Poems by Jordan A. Leturgez

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.

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

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 hush of evening's sigh,
Where whispers cradle weary dreams,
I find a longing, soft and shy,
Among the shadows, bursting seams.

The clock ticks slow, its hands like chains,
Each minute stretches, burdens grow,
In crowded halls of echoing pains,
Where restless thoughts like rivers flow.

I yearn for fields, for azure skies,
To dance beneath a sighing tree,
To close my eyes and feel the rise
Of gentle winds, wild, and free.

Let me escape this hurried pace,
This fraying thread of worn routine;
To find a quiet, sacred space,
A moment pure, serene, pristine.

I seek the silence that restores,
Where laughter lingers, light and sweet,
To wander through these open doors
And let my restless spirit meet.

Oh, grant me time to breathe, to mend,
To cast aside the weights I bear;
A fleeting pause, my weary friend,
In nature's arms, I find my prayer.

So here I stand, with heart laid bare,
A tender wish beneath the stars,
For in stillness, I will repair,
And gather strength from distant shores.

In gentle breaks, I'll find my song,
A melody of hope reclaimed,
To rise once more, with spirit strong,
Transformed, renewed, and unashamed.

In a room where time seems to pause,
Soft whispers linger, while moments cause
Hearts to dance with hesitant hope,
Beneath the weight of the world's scope.

Walls painted in soothing, muted hues,
Holding secrets in their silent views,
Where shadows play and light gently spills,
Upon dreams cradled in fragile wills.

The ticking clock, a solemn friend,
Marks the cadence of breaths that blend,
With thoughts of healing, of fears laid bare,
In chairs familiar, hearts yearn and share.

Each glance exchanged, a story unfolds,
"Tales of courage in the face of cold."
The worn-out magazines lie untouched,
Yet the spirit of warmth cannot be clutched.

There's solace found in the ailing sighs,
And hope reflected in tear-streaked eyes,
While the hum of machines, a lullaby sweet,
Sows comfort in the weary heart's beat.

In the quiet chamber of waiting, we stand,
With fragile strands of both love and demand,
A tapestry woven of heart, soul, and grace,
In this sacred space where we each take our place.

For here, in the stillness, the world seems to bend,
Uniting our spirits, a common thread to mend,
A compassion that flows like a river's embrace,
In the poetry of life, we find our true space.

In twilight's shadow, where time softly fades,

I ponder on life's wandering serenade,

The dance of years, a melody so fine,

A poetry of staying sharp in old age.

Once sprightly, I leapt through youthful days,

With vigor and fire, in naïve displays,

But now, the gnarled hands of time embrace,

A humbling reminder, life's gentle grace.

Oh, let me ponder, let me intertwine,

The wisdom of years with this heart of mine,

For age is not defined by count of years,

But by the depths of wisdom one reveres.

The mind, a blade, once quick and keen,

Can still forge pathways through the silver screen,

Each word, a chisel, to sculpt stories untold,

Breathing life into memories, bright and bold.

With every verse, my spirit takes flight,

Defying the encroaching gloom of night,

The ink, a potion, preserving the mind,

Shielding it from the ennui of mankind.

So, let me sharpen, let me never rest,

For words are my armor, my very best,

And as the sands of time continue to pour,

I'll thrive in the beauty of forevermore.

I'll tether my thoughts to the poet's quill,

As I dance on the precipice, spine tingles still,

For within this rhyming tapestry I weave,

The essence of youth forever I'll cleave.

Now, as I traverse life's labyrinthine maze,

My poetry will guide me through the haze,

Staying sharp, I'll wander through endless times,

A testament to the old age's prime.

May my verses ignite fires in others' hearts,

Fanning the embers, rekindling their own arts,

For in this poetry, we'll find unity,

Knowing that age cannot constrain the free.

So, let us celebrate the silver strands,

The wisdom that flows through our aged hands,

For within our souls, like a phoenix, we rise,

A poetry of old age that forever defies.

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.

They sell paradise in glossy pages--smiles laminated,
palm trees like friendly swords, sunsets edited for perfection.
We fly in like moths to a neon mothership,
carry our quiet in hard-sided suitcases, check it at the gate.

The first day tastes like champagne and permission:
salt on our lips, strangers' hands that feel like borrowed warmth,
laughs clipped to camera shutters, promises stamped with sunscreen.
Under the boardwalk, the sand is a slow crowd applauding our forgetfulness.

Night blooms fluorescent--cocktail umbrellas like tiny flags of surrender.
We toast to freedom and call it courage when we swallow our doubts.
The bar keeps our names in receipts and our voices in the grout;
arguments rehearse themselves between the ice and the ashtray.

Affection is a hotel key--glossy, easily lost,
left in pockets with cigarette butts and consolation candies.
We trade apologies for sunsets, make bargains with the tide:
I'll pretend I don't hear, if you pretend you won't leave.

The tide takes everything it can--rings, notes, a pair of sandals--
leaves behind broken shells that gleam like accusations.
Morning arrives with a hangover of cheap perfume and cheap talk,
and the ocean keeps its secrets in the white foam it spits back.

We return sun-kissed and hollow, souvenir shops full of calm lies:
magnets that say "Wish you were here" and postcards for shame.
The pictures are sharp; the memory corrodes--soft edges at first,
then a slow rust that eats the frame until the smile is just a question.

Toxic vacations: sugar-coated fractures, postcards sealed over breaks.
We pay in credit cards and borrowed courage, counting sunsets like a debt.
Yet next year the brochure arrives, glossy new, humming like a temptation,
and we fold up the map of our better selves to fit inside a carry-on.

Sometimes the cure is small and brutal: unpack, open each pocket,
and let the sand sift like truth--grain by grain, it finds the floor.
Sometimes the lesson is mercy: a bruise that fades beneath a different sun.
But most often we keep the tan and pack away the ache,
book another flight and call the wound "a story worth remembering."

In the heart of a city where shadows blend,

Lies a place where the weary find solace, a friend,

Club Solar, where laughter weaves through the air,

A sanctuary shimmering, a haven so rare.

Walls echo whispers of dreams long unfurled,

Canvas of hopes in a vibrant world,

The soft hum of life, a rhythm divine,

With every heartbeat, the stars align.

From beams of sunlight spilling wide,

To voices entwined like the ebbing tide,

In this gathering circle, we dance and we sway,

With the moon as our witness, we chase night away.

Here, poets and dreamers share verses and tales,

Each word like a comet that paints cosmic trails,

With ink on our fingers and fire in our veins,

We speak of the beauty, the losses, the gains.

Beneath the disco ball's shimmering glow,

The stories of past, the seeds we sow,

Together we rise, with our spirits ablaze,

In Club Solar's embrace, we wander in a daze.

For in this warm refuge, no judgment, no fear,

We find kindred souls, and our purpose grows clear,

With each whispered secret, each song sung anew,

We turn hopes into galaxies, timeless and true.

So let's gather our memories, a luminous feast,

Celebrate together, from greatest to least,

For Club Solar is more than a place on the map,

It's a heartbeat of love where we find our way back.