Best Jordan Poems
a poet's soul is brimming with life
through tragedies and glorious highs,
we all are connected; we all deeply care;
a poet's soul speaks to the heart in us all.
this poet i have recently come to know
personfies overcoming tremendous odds
with grace, honesty and a generous spirit
this poet writes truth, deeply rooted in faith.
i feel blessed to know this kind, poet soul
his writing inspires and encourages by example
to whom do i speak of you wonder, i know,
michael jordan, poet soul; this tag is for you.
~the lovely & talented joseph spence wrote a tag
for me, this is my first; i hope you enjoy~
***thank you joseph, i hope i did ok***
Many a tribute is written
Only the writer knows why
The reason I'm writing this
He could have been goodbye
This Bakersfield boy
Smith Corner he graced
To lose his mother at 4
A young soul misplaced
Loving Grandparents
Filled an empty void
For the loss of a parent
Internal destroy
High School reached
Hooked on drugs
Degenerating body
Societies bug
He ended up here
And also there
To the age of 41
In hazed stare
An Angel was released
To look after her son
As he rose from his prayer
His new life begun
Then came the day
A son was reborn
In a town called Willows
The end of his storm
Another two Angels appeared
Michaela and Antoinette
His future path laid
All three, truly set
Mr Michael Jordan
I think your grand
You help your past
Now that's a stand
A leader, a gent
Poet and dude
To shake your hand
I wish i could
My tribute to a wonderful person whose life story always moved me.
From Willows California,
Comes one man’s poetic verse.
Who was once consumed by drugs,
But overturned that curse.
And with the grace of God,
He lives a clean and sober life.
To fulfill his life’s destiny,
With Antoinette his wife.
He has the heart of an addict,
But it’s not a choice of drugs.
It’s writing out his heart,
In the poetic forms he loves.
He’s no longer in a cell,
Under the direction of a Warden.
He’s free to write his soul,
And his name is Michael Jordan.
_____________________________
To Michael Jordan a fellow souper,
for his supportive comments,
his inspiration, and hard work here on
the soup and out in society...
In the wee hours of a cool autumn night,
They were roused from sleep by a loud knock.
They feared it would be some bandits,
Trying to get into the house pulling open the lock.
To their great surprise they found their own Jordan,
Who had been mysteriously missing since years.
No news of him to the deep chagrin of his dear ones,
Leaving all in great suspense and his parents, in tears
As a child he had been a stinker, no church, and no God.
Used to absent from class for many days, a truant.
He longed for freedom and didn’t like being confined.
He was lured by adventure and was never prudent.
Seeing him, his parents were so excited, but he was full of remorse.
He asked forgiveness for he had sinned against all and gone astray.
He was in a UFO wishing to soar away into the clouds.
Now he is a changed man who has stepped out of his zombie way.
* * * *
On the pulse of a new life, he now has the grace to look up,
Into the faces of his brethren, read their mind and their problem,
With a resolve to do whatever he can to ameliorate their pain,
He renders selfless service, helping many lives blossom!
Marijuana puffs
Famed hallucinatory.
Laced with excuses.
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
June 8, 2010
Poetic form: Haiku
Poem 18
Percival Jordan
1892 - 1912
I am where I am
Because of who I was.
I imbibed a million breaths
And observed the stars dotting the night skies
Like actors taking the stage for another eternal encore.
I am in the air
As I am in the ground.
And I know the truth now.
Life was an impossible possibility.
Born of pleasure and fear and desperation.
And I’m relieved the ridiculous race is over.
I spent most of my carefree days here in Clark Cemetery.
Helping Artilissa water the flowers.
And as a boy I played amidst the sunken graves.
I sat in silence like a scheming spider
Under the stretching shadows of the old tombstones.
I wrote poems to the dead
And read the Psalms aloud
With my many lady friends dressed in silk
Sitting scandalously close to me.
Under a darkening full moon shade one evening
I kissed Ethel Woodstock on the lips
And I released my emerging manhood
With a simmering sigh.
I felt strangely odd when Ethel died that night,
Enveloped in her mother’s helpless embrace.
I placed a rose bud upon her mahogany casket
And I cried as a light rain descended
Upon the drinking gorged ground around us..
Indeed I was the annoying little boy in the graveyard;
That flim-flaming rascal
With the cocky smirk of a broken gentleman.
With costumed enterprise,
I tricked many a passerby
With repeated low-moaning dirges
From behind the Hadley tombstone.
Their screams were hilarious but they never caught me.
God knows I had plans.
Plans to be a lawyer.
Plans to be an electrician.
Plans to be married and to find peace of mind.
But when I awoke one cold morning in 1912,
My bed was soaked in warm blood,
And all my plans were forever harvested by the Grim One.
I love Clark Cemetery in the autumn.
When the leaves turn dark and deadly.
When the rippling landscape illuminates the truth and finality of all things.
Life is just a fast-moving storm
And none of us has the time to notice the returning rainbow.
Oh, for a simple cup of coffee again!
There is a very special man
caring, humble, proud
I am here to testify
and sing his praise out loud
He lives to love and spread the truth
of healing through the land
His poetry brings courage, hope,
extends a helping hand
To souls who've lost the rightous way
his heart sings loud and true
and Michael I am honored
to sing my praise to you
You spread encouragement, hope and love
to all who've been through hell
you share strength and compassion
for you know the horrors well
And now you live a Godly life
a beacon for all to see,
I'm glad you came into my life
you've helped my heart be free.
