Poems by Jordan A. Leturgez

I stand at the crossroads with a pocket full of questions,
the map of my life folded into the crease of my palm.
Around me, voices bloom--soft, sharp, muffled--
each a lantern swaying in the night with its own small truth.

I ask the river for counsel; it answers in currents,
teaching me how to let go of stones that keep me anchored.
I ask the old tree for counsel; it answers in rings,
teaching me how patient grief can become a steady trunk.

Neighbors hand me phrases like smooth pebbles:
"Try this," "Don't," "Wait," "Leap."
Some glint like fortune, some bruise like warnings.
I hold them up to the light, trying to decide which will fit my pocket.

Advice smells of other people's forks in the road--
the taste of their victories, the ache of their regrets.
It is not a map but a mirror and a compass:
it will show the shape of a hand that has gripped a knife,
and it will point, faintly, toward a direction that once served.

I learn to ask with a soft mouth,
to invite the world's counsel without swallowing it whole.
To sift the gold from the gravel by touching it to my tongue;
to hear the thread in each story that vibrates true in my own bones.

Sometimes the clearest answer is a silence,
a pause where no one lays a stone on your path,
and that is advice too--permission to listen to the hollow
inside you that already remembers the way.

Advice is a lantern offered by a stranger,
a quilt stitched from many hands, a borrowed coat for cold nights.
It will warm you for a season, guide a step or two,
but the road asks you to walk, and your feet will learn the shape.

So I gather the lanterns, the rings, the river's soft lessons,
and fold them into the pockets of my coat.
I will carry others' light until my own ember glows enough,
until I can make my own map by burning midnight into dawn.

If you have something to say--speak it like bread handed across a table.
If you are the one who seeks--receive it like fire, with care.
Advice is love in fragments; choose what fits, and let the rest go.
The rest--like rain--will find another thirsty field to bless.

Turn the lights low until the city hush becomes a snare,
let the bass press its palm against the ribs of night.
We move like weather -- patient, sudden, uncontained --
rocking over the beat until our shadows learn the rhythm of flight.

Thump, a language our feet have always kept secret,
click of heels, the tongue-snap of breath,
a streetlamp blinked in time with a heartbeat,
and every broken thing begins to stitch itself to the measure.

There is a DJ in the chest, fingers spinning constellations,
scratching grief into gold, looping joy until it learns to soar.
We ride the vinyl valley where memories click and slide,
hands aloft like sails, catching the agora of sound.

Rocking over the beat is a small, sublime rebellion:
to laugh where silence tried to carve a longer name,
to push a stubborn foot into the wildfire of the floor,
to find a pulse that calls you home again and again.

Bodies translate histories into motion,
knees remembering lullabies and riots both;
a child's clap, an elder's nod, a lover's whispered syncopation --
all of them braided into a drum-line of becoming.

So bend, break, bend -- the music forgives nothing and everything,
it teaches us to fall with grace and rise with the same drumstick.
We are wind and engine, river and brick, heartbeats multiplied,
rocking over the beat until the city remembers how to dream.

When the last cut fades and the night exhales its echo,
we keep something of that rhythm in our pockets, heavy and true.
A little stubborn courage, a pocketful of thunder --
and the quiet, knowing that anywhere, anytime, we can begin again,
rocking, always, over the beat.

The numbers tremble on the board,
small stars beneath a judge's eye;
a whisper shifts one guarded chord,
and second place learns how to fly.

A pencil pauses, then rewrites
the weight of every earned refrain--
turning losses into silver lights,
and doubt into a measured gain.

But scores are doors, not walls of stone;
they mark the path, not where it ends.
The truest tally, kept alone,
is how we rise, and rise again.

So change the numbers if you must,
let old conclusions lose their claim--
for hearts that practice, strive, and trust
can redraw the meaning of the game.

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 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 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.

In the heart of the forest, where shadows weave dreams,

Lies a haven of silence, where sunlight gleams,

A family of bears, with souls intertwined,

Embody the bond that nature designed.

The mother, a guardian, strong and so wise,

With eyes like deep waters reflecting the skies,

She cradles her cubs, soft breaths in the night,

In the whispering woods, they find warmth and light.

The cubs, ever playful, like leaves in the breeze,

Stumble through meadows, with laughter that frees,

They tumble and chase, beneath branches so green,

Life's simple joys in a world unseen.

With each gentle hug, the world fades away,

In the strength of their bond, they find hope and play,

Through thorny brambles and rivers so wide,

Together they wander, with love as their guide.

When storms roll in with a thunderous roar,

They huddle together, hearts beating like oars,

In the chaos of nature, fierce winds may blow,

But in the arms of each other, they always will grow.

As seasons keep turning, the years swiftly fly,

The cubs become giants, under vast, endless skies,

Yet still in their hearts, where memories rest,

Lies the essence of family, the eternal quest.

So here's to the bears, in their wilderness space,

A testament woven of love, time, and grace,

May we cherish our own, through tempest and calm,

For family, like forests, nurtures the balm.

In the heart where whispers weave through emerald leaves,

A towering figure reigns, where the wild heart believes.

With branches like arms that cradle the skies,

The King of the Forest, where silence replies.

His roots run deep in the earth's ancient womb,

A tapestry woven with secrets and bloom.

Beneath the moon's silver, he stands ever tall,

Guardian of shadows, protector of all.

The birds sing his praises, a chorus so sweet,

While rustling leaves dance to the rhythm of feet.

The deer tiptoe softly, in reverent grace,

In the kingdom of green, they each find their place.

Storms may come raging, with thunderous roar,

Yet he stands unwavering, a sentinel sure.

For ages he's witnessed the seasons unfold,

Through summers and winters, through stories retold.

Yet in his great stature, a wisdom imbues,

That life's fleeting moments are what we must choose.

The laughter of children, the scent of the rains,

All weave in his essence, where memory reigns.

So gather around him, dear souls longing free,

For the King of the Forest, he cradles the plea.

In his shade, find solace, in his roots, find your home,

In the heart of the wild, may you never roam alone.

And when you hear whispers, like secrets unfurled,

Know the spirit of nature has gifts for the world.

For the King of the Forest, in stillness, decrees,

That love is the essence in every soft breeze.