Poems by Jordan A. Leturgez

It cracks the night like glass--an animal, a bell,
a throat unzipping to pour out a sky.
It spills, a red river down the face of the moment,
flashing teeth at the steady, indifferent stars.

NOOOOOOO!!!!! echoes in the ribs of buildings,
boomerangs off distant, sleeping houses,
finds the small room where hope had been folded,
unfolds it roughly, leaves the paper thin and trembling.

It is the sound of a hand pulled from another's,
of a light blown out in mid-sentence,
of a name that will not be buried politely.
It overturns the tea, it topples the faith
you had arranged like trophies on a shelf.

But listen: the scream is not only ruin.
It is also a beacon, raw and incandescent,
a flaring refusal that clears the fog.
In its wake the air tastes new--sharp, honest,
like rain after fire, like breath after being held.

NOOOOOOO!!!!! breaks open the sealed things inside,
lets you see the hands you thought were steady--
trembling. It forces the dress to the floor,
reveals the wound that was meant to be contained.

And from the jagged heart of that sound
a quieter music is born: a no that is a wall,
a no that is a door slammed shut against harm,
a no that makes room for the yes you might not yet know.

So scream it if you must--let it peel the paint,
let the neighbors think the world has ended.
Gather the pieces, count the cost, and choose:
not every NO is loss; some are the very shape
of the life you are still building.

NOOOOOOO!!!!!--a thunder that finally clears the sky.

Every other city we go becomes a small religion --
a cathedral built from our suitcases, ticket stubs,
and the way you cup your hands around a steaming cup
like it might confess the route it took to find you.

In Marseille the sea taught us how to argue softly,
blue and salt between our teeth; in the next place
we learned to speak in corners, in leftover bread,
the quiet grammar of two people trying not to leave traces.

Every other city we go keeps a piece of your jacket,
laces knotted into memory, a receipt folded like a prayer.
One city glows with neon and stolen kisses at three a.m.;
the next is a photograph of a bench where we apologized
for the weather and for everything else we could not change.

There are cities where we sleep like travelers in borrowed names,
where strangers offer directions and we are grateful for the past.
There are cities where the lamps throw our shadows long and hopeful,
where we map each other on the backs of postcards and hotel keys.

Every other city we go is a ledger of small miracles:
the street musician who taught us a chorus, the bakery that kept our secret,
the taxi driver who listened and refused to fix our problems.
Between them, in the odd ones, the silence gathers meaning,
a quiet room where we relearn how to be two without decaying.

By the time we learn the language of stoplights and rain,
the orbit of our feet has become a constellation.
We carry cities like coins--some bright, some worn flat--
and when we press them to our palms at night they still hum,
like a promise we are not sure we ever made but keep anyway.

Every other city we go is not a loss but a ledger of living:
an atlas of small departures and the tender ways we return.
When the plane lifts its hands and the skyline thumbnails away,
I count the spaces between us and know: we are always building home
out of the few things we keep--each other, and the names we refuse to forget.

There is a light beyond your window--thin, impatient,
like someone who has walked all the way here and won't wait.
The couch holds the shape of your evenings,
the kettle remembers every ritual,
but the world outside is an untied shoelace,
asking to be knotted into your next step.

Get out for more than air. Go for weather that argues with your bones,
for streets that whisper names you've never answered,
for alleys that fold themselves into secret rooms of sky.
Leave the small map you've learned by heart;
there are countries of sound and color waiting
with passports made of possibility.

Take the day that smells of wet cement and coffee,
take the night that tastes of streetlight and song.
Practice a courage that isn't loud--just steady,
the kind that eases your hand into the pocket of the universe
and finds a coin bright enough for a new beginning.

You will be awkward at first--two left feet at dawn,
fumbles at sidewalks, laughter that arrives early and stumbles.
That's how growth arranges itself: imperfect, insistently human.
You will also meet people whose names are warm like bread,
whose stories leak light into your marrow.
You will learn the language of cats and trains,
and the grammar of getting lost and then returning.

If fear is a locked door, curiosity is the long key--
it slides and clicks and finally turns.
Do not deny yourself the thrill of an unlocked life.
Collect small proofs: a sunset that makes you weep for nothing,
a stranger who becomes a memory you can slot into your bones,
a map smeared with coffee stains and yeses.

Return sometimes, but do not live in the doorway.
Carry the landscape inside you: the hush of the sea at three a.m.,
the honest glare of a noon market, the hush of someone's prayer.
Let those places teach your hands new ways to hold the world.

Get out for more than scenery. Go for the story you haven't told yet,
for the song you pretend you can't sing, for the truth that trembles
beneath your usual answers. Step until your shadow lenoers
and the horizon learns your name.

When you come back, bring the weather with you--
damp courage, bright wonder, wind-dusted teeth of laughter.
Set them on the table beside your old routines
and watch how the house rearranges itself
to let in a life that finally remembers to breathe.

Say it once like folding an old letter--
the edges soften, the ink blurs,
a confession turned into paper boats
set out on a late-summer river.
Nevermind, and the current takes it,
not cruel, not kind, simply moving.

Say it soft as moth wings against a lamp,
a small apology for wants that burned too bright.
Nevermind becomes a lullaby for the stubborn heart,
a quiet room where arguments unpeel
and sunlight finds the dust in forgiving ways.

There is a strange mercy in the word:
not erasing, but shelving--putting the ache
on a high shelf where we can see it, not live in it.
Nevermind teaches hands to unclench,
teaches mouths to close around the sharp things.

