Poems by Jordan A. Leturgez

In the quiet dawn, where shadows play,
A single beam of light finds its way,
It steers the soft petals, dew-kissed and bright,
Whispers of morning, in air crisp and light.

A child's laughter, a kite in the sky,
The joyous twirl as it dances on high,
In the mundane moments, where hearts intertwine,
There lie the treasures, our lives' silent shine.

The art of the simple, brewed coffee's embrace,
A book with a cover, and words that lace grace,
Each sip, each page, a small win anew,
Like bread baked with care, the aroma breaks through.

A stranger's kind smile on a crowded street,
The warmth of connection in strangers we meet,
The rustle of leaves, the sweet song of birds,
Tiny reminders, unspoken, like words.

The sunset ignited in hues spread so wide,
A canvas of colors, no artist inside,
Yet beauty prevails in the fleeting daylight,
In that moment, we find joy, pure and bright.

So let us remember, when storms cloud our skies,
It's not always the grand that brings forth our highs,
But the nuances woven in the fabric of fate,
The small wins, simple joys -- let us celebrate!

In the dance of the mundane, the world feels alive,
With hearts open wide, in small wins we thrive,
For within every heartbeat, every breath we take,
Lie the seeds of our happiness, the joys we create.

In aisles of whispers, where dreams unfold,
Amidst the shimmer of silver and gold,
They wait with stories, each object a plea,
To capture the heart, to set visions free.

The scent of soft leather, the touch of fine silk,
A tapestry woven with essence of milk,
The echo of choices, both subtle and loud,
In the theater of commerce, we stand, we're proud.

What is it we seek in these bright, shining lands?
Connection, perhaps, through invisible hands,
A tapestry stitched with the threads of the past,
As seasons cascade, the moments are cast.

Each item a treasure, each shelf a new chance,
To dance through the maze in an endless romance,
The flicker of price tags, like stars in the night,
They twinkle with promise, they beckon with light.

Yet amidst all the noise, in the hustle, the race,
Lies a longing for warmth, for a familiar space,
Where strangers become friends in the smallest exchange,
Where laughter and kindness can blossom, not change.

So here in this haven, with footsteps that weave,
We're more than mere customers, we're hearts that believe,
In the magic of moments, the art of the sell,
In every transaction, we're bound by a spell.

Let us treasure the essence, the scent of the day,
Find stories in shopping that carry the sway,
For in the realm of retail, where senses collide,
We're more than just buyers--we're souls open wide.

In the light of dawn, where whispers play,
Where shadows dance in the softening gray,
I find a truth, a shimmering thread,
Woven through moments, unsaid, unshed.

A heartbeat quickens within the still,
As petals unfurl on the edge of a hill,
There's magic in silence, a soft-spoken grace,
In the warmth of a glance, in the touch of your face.

Each word like a brush, painting skies so vast,
In ink of the cosmos, our stories are cast.
You are the whisper in a crowded room,
A radiant blossom in the darkest gloom.

With every shared laugh, with every shared tear,
You fill up the spaces, and draw me near.
Your presence a melody, pure and profound,
A symphony of dreams in the laughter we've found.

So here, in this moment, I claim my place,
In the soft, gentle glow of your quiet grace.
To be seen and to cherish, to feel and to know,
In the garden of feelings where love's rivers flow.

For in just being you, I am lifted and spun,
A star in your orbit, my journey begun.
In the kaleidoscope world that you help me frame,
I feel so special, ignited by flame.

So let the winds carry this truth far and wide,
In the heart of the universe, our souls collide.
For to feel so special is not just to be,
But a tapestry woven, just you and me.

Every dog has its day,
a small sun rising where the pavement cracks--
a gnawed slipper baptized in morning light,
a tail that learns to count the world.
Some days are thunder: sprinting down alleys,
nose like a compass to the vanished scent of dinner,
others are hush, a bed warmed by remembered hands.

