Poems by Jordan A. Leturgez

We meet in the small porch of a screen,
where sentences arrive like evening light --
soft, immediate, folding into the lap
of whatever day we carry home.

Your laugh is a kettle I can hear boiling
across the distance; my silence a warm shawl
you drape without asking. Names and weather
turn into meaning: a shared slice of sky.

There is no grand reveal, only the slow work
of two hands drafting a bridge from ordinary words.
We patch the loneliness with small kindnesses --
a recipe, a memory, a condolence sent like bread.

Sometimes the chat is a river: quick, bright,
skipping stones of gossip and dreams.
Sometimes it is a hearth, low and patient,
where we roast our fears until they're tender.

No prophecy here, only presence -- the steady light
that makes the margins of our days readable.
A friendly chat: a light left on in the window,
an invitation that says, Come as you are.

Take the fist of your breath and strike the sky --
let your voice become an avalanche of light.
Stamp the metronome of your heart into the pavement,
so even sleeping cities wake and count their scars.

We are the hammer against the quiet glass,
the drumbeat that dares the mountains to move.
Sing until the rails bend like willow strings,
and the old maps fold into new constellations.

Let your laughter be a tectonic line:
where doubts once split, let wonder rise.
Plant your stubborn feet on the tongues of clocks --
time is a board we can tilt and make swim.

Rock the world not just with thunder but with seed:
small hands that feed the hungry hours,
soft hands that stitch the torn days together.
Meet the dark with a stubborn, luminous song.

When fear gathers like fog, become the wind.
When sorrow presses like stone, be the stream.
Shake the world awake -- not to break, but to build,
so every quiet corner learns to sing again.

I pack nothing but a pocket of sky,
a ticket folded into the palm of midnight,
and the small, stubborn ache that says
there is more than the room I wake in.

The city hum unhooks from my wrists--
neon fingers loosen, the elevator sighs,
and I step into the throat of a road
that swallows maps and spits out stars.

Mountains arrange themselves like questions,
the sea opens like an honest wound.
Each mile is a slow unbuttoning
of habits, names, calendars that cling.

I pass houses with porchlight confessions,
fields where the wind weeds out lies.
Time thins, becomes a single drawn breath,
and in that breath I remember my own name.

Somewhere between the last traffic light
and the first honest sunrise,
I trade the loudness of others for the music
of my own untidy, human heart.

To get away is not only to leave,
but to arrive--bare, unarmed, forgiven--
to meet the raw map of what's left over:
the child, the weathered hand, the stubborn want.

I learn that distance can be a gentle teacher,
that silence keeps the languages of loss,
that coming back is not the same as returned--
I will bring home new questions, softer hands.

There is no grand reveal, only the simple fact:
the world is large enough for falling and for flight,
and in the quiet between departures
we gather the courage to call it "home" again.

The road to code is a ribbon of midnight and coffee,
a map sketched in semicolons and small, stubborn lights.
You step onto it barefoot, sleeves rolled against the cold,
and the first keystroke is a heartbeat -- tentative, alive.

There are forks named Syntax and Patience, loops that fold back on themselves,
and signs that read: Compile Here, Then Leap.
Errors bloom like dark flowers in the grass,
each one a riddle with teeth, a door that will not open until you learn to listen.

At first the world feels binary -- right and wrong, green and red --
but soon you meet the grey: the elegant hack, the honest bug,
the midnight mentor in forums who sends a lantern through the screen.
You learn that failure is an instrument, not a verdict,
and that debugging is a quiet kind of archaeology,
dusting away assumptions to find the fragile architecture beneath.

There are nights when the cursor looks like a metronome counting out patience,
and mornings when "Hello, World" arrives like a sunrise, small and miraculous.
You carry fragments -- an algorithm learned on a bus, a snippet remembered at dawn --
and stitch them into scaffolds that hold ideas up against doubt.

Version control is a compass; comments are the chalk on the cave wall.
Stack traces become constellations you can read,
guiding you to where your logic unhinged itself.
The community is a roadside diner, voices overlapping, recipes traded,
and sometimes a stranger's pull request is the exact hand you needed.

On this road, you build ladders from problems, bridges from repetition,
and sometimes a simple script opens a city of possibility.
Progress is measured in tiny triumphs: a test passed, a refactor that sings,
a user smiling because your lines of thought finally learned to speak.

Keep going. There will be storms named Obsolescence and Imposter,
and there will be plains of steady work where no glory passes by.
But each commit, each question asked aloud, lays a stone.
The road to code is not a line to finish but a path that teaches you how to walk,
and in walking you become both cartographer and traveler, maker and home.

