Photo by Olivia D Bryant
I cannot discern the precise moment that it happened
But somewhere beneath the folds of winter’s embrace,
My heart succumbed to a slow and furtive thaw…..
Was it by design?
I find myself a prisoner of futile contemplation as of late.
It seems that there is an inexplicable science
Fueling this curious and damnable fire within.
The dreamer wants that which is not to be
While the warrior delivers blow after blow,
Valiantly defending the fortress of dispassion.
©️ 2018 Tina Jordan, All Rights Reserved
only a sparrow takes notice as
a single tear escapes in the wake
of her weariness and melts
into the whispering current
of the Erne's south branch
it is the only eulogy she
can offer today
she crafts a reprisal in her mind
memories of what was
long ago a refuge made
entirely of child's play and
secrets for tomorrow's bidding
she fights the emptiness that will
teasing eyes of light-flecked amber
dirt stained cheeks and one perfectly
that burns with each pulse of
her very life's blood
in reply to the tree-softened breeze
Helen pulls the front of her brother's
waistcoat a bit tighter around her
breathing in his scent
before it escapes into nevermore
the crushed white blossoms
carelessly slip from her trembling fingers
into the eager waters below
and the solitary sparrow takes flight
Red Veil © 2014 Tina Jordan, All Rights Reserved
I was well
on my way
to a glorious
I am certain
until you happened
of my mind
is to become
of me now?
in my vision
only serves to
has rendered me
and called out
of the heart
can I direct
© 2018 Tina Jordan, All Rights Reserved
Fault me not for my sentiments,
be they unruly at their best.
I suspect that these feelings
are borne of stardust….
fractured pieces of me,
lashed together with
je ne sais quoi….
I once heard that
Cease your incessant cross-examination of
It beats still with some
measure of certainty
I assure you, good sir.
Were I to pen you a missive
detailing the merits of my
affection, I could not guarantee
that the lines would not be blank.
This masque of nonchalance I wear
has become more burdensome
Pray tell that your thoughts
are riddled with the yearning
to know the truth of me.
© Tina Jordan 2018, All Rights Reserved
A simple declaration of love
threatens my fortress of dispassion
Ambush laced within a smoky voice
I severed all ties
with romantic notions ages ago
binding my scars in
indifference and austerity
A call to arms I bellow silently
commanding the forces of
rationale and better judgement
to present themselves directly
The rules of engagement
have been further breached
by his expectant gaze and
the tenderness of his touch
I steel myself amid
this sudden sedition
gauging my own fortitude
and hard-earned wisdom
against the assault
of his embrace
The battle within me ensues
As sure as I raise
it becomes apparent
that my reserves
have been depleted
my only recourse
Copyright 2018 Tina Jordan All Rights Reserved
perhaps it was
solely in my mind
but certain am I that
a piece by Paganini
was playing last night
I do not know
if true love exists
yet for the life of me
I cannot deny that
the corners of my heart
at the sight of him
the new year
with a leisurely pace
enjoying the interlude
from my stolid
state of existence
and relishing the crescendo
of delight inspired by
my focus on
along with hesitation
Copyright 2017 Tina Jordan, All Rights Reserved
Early June 1539
Near the edge of the village I pause in exhausted reflection,
knowing my journey is approaching its end and
lifting a prayer that the pilgrimage has not been made in vain.
My feet, although covered in a thin mask of leather,
are raw with biting blisters and fatigue;
and the audible protest from this empty stomach
echoes in my weary wake.
The idea of dignity defeating my desperation at this point is absurd;
I survey the dusty panorama in hopes of finding a morsel
that has been dropped or discarded along the street.
Nothing save refuse and pebbles line the path
as I force the muscles in my calves to gain each subsequent step;
I feel the disdain of a merciless gaze upon me from behind.
I dare not turn, but continue on towards what appears to be
a chapel in the center of the town, lest my myopic weakness
has created a cruel mirage some fifty yards ahead.
Bells peal lightly into the evening announcing vespers.
I take an unassuming position behind the crowd hoping
for a moment's respite and a blessing for my parched lips.
My entrance is denied by the dark haired man draped in ceremonial robes
and an undeniable lack of piety as he makes his assessment
of the haggard stranger at the bottom of the steps.
My attention to his apologue is short lived,
and my faltering vision affixes itself on the breviary
clutched tightly in his hand.
I fade into the void of my own enervation
regardless of my will to live.
The bells are infused with a slightly sweeter color now,
accompanied by a delicate intonation from a quartet
of flutes that can be labeled no less than divine.
Alas, my mouth is no longer dry.
Copyright Tina Jordan 2017 All Rights Reserved
within my heart
longs for a voice
of its own
I harbor the
dare not bleed
with you so near
I cannot read
the stars in your eyes
turning my back
to the fair-weather
I await the tide’s
unable to admit
how I sorely
I am in need
Copyright Tina Jordan 2017 All Rights Reserved
I survey a room awash with strangers, each one lost
In seasonal merriment, assured of my anonymity.
What madness to have crashed a Christmas gathering!
Unclear of intent but certain of need to expel my loneliness,
I sip slowly at my glass of cider, noting how the ricochet of
Laughter is skewed when it fuses with the chime of the harp.
Your appearance center-stage of my sights is sudden,
And I almost choke on the elixir of unlikely possibilities.
It has been said that miracles do happen; the thought
Scatters through my mind inciting the most fanciful hope.
I am standing in the midst of a vortex of one-thousand
Words that should be offered at this exacting moment.
Yet I find myself in a paralytic state of tongue, where
Nary a sound tenders the paramount joy inside me.
The only logical move for me to make is to shift myself
On unsteady legs three steps forward and to the right
So that the gentle warming wave of the hearth masks my
Bewilderment, and the mistletoe above answers for me.
Copyright 2014 Tina Jordan, All Rights Reserved ~ Red Veil