering feelings
Disturbances in her brain

He exposes his dark, wounded psyche
Just to release and express
Such capacity to see and compare
Hyperbole at its best

I love, I hate, I suffer
A special dance in rhythm and rhyme
The poet as a buffer
Lessening the pain and sting of time

Laden with symbol and feelings
She gives you sweet relief
From something urgent, revealing
Confusion to belief

Through a cinematic kind of seeing
The poet purges to transform
By leaping through Alice’s looking glass
She never was one to conform

Quite intolerant of convention
Just like The Mad Hatter
His passions immune to all logic
In syncopated patter

Jamming up the poet’s mind
Struggling for expression
Seeking order out of chaos
An infantile regression

Cleaving to his imaginary world
The poet breaks out into words
Creating sound paintings to be unfurled
So his own agony is blurred

She succumbs to storms of passion
With instinctive techniques
Rhymes and rhythm still in fashion
Out of hand flows mystique

The poet mines from his unconscious
The Reader is not blind
For every single line and symbol
Means something to the mind

Causing an inner liberation
Enlightenment or flight
It is a matter of life and death
When darkness turns to light.
Been working on this piece for a while; my thoughts on the inner mind of poets.
Terry Jordan Mar 2016
I heard that David Kavanagh
(So say reliable sources)
Has vacated Hello Poetry
To follow other courses…

He stopped for awhile to graze here
On Hello Poetry
Riding off on Irish horses
Pausing just to speak to trees
Many are sad to see Dave go-I'll miss his poetry & comments.
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
At a streetfair downtown
A 5-dollar coupon in hand
We used to buy a skinny tree
Potted up in an old rusty can

It may have looked less than promising
So leggy and light as a feather
Tentatively thought did it have roots?
Our first purchase we made together

We planted our tree in the yard
That spindly gumbo-limbo
But native to our Florida
It knew just how to grow

Just like I’d envisioned its shade
A canopy against fierce heat
Protecting us from that relentless sun
It’s now grown twenty-five feet

Six years have passed us by now
And risking sounding sappy
We’ve grown, too, as has our love
The tree and we are happy
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
A sweet hum so pure
The birds and squirrels greet me
For morning coffee
Terry Jordan Mar 2017
I am a thriving survivor
Though twice betrayed and abandoned
Often been lied to and cheated
Plutoed*, fired, hired then mistreated
Struggled getting up off the couch
Alienation caused self-doubt
For this thriving survivor

Release all the hurt and slander
To that past I will not pander
Determined to walk through the door
To a life with so much in store
For this thriving survivor
Trying my hand at the Rondine poetic form: #12 lines in #2 verses- with #7 lines in the 1st, #5 lines in the 2nd, consisting of 8-10 syllables for each except the refrain, or repeat of, part of the 1st line.  Awaiting feedback if I got the form right or not.  *demoted
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 Feb 2018
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 raucous 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
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.
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.
Terry Jordan Jan 2016
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.
Reading this again gave me a lift & inspired a poem of my own.
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.
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
You think it's nifty turning sixty
You even yearn for sixty-five
So you can go on Medicare
At last good healthcare will arrive

Until that year 2020 gets here
Don't miss those moments fleeting
Eat your kale for roughage
To keep that strong heart beating

Uncle Sam will send your social security
So you begin a life so rare
But why wait-retire now
For you can get Obamacare
Terry Jordan May 2016
I change my shoes and attitude
But say I hate surprises
Desiring things to stay the same
Anxiety arises

Change a job, a change in age
Change your view or change your tone
The Age of Aquarius turned the page
To change your tune-you’re not alone

Do I fight the change, ignite the change
The change I fear, so hard so cruel
You can win a war yet take the blame
When Yin and Yang begin to duel

Like loose change dropped in a jar
Changing partners, changing clothes
Change my house and buy that car
Bless the highs but curse the lows

Pain and Joy, so intertwined
A change of heart, a change of flight
Accepting wisdom, change my mind
A shift to the left, the change feels right