There is the streetwise king with dust for a crown,
who finds a spilled sandwich and is royal for an hour.
There is the champion in the backyard--leaps like a yes,
eyes bright with the grammar of fetch,
who comes back every time with the whole day's praise caught in his mouth.

There is the old dog whose joints keep ledger,
who remembers every door that ever opened,
who dreams of running and wakes to the ache like a bell.
When the child drops a slice of toast, his tail--slow as forgiveness--answers.

There is the small one under the shelter light,
nose pressed to a cool, hopeful window,
who waits through seasons of goodbyes until a hand arrives,
and the world tilts, a plain made new as a bowl of water on a hot day.
For some, the day is loud with applause; for others, it is a single soft hand.

Every dog has its day,
not always the headline, but a holy quiet: a lap, a leash, a laugh,
the warmth of one familiar voice reciting the same silly name.
Sometimes it's a road that ends in a porch where the moon lays its silver paw.
Sometimes it's the simple miracle of being seen.

So let mornings be patient and let sunsets keep their secrets.
Listen for paws like small metronomes on the floor--count them.
Because when that day comes, it will be a bright thing:
brief, ordinary, fierce as joy, and it will make everything else forgiveable.

We unclasp the small, rusty bones of yesterday--
fingers tasting the cold iron of old promises,
and lift them like explained maps,
learning at last the names of our wounds.

Sun arrives as a patient witness,
burning the thin varnish of fear.
It finds the places where we hid our voices
and stains them gold; the songs spill out
like water from a cracked pot, generous and surprised.

There is a language that only unshackled feet speak:
the soft percussion of steps that do not ask permission,
the hush of breath that no longer counts its cost.
We trade the grammar of survival for an accent of daring,
and the world, for once, listens.

Liberation is not a single door opened;
it is the rustling of rooms within us,
the slow uncoiling of a bird's wings after winter,
the way a river remembers the sea and rushes toward it.

We plant our names in places that once forbade them,
root them deep as anchors and light as prayers.
Hands that trembled learn the shape of holding--
not to grasp, but to offer: food, truth, forgiveness.
Laughter becomes the currency of mornings.

And when the old gates fall--no clatter, only a wind that carries away the last lock--
we step through with pockets full of small, ordinary brave things:
a child's first clear question, an apology that reaches across a table,
the courage to say I was wrong, I am learning, I will stay.

Freedom tastes like a door left open at dusk,
like salt on lips after long, earnest travel.
It is not spotless. It bears the scab of every healed cut,
the history of every hand that pushed and did not relent.
It asks patience, vigilance, the willingness to repair.

Still, once unbound, we move: a sea of soft uprisings,
a chorus of feet, of seeds, of promises, of truth.
We become the small miracles we were taught to fear:
unafraid of light, unafraid of loss, unafraid to be tender.

Tonight the stars seem nearer, as if on purpose.
We lay our maps on the grass, trace new lines with bright, stubborn fingers,
and name the places we will not leave to shadows.
Liberation is the work of living whole, of being honest with our hands.
It is the music we finally allow ourselves to dance to.

We live to see the day -- not as a promise
but as a small, stubborn miracle.
Night folds its palms and hides its eyes,
but we keep watch: breath against cold glass,
fingers tracing the map of where we were.

We live to see the day when the sky
learns to be generous again,
spilling light like an apology
across roofs, across the rumor of streets.
There is a language in the way dust trembles
as if remembering how to be gold.

We live to see the day for quiet things:
a cup warming a palm, a child's laugh
peeling like sun through the laundry,
an old song hummed into a doctor's waiting room.
We live to see the day for heavy things too--
for names spoken without the clatter of tears,
for graves that become gardens under our hands.

We live to see the day because someone
laid down their fear like a bridge,
because someone else dug their knees in and would not move.
Because the past keeps sending signals: ashes that still warm,
letters folded in pockets, the weight of lessons learned.
We carry them forward, not as anchors but as fuel.

We live to see the day to fill it: with repair,
with stubborn kindness, with stubborn laughter.
We live to see the day and learn again to trust
the small mercy of morning: that light arrives
even when we have nothing left to bargain with.
We rise anyway, shoulder to shoulder with dawn,
bearing the quiet stubbornness of survivors.