Sometimes it is a door left ajar,
sometimes an ocean swallowing a name.
It is not surrender to the night--more like
learning the map of your own soft places,
tracing the seams where sorrow and relief meet.

Say it when you must: to a fault, to a friend, to the mirror.
Let it be small and human, a bell rung for passage.
Nevermind--three syllables that carry a cross and a key,
a weathered hush that somehow clears the room,
and leaves you ready, at last, for morning.

In the darkest of nights, New Year's Eve unfolds,

A symphony of lights, enchanting to behold.

Fireworks painted across the vast expanse,

With colors that dance, a splendid cosmic dance.

With each joyful burst, hope pierces the air,

Glimmers of promise, a future unaware.

Explosions of shimmer, cascading from high,

Igniting the sky, an ethereal sigh.

As midnight chimes in, the world holds its breath,

In parties teeming, vibrant life's sweet caress.

Laughter and cheer, like confetti in flight,

Gathered in delight, embracing this wondrous night.

Champagne flowing, toasts raised in merriment,

A fleeting moment, a divine sentiment.

The year now departing, memories and dreams,

Unraveling streams, a tapestry, it seems.

In the haze of celebration, time takes a pause,

Reflection embraced, as a brand-new year thaws.

Resolutions whispered, held close in our hearts,

A fresh new start, destiny's intricate charts.

Yet in this spectacle, amidst all the grand,

Lurks a deeper truth, like fine grains of sand.

For fireworks may fade, and parties may end,

But love, my dear friend, will forever transcend.

So as the embers wane, and the night grows still,

Let us hold on tight, to hope and goodwill.

May this New Year's Eve, like fireworks that soar,

Ignite something more, a soul's awakening tour.

In the quiet whispers of the night,

Where love's gentle touch takes flight,

I find solace in the words unsaid,

In the heart's language, always fed.

"I love you," a timeless refrain,

A melody that eases every pain,

In your eyes, I see the truth,

A love so pure, eternal youth.

Through laughter and through tears,

In the passing of the years,

"I love you," a sacred vow,

A promise to always endow.

In the silence of the world's embrace,

In the shadows of time and space,

"I love you," a whispered prayer,

A bond that's beyond compare.

So let these words linger in the air,

A love that's beyond compare,

For in your heart, forever true,

"I love you," always and anew.

In the tapestry of time, our destinies are cast,

Yet amidst the threads, a choice stands fast,

No fate but what we make, a whispered creed,

In each decision, our futures indeed.

Through valleys deep and mountains high,

We shape our path, beneath the sky,

No hand of fate, no written decree,

Only our choices, set us free.

In every moment, a chance to decide,

Our wills as strong as the rising tide,

No chains of destiny, no locked gate,

Only the power of choices we create.

So fear not the unknown, the uncertain way,

For in our hands lies the power to sway,

No fate but what we make, a truth profound,

In every choice, our destinies are found.

So let us walk with courage and grace,

Embrace the freedom in every choice we face,

No fate but what we make, our spirits soar,

In the tapestry of life, we are the ones who hold the lore.

In dusk's embrace where whispers blend,

Two souls entwined, as if they've penned,

A script of dreams, in moonlit glaze,

They dance through life in gentle ways.

Her laughter, like a brook, pure and clear,

His eyes, a compass, drawing her near.

With every word, a symphony played,

In the rhythms of love, their hearts displayed.

They walk through storms, hand in hand,

Finding solace in a world unplanned,

With silken ties that never fray,

Forging a bond that won't decay.

In quiet mornings, with coffee's steam,

They share their secrets, each other's dreams,

A glance, a touch, the world fades away,

In the tapestry woven, they softly sway.

They face the shadows, they chase the light,

Through whispered fears, and stars at night.

Each challenge met with steadfast grace,

In the heart's abode, they've found their place.

But love is not perfection's song,

It's the pushing and pulling that makes them strong.

The flaws embraced, the laughter shared,

In the mess of life, they've always cared.

So here's to the couple, in love's embrace,

Building a world, their own sacred space.

Not perfect, but real, with hearts that ignite,

In the fires of passion, they'll always unite.

For that perfect couple is simply this:

Two imperfect souls, lost in a kiss,

Bound by a promise, forged in the past,

Together, forever--love's die is cast.

In a sunlit room where shadows play,

Where laughter dances through the day,

A world awakens, bold and bright,

Where toys come alive in the soft twilight.

Woody stands with a heart so true,

A cowboy's courage in every hue,

With Stinky Pete and the others near,

They conquer fears, dispelling tears.

Buzz Lightyear, with courage unbound,

To infinity and beyond, he's found,

A space ranger lost, yet never alone,

In the realm of the young, he's truly home.

Through whispers of friendship, loyalty's song,

In the face of the night, they steadfastly throng,

From the bedroom floor to the wide-open skies,

They teach us the magic that never quite dies.

Yet the bittersweet pulse of a child's embrace,

In the passage of time, we all must face,

For as dawn creeps in and the playtime must wane,

In the heart of each child, the echoes remain.

So look to your toys, with love in your gaze,

For they're guardians, wrapped in our childhood haze,

They know every secret, every untouched fear,

In the silence of dusk, their wisdom draws near.

In the heart of each story, where memories dwell,

The magic's not lost; it continues to swell,

For as long as a child dares to dream and to play,

In the land of lost dreams, we'll forever stay.

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.