The change I see, or don’t see comin’
I move in a different direction
Confidently whistling and hummin’  
Too late, upon closer inspection

Change for the better or change can ****
Lead in the water has been unfurled
Change means growth-you cannot stand still
Change our position and change the world
Inspired by David Bowie's 'Changes' lyrics
Terry Jordan Sep 2018
I change my shoes and attitude
Some say I hate surprises
Desiring things to stay the same
Anxiety arises

Change a job, a change in age
Change your view or change your tone
The Age of Aquarius turned the page
To change your tune-you’re not alone

Do I fight the change, ignite the change
The change I fear, so hard so cruel
You can win a war yet take the blame
When Yin and Yang begin to duel

Like loose change dropped in a jar
Changing partners, changing clothes
Change my house and buy that car
Bless the highs but curse the lows

Pain and Joy, so intertwined
A change of heart, a change of flight
Accepting wisdom, change my mind
A shift to the left, the change feels right

The change I see, or don’t see comin’
I move in a different direction
Confidently whistling and hummin’  
Too late upon closer inspection

Change for the better or change can ****
Lead in the water has been unfurled
Change means growth-you cannot stand still
Change your position and change the world
Thinking of David Bowie and his song, Changes
Terry Jordan Dec 2018
Christmas is Love

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
Merry Christmas everyone!
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.
Terry Jordan Dec 2015
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 starful of 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 card many years ago, and was happy when a friend's mother mentioned that she'd saved it.
Terry Jordan Feb 2016
I dislike Spring pruning
All those dead branches that must be stripped
To bear good fruit, so necessary
I’m no Master Gardener
I’ve made mistakes before, confused
Choosing which ones to cut away
Which ones I should let stay
Make no mistake
With proper pruning the Springtime sun
Magnificently promises
Seemingly spent branches
Flowing silently, secretly with new sap
New buds, fresh leaves and blossoms
And delectable new fruit
Fruit so succulent
Better because of the pruning
May I cut away the dead branches of my life
And may I not mind the pruning
Waiting for the Master Gardener’s promise
Terry Jordan Dec 2016
I dislike Spring pruning
All those dead branches that must be stripped
To bear good fruit, so necessary
I’m no Master Gardener
I’ve made mistakes before, confused
Choosing which ones to cut away
Which ones I should let stay
Make no mistake
With proper pruning the Springtime sun
Magnificently promises
Seemingly spent branches
Flowing silently, secretly with new sap
New buds, fresh leaves and blossoms
And delectable new fruit
Fruit so succulent
Better because of the pruning
May I cut away the dead branches of my life
And may I not mind the pruning
Awaiting the Master Gardener’s promise
John 15:1-8  Or see your broken perceptions as branches pruned from the vine…so that your fruitful thoughts can gain nourishment from the vine.
Terry Jordan Mar 2016
I ask this of you, Lord
In your hands my fate lies
I've wandered in blindness
Please Lord open my eyes

Let your love fill me
Let your love heal me
Don't let life steal me
From your tender love

I prayed to you, Dear Lord
With these sighs my words poured
Please clothe me in your love
And hear your ev'ry word

I was tired and so lonely
My mind broken in shame
Until I was led to
Calling out in your name

Like gardens need water
Oh we reap what we sow
Your light in my path, Lord
Helps me see my faith grow

I feel heartbeats of Spirit
When it holds me so near
It's God's grace that saves us  
And erases all fear

I sing to you dear Lord
Like a child just been born
For love, strength and wisdom
You've been here all along

I let your love fill me
I let your love heal me
I won't let life steal me
From your tender love
Terry Jordan Nov 2019
trump better watch out
he better not cry
Better not shout
Impeachment is nigh
More indictments coming-no doubt!

Conspiracy lists
Repeating them thrice
Gonna tweet out
What’s naughty, not nice…
donald trump’s Impeachment’s in town!

We see you when you’re tweeting
We know that you’re up late
We see that you’re a shameless hood
Can’t be good for goodness sake!

Oh! trump’s Treason’s come out
he’s starting to cry
he already shouts
Calls putin his guy…
donald trump-on Airforce One-leaves town!
After the Impeachment hearings this week, I'm imagining trump escaping town via Airforce One...
Terry Jordan Sep 2019
He crows about his crowd size
For “winning” an election
While most of us experience
Democracy’s defection

donald knows no boundaries
His pants always on fire
Now numbers past 12 thousand
Show he’s a constant liar

Praising evil dictators
He thinks that we won’t notice
While kow-towing to putin
Our crazy shady potus

Earth’s life-supporting systems
Are collapsing day by day
Showing scorched Earth strategies
Daily through his EPA

Rolling regulations back
For Mother Earth’s protections
Defiling our National Parks
Drilling toxic injections

The Amazon is burning
Is any country helping?
The Earth is getting hotter
Too many glaciers melting

trump’s polluting our sandbox
Distracting us from the greed
In the frenzy of rollbacks…
his relentless Twitter feed

Maligning our Free Press
It’s clear for whom he’s rootin’
Eliminating sanctions
Against vladimir putin
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 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.
Terry Jordan Mar 2016
That day I met her at the Shelter
She said, “My name is Dora",
While hanging upside down, off kilter,
“I’m Dora the Explorer!”
Balanced on the armoire door
Beckoning me to help her retrieve
Hanging high above the floor
A ballet that I couldn’t believe...
Up on one toe she dangled
As she demanded I help her reach
Some toys she longed to wrangle
Until we heard a commanding screech!
“Get down from there!  Wash your hands!
Asia, it’s almost time for dinner!"
Dora leapt-trusting- she lands
Her high-flying act a sure winner!

Oh, Dora, who is Asia?
She said, “I don’t like that name-sorry!
Later let's play a new game?
After dinner my name is Laurie!”
Since she answered to that name
I schooled her in her name’s history
But Dora just wouldn’t be tamed
“Not a CONTINENT-I’m a MYSTERY!”
Asia, alias Laurie Dora
After supper, brushed and scrubbed
Gave the best, my airy explorer-
Dora's monumental hug!
She sprang to my arms without warning
Like a monkey from a vine
I wasn’t aware until morning
It was the best hug of all time!
I met this amazing young girl at the local homeless shelter, and I'm pretty sure she's coping well despite her family's difficulties finding work & a place to live.  They'll stay at the shelter until that's accomplished.
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 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.
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
I've had enough
Tired of mediating with your worst self
Hoping to meet a fleeting best self
I'm sick of providing insurance
To your denied reality
Weary of walking on eggshells
Agonizing over spirited outbursts
Accepting overdue apologies
For being called stupid, a terrible wife
One occasional day of closeness shattered
By 10 days of strife
Negating my sweet Renegade
My music, my hair, my whole life!
Does putting me down keep you up?
Dr. Jekyl and Mr. Hyde take turns with me
My dilemma, knowing WHO you'll           be.
Terry Jordan Jan 2019
Extend a hand to yourself
Helpful, tender and warm
Giving yourself a high-five
Doing yourself no harm

Raise both hands, disarm yourself
Feel peace from hands to heart
Show some enthusiasm
Before your day can start

Hug both shoulders give a squeeze
Close your eyes with a sigh
Feeling your love with each breath
Even if you cry

Entwine your fingers, press palms
In gratitude for
Having come this far
While still wanting more

Give yourself a round of applause
Feel the joy indeed
Perhaps a pat on your shoulder
May be all you need
Just a little piece about loving yourself, that it's ok to be your own best friend, to be accepting and tender toward oneself.  Oscar Wild described loving ourselves as  "the beginning of a lifelong romance".
Terry Jordan Nov 2017
Give me life in easy doses
Pieces I can swallow
I could bear the contradiction
Living without sorrow