We are all meant to become a part of God's Love
It doesn't matter how many times you have been pushed and shoved
God said he will never leave you
Which means praying for things is nothing new
Some may ask for money, some may ask for Success
But they all may not realize that they are already Blessed
Everything that you touch is a Blessing
It is like having more flavor to a salad with dressing
Everything that you feel is a Blessing
Being positive is what you should be best in
Everything that you love is a Blessing
Your love builds on other people's lessons
Your Success is depending upon hard work Yes
but it only takes one blessing to become a progress
Take one step at a time towards your success
but Every Success Starts with Being Blessed

Imagine how crazy life can have no ending
Like a relationship that you can't say that it's pending
Every little step you take
It is based on what future you want it to make
Determination is key to not only being yourself
But it also makes you feel like you have found yourself
Loving life like crazy is always a good thing
That is why singers love to sing
Understand that even the struggles are a plus
It takes heart to build on the must
So if you stop pretending
And the Crazy Life Has No Ending

In frost-kissed air, a choir's voice soars,
Enchanting hearts, as joy adorns the shores.
A silent night, where wonder softly gleams,
Embracing dreams and weaving timeless themes.

Amidst the carols, echoing through the night,
Warmth kindles, a candle's flickering light.
Whispers of hope, like snowflakes in flight,
Dance with delight, casting shadows so bright.

Within this season's tapestry we find,
A hallowed longing, a love so kind.
A starry path to the manger's humble stall,
Where heaven meets earth, embracing all.

A gentle hush descends upon the land,
As love's sweet essence slips through every hand.
Tears of grace, like icicles slowly thaw,
Binding souls together, mending each flaw.

The twinkle of lights, like newfound faith,
Guides us home across life's winding strait.
Gifts, wrapped in care, speak of love's embrace,
As they remind us of a child's humble grace.

In winter's embrace, where darkness may dwell,
Christmas ignites a flame, dispelling what fell.
A tapestry of blessings, woven in rhyme,
Restoring hope, one verse at a time.

So let us gather, in harmony's embrace,
And let the spirit of Christmas leave its trace.
Through poetry's song, let souls come alive,
Inhaling the beauty Christmas does strive.

In the dance of life, we find our song

A melody that lingers, pure and strong

Through trials and triumphs, we carry on

For in the rhythm of time, life goes on

In the quiet moments of solitude

We ponder dreams, both old and new

Embracing change, both swift and slow

For in the ebb and flow, life continues to grow

Through joys and sorrows, we find our way

Navigating the twists and turns of each day

Bridging the past with the future ahead

For in the tapestry of life, we are all beautifully thread

So let us cherish each moment we're given

Embrace the journey, both humble and driven

For in the poetry of life, our stories are spun

In the endless cycle, the beauty of life goes on

In shadows deep, beneath the moon's pale glow,

A teenage heart beats with a primal flow,

Through windswept nights and forests wild and free,

A transformation stirs within, a mystery.

The beast within begins to rise and roar,

A teenage werewolf, craving something more,

With hungry eyes and feral instincts keen,

A world of darkness, waiting to be seen.

The moonlight dances on his fur, alight,

A teenage werewolf howls into the night,

In wilderness untamed, he finds his place,

A creature bound by neither time nor space.

Beneath the skin, a battle rages on,

A teenage soul, a beast to be upon,

Yet in this clash of selves, a truth is found,

A teenage werewolf, wild and unbound.

So let the night embrace his savage grace,

A teenage werewolf running in the chase,

For in his howl, a soul that longs to be,

Wild and fierce, forever wild and free.

In shadows deep, a father's betrayal lies,

Like a tempest brewing in a stormy sky.

Once a beacon of strength and guiding light,

Now a figure shrouded in deceit and blight.

A daughter's heart, once warmed by his embrace,

Now aches with the wounds of his disgrace.

Words once spoken with love and care,

Now twisted into daggers of despair.

The bond they shared, now torn asunder,

By the cruel hands of betrayal and thunder.

The pain, a heavy burden to bear,

As trust and love dissolve into thin air.

Yet amidst the darkness and the pain,

A glimmer of hope still remains.

For wounds may heal and hearts may mend,

And broken ties may find their mend.

So let us hold onto hope and grace,

And seek forgiveness in this bitter place.

For though a father's betrayal may sting,

Love's enduring power can still bring healing.