A tribute to PSer Michael Jordan, a true friend.
Roses are red
udders are pink
your moms a dink
Standing at the waters dividing edge....
Watching the sparrows and dragonflies flying by
Spitting into its mirrored reflections amid these
Shimmering thoughts of being as one; life ~
Walking down its banks and gazing into the sky
Searching....
Sacred verse; flowing currents and swaying flowers
Jewelweeds, colourful turtles and curious mallards
Butterflies dancing afore fascinations bloom; purity ~
A chorus line its blessed light and unknown night and I
My own hands; before the altar carved years ago....
The precious name of “Christ, The Messiah.”
Turning toward the north to pass, this sweeping sun ~
Spirit in hand; spitting into the waters of mirrored
Moments as One, with my Soul....
Searching beyound the currents flowing inside these eyes
Nature, life, tides and tides; time, standing at divisions edge
*************************************************
....“Again, At The River Jordan” ~
Everyday I wake, I bathe in the river Jordan: taking with me the dirtiness from the yesterdays. Repeating the same sins, that were never washed clean. Reenacting the past and all its ways.
I miss my old friend
Michael Jordan
And sometimes I wonder
How is he doing
And I pray
To read the old gospeller again
Tumbling fire into words
Breaking Lucifer's chain
Renouncing the bitter past
And casting spells upon hearts
That wait for his spring to come
And often I wonder
Did the rain ever fall
Did the new grass grow good
As he wanted it to
O and I pray he is not sick
Nor hurting in pain
I long to read the old gospeller again
And feel the fire of another soul
Burning the wrongs of earth.
There was once a young soul I’ll call Jordan
He was a little on the wild side, a rebellious child
Most expected he’d someday know the warden
The one he’d answer to before being reconciled
Freedom, it seems, we often take it for granted
Like Jordan, I sometimes disregarded the rules
It took some time for me to grow where I was planted
I could be stubborn and obstinate, like the mules
But, like Jordan, who became a regular light in the end
I learned to live a life of kindness, caring about hearts
Thanks to the love that I carry with me, the forever friend
Who makes a way for Jordan and me, with grace off the charts…
Jordan became a preacher, the leader of many people
He carries hope inside his soul, a hope that grows and grows
Because of that long ago bible school beneath the church steeple,
He is a light to many who live in the dark – his love always shows…
Jesus is the One friend we can carry with us through every fear
Thanks to His love, there is grace beyond what we comprehend
It is grace that takes away our sin, wipes away every single tear
Reveals joy from believing in Him, the One who did ascend
JERUSALEM
Collaboration with Dalia Shahein (Jordan)
I, First
My Salem, my shalom, maybe yours as well -
Be well; build a well again – we’ll all be well, or
Better than before in Jerusalem of the heart
Whose Jerusalem made Jesus weep?
“O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, You who kill the Prophets …”
Forgive me, Redirect me, as your beloved exiles sang
Even in despair as long as millennia, you call your own!
Salem of mystery, of history, of prophecy!
Jesus had wanted to gather her under His tallit, Robe
Of Righteousness – by our Rabbi of Righteousness.
Jesus showed his royal face and mystery-lineage once
To Abraham, revered Patriarch, respected Father:
As the High-Priest without beginning or end,
Melchizadek, King of Salem & Righteousness!
Who took the first tithe from our father-in-common
And delivered bread and wine: the first Communion
O Jerusalem of Jesus, How Long – how much longer?
I adore Thee like no earthly City
Come Jerusalem, Mother, Father, Heaven, Earth
All tongues sing of Thee, O Jerusalem, Come
II, Second
Jerusalem land of faith, land of all religions on earth
Jerusalem oh beloved Jerusalem, land of martyrs and saintly blood
Jerusalem where Prophet Muhammad rose to the seventh sky
You're the heaven that's on earth
You're the meaning of purity and clarity,
The meaning of beauty and love, Jerusalem –
Land of GOD and all prophets
We seek you, we pray … to be in the hands of GOD
In you we seek to illuminate the darkness from our hearts
In you we seek freedom from our sins
Jerusalem oh beloved Jerusalem
We will die without you; we will fight to love you like others
You belong to God’s children; all of God – yes, ALL of GOD
III, Third
My Jerusalem, Thy Jerusalem, City of Past
And forever; replete with Prophecy – Speak!
Roses are red
Blacks are white
if Hispanics want to fight
They'll bring a knife
DEATH OF KING HUSSEIN
February 7, 1999 Amman, Jordan
Uncertain wings, Hawk of the Qureish fly
out of the night to meet the coming day
of certain mourning, he is set to die
as is uncertain peace that was his way.
Amman is crying, streets are washed with tears
of followers and tribesmen of his own
who've prayed for miracles down through the years
but he is all the miracle they've known.
The powder keg is primed, and set to blow
what peace he's made now hostage to the past,
and still the Jordan makes it's dreary flow
through all his world and time that can not last.
divided tribes are joining, aiming for
a swift, decisive act of holy war.
© Ron Wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet