Read our spotlight on Jordan and his brother, visual artist Joshua Earls, here.
There comes a time (always the same, mind you), once a week, when I go to meet the creative creatures; to draw them out of the mist and onto the page disguised as words and lines. Oh, I am such a fool. To think I have the power to control these ever elusive fey, these … What is this pain shared Like the blood in our veins? It runs as deep, A price too steep; Oh, why such heavy chains? And Why His absence When He is needed most? We beat our chests And shout protests Toward this “holy” ghost. Are these what you ask, Hurting brother of mine? Are these … The place resembles the wild hills, dense with the grey columnar bodies of pines, that I used to roam with my best friend behind his home. My steps provoke a subtle crunch from the ground that is blanketed with long copper needles and bulbous cones that permeate … a bright, fall day marshmallow clouds float overhead sitting beneath the white post the one at the end of the front yard my siblings and i with a great orange pumpkin picture time. sharing the bed with my best friend big brother a bottle of chocolate milk while josh talks himself to sleep all is … the snow is soft; each flake gently falling and changing direction until it finds its designated place i watch as, with each passing moment, the earth dons her wintry white gown. her song is silent, her dance is slow. and then there is me falling in rhythm; falling in love. I am from the white picket fence From wooden rocking chairs and Jones’ cream soda I am from the wraparound porch adorned with hanging baskets bursting over with warm orange, and gentle yellow touch-me-nots trembling in the cool southern breeze I am from the blooming magnolia, evergreen gentlemen slow-dancing with ladies dressed elegantly … I was one of the three-hundred souls swaying in that dark auditorium. The music carrying us away into our own personal private places. The voices, inside and out, urging my young heart to lay it down. I am certain that this took place inside, but I am also certain that there was a … Mr. Bluebird stopped by today. He landed closer than usual and that was that: I was his. The song that he sang was a song I had never heard sung before; His small lungs pushing out a gift, it seemed, destined for me. I had no time to properly thank him before he vanished in a … nanny’s voice is the first sound i hear; sweet, sweet southern drawl like music to my ears; white and brown blurs at our feet as hugs are being shared. aunt boshe and the family rushing to the porch; joy beneath bright icicle lights. is your house on fire, mark? jessie and magpie’s deviled eggs followed … The sun had only just set, so the world still held that ethereal navy glow. I was running across my front yard, young energetic legs churning, carrying me in my wild youth, as I chased the yellow-green stars as they appeared, disappeared, appeared again. My sister was near, her sweet laughter blending with the cicada’s … gone are the days when a dream was only a dream. nanny laughing in the kitchen among the jovial din of family and friends. lily and dudley chasing one another along the furniture; two white blurs coming to a stop to cover me with precious pink-tongued kisses. mama… oh, sweet mama and her beautiful voice … I recently said goodbye to my neighbors of, oh, about eight months. Every day, I would observe them hovering and skittering about their home they had constructed right outside of my window. Moments watching them were memorable ones: Their small, nimble bodies darting back and forth on yellow-socked feet, doing whatever natural, though undoubtedly important, … (why i write) if i could touch if i could move if i could love if i could prove with one word, bless with one word, fill with one word, change with one word, heal then that’s enough i’ve done my part with sharing truth i’ve helped a heart put my pen down that’s what … Nothing is more wondrous than to live in that sublime light of blissful ignorance. Life as understood by a child is a life built using make-believe materials upon false foundations; and perhaps there is nothing wrong with that. Storms and valleys were storms and valleys. never analogies; never hard illustrations. Pining after youth comes frequent, does it not? … -When I Dare to Write- Jordan Earls
A Pain Shared – Jordan Earls
A Place I’d Rather Be – Jordan Earls
Distant, but Mine – Jordan Earls
Every First Snow – Jordan Earls
I Am From – Jordan Earls
Lay it Down – Jordan Earls
Mr. Bluebird – Jordan Earls
no such thing as love – Jordan Earls
The Things That I Love – Jordan Earls
this poem is true – Jordan Earls
Wasps – Jordan Earls
Why I Write – Jordan Earls
Youth – Jordan Earls