We live to see the day -- and when it comes,
we do not hoard it. We open every window,
let it move through us like wind, let it wake the seeds.
We lay our palms on the world and say, here.
We are here to meet you. We are here to keep you.
We are here to make of this bright terrible gift
a life that remembers why it wanted light.

My emotions is flowing as deep as the ocean
But unlike most men, I don't want to be in the top ten
Every woman wants only a one of a kind
so I feel like i'm number one in my own mind

Heavenly father, I'm troubled. No One notices my struggles
How can I stay focus on the game when No One loves you
Over the years, it's like putting a cast on
While the pain keeps getting passed on

I asked myself where is God when I need him
Everyday I say forgive me father for I am sin
From morning to night, is everything alright
I have fallen until I have came out of sight

I only want the best and never settle for less
The only thing that matters in life is success
I'm blessed. By the god of the universe
My past is a memory just like the Converse

I got nothing but love for the ladies
I was raised by one, but she was so shady
Every woman in my life was like a queen
But in the end of the day, they're nothing but could have beens

I believe you must be born again, John 3:16 is true
The old life can be washed away, Everything made new
I try not worry about the past
Because the one thing I do know is that my honesty will last

You know it's hard to get a win
When everyday struggles starts over again
So when you know how to control your sins
Then your time of living happy will soon begin

When I was young, I was dumb at certain points
But I did avoid messing with any kind of joint
The man from above can judge me only
That's why there's only one Ballin' J-Money

Dream on without fear, dear soul,

Let your visions take flight and soar,

With courage as your guiding star,

Embrace the unknown, unlock the door.

In the realm of dreams, all is possible,

Where the boundaries of reality fade,

Let your heart be your compass,

And let your dreams be unafraid.

In the tapestry of the night sky,

Find the threads of your wildest dreams,

Weave them into a masterpiece,

A vision bursting at the seams.

Dream on without fear, my friend,

For in your dreams lies the key,

To unlock the mysteries of your soul,

And set your spirit free.

In the heart of the bay where the waters dance,

There roam the boys with the sun-kissed glance.

Their laughter echoes through the salty air,

As they navigate the waves without a care.

With calloused hands and weathered skin,

They bravely face the storm that lies within.

Their eyes reflect the endless horizon,

In search of treasures that remain unrisen.

Through trials of the sea, they stand tall and brave,

Where the wild winds whisper, and the waters crave.

In their souls, a longing for the unknown,

As they navigate the depths, all on their own.

Oh, bay boys with hearts of fire and sea,

Your spirit soars, wild and free.

May your journey be guided by stars above,

And the ocean's embrace, forever your love.

In the stillness of the hour, when time holds its breath,

A whisper curls in shadows, where dreams dance with death,

This one moment, fragile, like dew upon dawn,

A flicker of eternity, soon to be gone.

The world sprawls around us, in chaos and haste,

Yet here, in this heartbeat, we savor the taste,

Of silence unbroken, of secrets untold,

The warmth of connection, more precious than gold.

The sun dips low, painting skies in a blaze,

A canvas of colors, igniting our gaze,

And all the wild echoes, the laughter, the sighs,

Melt into the fabric of dusk's velvet skies.

In this moment, we linger, our souls intertwine,

Each breath a reminder, your heart beats with mine,

For what is this life, but a series of beats,

Fleeting and fragile, like the touch of our feet?

So let's hold this instant, let it cradle our fears,

Let it remind us, amidst laughter and tears,

That in all the tomorrows, in the vastness we roam,

This one moment, dear lover, is where we find home.

A treasure unspoken, a flickering flame,

Two souls in the silence, not seeking acclaim,

For in truth, in this now, and the way that it flows,

We awaken to love, in the still watch it grows.

So here, let us linger, as stars start to fade,

In this one tender heartbeat, our eternity made,

For moments are feathers, that drift on the night,

Yet this one moment, my dear, is pure light.