Mixing grit with poignancy
Keeping me wrought up inside
Not without a grain of salt
Repress what can be denied

Reframing to simplicity
Complexity loses clout
Reconstruction reaps benefits
Eliminating all doubt

Feeling my poetic license
I stopped correcting mistakes
Seeing no ambiguity
Nor courage to hit the brakes

Cleaving to Imagination
In denial I wallow
I can’t bear that contradiction
No joy without the sorrow
I forgot a verse scribbled on a scrap of paper...
Terry Jordan Oct 2015
Facing an empty nest
my son said don't be stupid
use your apple laptop
to go on ok cupid

So i struggled with my profile
uploaded a picture or two
then waited for my soulmate
while stalkers came to view

One said he disliked people
the next, just casual ***...
seeking christy brinkley's
firmed up **** & pecs

Once i was a **** buddy
i swear i never knew it
until he said "meet melody"
that's how i learned i blew it

I'm not greedy, not too needy
so i'll say this right out loud
when it comes to playful ***...
for me 3 is a crowd!

Should i call on carrie bradshaw?
to explain *** in the city?
when samantha found her mr. wright
it ended not so pretty

Once a young man pursued me mightily
with passionate hysteria
until he asked for plane fare
to fly him from nigeria

Who IS that who winked at me?
what does it really mean
a sea of faces scrolling down
a modern mating machine

I digress, most do agree
that our lives flow like a river
but wait...what do i see?
my dream man in my quiver?
True story-a lesson learned!
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 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 Feb 2018
Words will love time
Family soul looked dead
Mother night, Brother fear
Best dark, crooked dog
Hears invisible moment
Stay, bear, speak easy space language
Remember hard space days
Language spaces cry
Christmas music power
Beauty seeking kiss turns to Irish evening news
Sun met snow going to watch miles
Die waiting, making clever men strong
Cat lives learn pure poetry
Wide storm a false friend
Morning feels close, feet pain weaving peace
Help poets let eternity cut fruit apart
Blue depression wins, full darkness leaves
Seasons retire watching river
Sea sorrow sold joy
Feeling deep sound things
Abandoned blame returns
Blind hearing grace checks wild mistake
Running, driven-spent moments
Sorrow creating joy
Hold hands, find play
Lost lake born a pale moon
Fresh dance worth breathing
A breathing garden paradise
Cool quicksand reaching a slow wait
Bless living fires' straight rain
Forgive driving, thriving resentments
Listen wisdom, tomorrow care needed
Glory course closer, savor ordinary beach comfort
Search, child, higher purpose tune
Human blood hearts rose, amazed
Alpha lessons support warhead, cruel promises cease
Remind denying Miami
Doppelgänger prophets flash resistance
Mourn cruising, drinking, washing tears
Women aware, believing Today broke
Fly locked room, pulling neglected history
Leaving social standing, familiar village wedding
Revealing cursed leaping boy
Gambling high Democracy
There are 7000 words that I've used in writing and posting poetry, so I printed them and started circling phrases within them that sounded good to me.  Sounds like nonsense...but is it?  Anyone else tried it?
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
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 Jul 2018
However I wasted my younger days
Wherever I wiled away precious hours
Whenever I gazed at the moon and stars
Whatever games that we played and pondered
Whichever adventure we went on then
Is exactly where my mind still wanders

Whoever I kissed and then held hands with
Whatever the spell from the sounds and smells
Whenever my heart was soundly broken
However I try silencing this hell
Wherever that loss is newly spoken
Whichever place causes the freshest pain

Whenever I think of the time in flight
By mistake flew into forbidden space
When 2 jets flanking me motioned us down
How they saw us as Eco-Terrorists
Flying to LosAlamos Power Plant
Where it is strictly restricted airspace

Whenever dad left-once on Christmas eve
However it unfolded felt tragic
Whatever Christmas comes around again
Whoever toasts to the joy of the day
Whatever the chance, gone was the magic
Whichever way we celebrate today

