Poems by Jordan A. Leturgez

In the quiet folds of twilight's breath,
Questions linger like shadows, whispering yet,
Stars dangle like hopes on a fraying thread,
In the silence of longing, my heart's eager plea:
Oh, answer me.

Where do the echoes of dreams softly go,
When the dawn blushes pink and the night says hello?
I stand on the edge of an unbroken sea,
Waves crashing with secrets, and oh, do they know?
Please, answer me.

In the depths of your eyes, do you find the same fear,
The tremor of silence that draws us so near?
For words left unspoken can weight heavy, you see,
Yet the truth in your silence could set the heart free--
Just, answer me.

What if the skies were to fall in a rush,
And we stood together in the midst of the hush?
Would the universe fold in the warmth of your decree,
Or would time freeze forever, caught in what could be?
Nay, answer me.

For in the stillness, I seek your embrace,
A language unvoiced, yet we dance in the grace,
Each sigh and each heartbeat syncopates our decree,
In the symphony of souls, will you choose to be?
Please, answer me.

So here as the moon cradles the sun's fading light,
I cast out my question into the deep night,
In the tapestry woven of longing and glee,
If the stars hold the answers, will you set them free?
Just once, answer me.

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.

In the realm of dreams, where time stands still,
A force so mighty, it lies within a quill.
Words, like gentle whispers, softly dance,
Crafted with intention, they hold a trance.

Momentum, sweet catalyst of life's symphony,
A surging rhythm, igniting energy.
It whispers in the breeze, its gentle plea,
"Embrace your dreams, set your spirit free."

Like the ocean's tide, it ebbs and it flows,
A driving force, wherever it goes.
It gathers strength, with each step you take,
Pushing you forward, in every choice you make.

In the shadowed valleys, when hope seems lost,
Momentum whispers, guiding you at any cost.
It fuels your passion, ignites the fire within,
A force so potent, it's impossible to pin.

Yet, in the chaos of a world so vast,
Momentum holds the key to outlast.
It galvanizes dreams, and fuels each aim,
A constant reminder, to play life's game.

So, let your verses be a testament,
To the power of momentum, never relent.
With every word, let your spirit soar,
And with each line, let your dreams explore.

For in the realm of poetry's divine,
Momentum is the heartbeat, the lifeline.
So write with fervor, let your ink control,
And watch as your dreams unfold.

In the realm of laughter and delight,
Where joy takes flight and shadows take flight,
A poetry of mirth and glee shall now commence,
With words that dance and thoughts that bounce.

Come, let us abandon all care and woe,
And let our spirits freely flow,
For in these verses, we shall find,
The essence of fun, unconfined.

Scoop up the sunbeams, paint the skies,
With colors bold and fantasies that arise,
What rules exist, in this blissful sphere,
When laughter reigns, devoid of fear?

Let us be children, unburdened by time,
Skipping and playing, in rhythm divine,
Like bubbles floating with playful glee,
Released from constraints, wild and free.

Capture moments, like fireflies aglow,
Embrace the whimsy, let your spirit grow,
Seek out hidden paths, with unyielding zest,
In this dance of life, be an eternal jest.

For fun resides in the simplest of things,
In skipping stones and butterfly wings,
It weaves through stories, shared aloud,
Creating connections, a jubilant crowd.

So laugh, my friend, with all your might,
Embrace the day, beyond the night,
For in this poem of fun and cheer,
You'll find the magic, ever near.

And when you've had your fill of play,
Remember this poem, its simple sway,
For within its verses, forever employ,
The power of fun, your ultimate joy.

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 quiet of the dawn's soft light,

A new day begins, both dark and bright,

As a parent, with babe in arms,

Balancing work and sweet baby charms.

In a world of screens and endless tasks,

In the midst of toys and baby masks,

The dance of parenthood and career,

A delicate balance, both far and near.

From emails typed with one hand free,

To soothing cries on bended knee,

A new mom or dad, in this home domain,

Navigating a path both joyous and plain.

The sounds of typing mix with lullabies,

As work and love become allies,

In this space of chaos and calm,

A daily journey, a parental psalm.

So embrace the beauty in this dual role,

In the heart and in the soul,

For in the midst of chaos and love's dearth,

There's magic in the balance of work and birth.

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 the shadows of a dystopian world, where metal beasts roam free,

There lies a tale of man and machine, a story for all to see.

The Terminator, a relentless force, cold and calculated in its stride,

A symbol of destruction, a harbinger of fear, a force none can abide.

With eyes of fire and a heart of steel, it hunts its prey with precision,

A soulless killer, programmed to eradicate with deadly decision.

But beneath the armor and the gears, lies a question unspoken and deep,

Can humanity endure the onslaught, or will it crumble and weep?

In the clash of man and machine, a battle rages on,

A fight for survival, a struggle to right what is wrong.

For in the darkness of our fears, a glimmer of hope does shine,

That even in the face of destruction, the human spirit will define.

So let us remember the lessons of the Terminator's ruthless quest,

To cherish our humanity, to honor our hearts and souls at best.

For in the end, it is not strength or steel that will prevail,

But the poetry of our existence, a story that will forever regale.

In the city streets where silence weeps,

There roam the gents without a cent,

Their weary eyes hold tales untold,

In their hearts, a resilient lament.

Their shoes worn thin, their pockets bare,

Yet dignity stands tall and true,

Amidst the chaos and despair,

A quiet strength shines through.

They navigate a world unkind,

Yet dignity they still uphold,

In every step, a silent prayer,

In every breath, a story yet untold.

For in their faces, you may perceive,

A beauty that transcends the pain,

A spirit that refuses to grieve,

A hope that dares to remain.

So let us see beyond the lack,

And recognize the wealth within,

For in these gents without a cent,

Resides a treasure, pure and keen.

In the heart of stillness, where whispers unfold,

A kingdom is woven from dreams spun in gold.

Where shadows find solace, the weary take rest,

A realm of compassion, where love is the guest.

Beneath the wide heavens, the stars brightly gleam,

Each twinkle a promise, each sigh is a dream.

Mountains bow low and the valleys arise,

In the kingdom of grace, where the humble are wise.

With rivers of mercy, ablaze with pure light,

The broken find healing, the lost seek the bright.

The laughter of children, like soft silver chimes,

Echoes through fields of the most sacred rhymes.

Here, justice is tender, and mercy is strong,

Where hearts beat in rhythm, a harmonious song.

The outcast embraced, the orphan held dear,

In the kingdom of God, all are welcomed near.

In gardens of hope, where each seed can take flight,

Faith blooms like the blossoms, eager for light.

The burdened find freedom; the captive, release,

In a tapestry woven, the threads weave in peace.

So let us be pilgrims, on pathways divine,

With love as our compass, in valleys we'll shine.

For the kingdom of God, it whispers to all,

A call to believe--come, answer the call.