Whichever day Mother's Day comes around
Whoever I'm with matters not a bit
However I remember that morning
While feeding our son, “I love you”, you said
Then later, “I don't want to be married...
Anymore.”  That pain floods like tsunamis

However I try to stay in the now
Whenever the calendar reminds me
How my favorite youngest brother died
Whatever the details I sorely pine
Thinking of Sam this 4th of July
When he would have been turning 59

However my days have been wiled away
How often revealing one simple truth
*Where your treasure is, will your heart be, too  (Matthew 6:21)
Happy 4th of July!  I had my brother Sam convinced-he was born on the 4th of July-that the fireworks were specifically for him.  This piece is my stab at a sestina, a poetry form with 6 verses with 6 lines, #10 syllables each, and a 7th verse with 3 lines.
Terry Jordan Nov 2015
I Am Peter the Apostle

Just an illiterate fisherman
Before the Holy Spirit spread
Even my shadow had power
To heal and raise Dorcus from the dead

Jesus called my brother Andrew, too
When we both toiled as fishermen
To follow Him in God’s mission
And learn how to be Fishers of men

I witnessed his transfiguration
Meeting Elijah and Moses
A prelude to Jesus Risen
He knew he faced no bed of roses

Jesus taught me how his days on Earth
All were numbered to the hour
He transfigured on the mountain
I saw His magnificent power

I proclaimed, “You are the Messiah!”
I assure you God loves us all
Angels tapped me on the shoulder
To be witness to His mighty call

I was there when God spoke lovingly
“This is my much beloved son”
I’ve not been telling fairy-tales
In the light of Eternity Won

I was ordained by Jesus Himself
And founded two churches of hope
Spread His message of salvation
To Catholics I’m the very first pope

I am warning you ahead of time
Surprise, like a thief in the night
He’s giving more time for sinners
Who are trying hard to get it right

Believe that day is surely coming
So while waiting for His return
Achieve closer union with God
Holy, Godly lives are your concern

Live without sinning and be at peace
With everyone-it’s not too late
My own eyes have seen His Glory
Let His light dawn in your soul-don’t wait!

Remember I walked on water, too
Following Jesus in His wake
All ungodly men will perish
So follow him, too, for your own sake

Those who fall in love with money
Always doing wrong to others
Beware false prophets who tell lies
Destroy their unrepentant covers

I remind you all so solemnly
Of ***** and Gomorrah’s end
And yet God saved that good man, Lot
And He can rescue you, too, my friend

A man’s a slave to what controls him
“Do what you like, be free”, say men
False teachers are fools, don’t listen
For they really are slaves to their sin

I remind you He came to save us
From the rottenness all around
Demonstrating His character
To the Golden Rule you should be bound

A dog coming back to his *****
Or a pig wallowing again
It’s worse than not to have known Him
For those who turn once again to sin

When a person escapes wickedness
Then tangles up with sin once more
By turning on His commandments
He’ll be worse off than he was before

No woman escapes their sinful stares
They proudly boast of sin, no giving
They’ve gone off the road, useless and doomed
Luring others to wicked living

God delivered us from the old life
Put aside your own desires
Gladly be patient and Godly
Living the good life He requires

He’ll open wide the gates of heaven
You are among those God has called
Into His Eternal Kingdom
I’m reminding you what prophets told

In the last days he warns of scoffers
Who cleverly lie about God
They laugh at the truth when taunting
“Where is he? Why so slow?  He’s a fraud!”

Is His promised return slow for you?
In a day or a thousand years…
To God is just like tomorrow
When Christ our Savior again appears

He’s given us all blessings promised
Let God have His way, not a whim
Find out what God wants you to do
Become fruitful and useful to Him

Yes, I know how I denied Jesus
And recall the rooster crowed, too
Three times I said I don’t know Him
Ask yourself how many times have you?
All I knew about Peter was that he denied Jesus three times, until I read more about him...
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