Read our spotlight on Jordan and his brother, visual artist Joshua Earls, here.
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 … The sun is a helpless lover. I know this because, evening after evening, she returns to her significant other, that dark, mysterious horizon, and plants the gentlest of kisses upon his head; yet every time, she dissolves and is absorbed into his long body where she disappears to do what helpless lovers do. It matters … You have lost, Devourer of the ordinary. In slowing the spinning of this world, You have fanned the flames of the extraordinary. Now watch, in vain, as Your power fails to steal what matters the most. For though man remains idle, the Spirit of Man continues its ever-defiant march forward. You have lost, Devourer of … I did not find her in the spring. That is to say, she appeared quite suddenly. She adorned herself with flowers of yellow and white. Pale ornaments resting comfortably in her lovely dark hair. Occasionally, a purple blossom would make an appearance. She was fond of surprising me, you see? She was a small thing. … 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) Untitled a spark of gold against a navy sky. “hello, little one”, says the firefly. grinning and grasping only to find he’s already gone. “farewell, goodbye” (II) the answer is in the asking i once asked of the firefly why is it you burn bright as a distant sun? her response was a … I remember the long faces; holding them in my hands and tracing the war-paint smears, feeling the delicate softness of their earth-colored coats gliding beneath my fingers. Large shining orbs turning to look into my smaller (yet no less shining) ones as if to show me that my affection was perfectly okay with them. Oh, … 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 … her amber and brown gaze brings forth a memory see that look? it means i love you, i am happy when i see you. my words provoke that happy tail, that bright life in her eye. diva, baby girl, what is it? her only response is to rush over with those puffball paws and long, … Land is incapable of speech, nor does it know anything. This (or something like it) was told to me not too long ago. In the pink air of morning, I sit beneath a tree of some unknown genus and find myself surrounded by blazing foothills that make up my home. All I do is watch. … 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 … “This is a series of short poems I will write over time” (I) poetry is autumns tree with her crown of auburn and gold. listen as the soft wind weaves through her hair and her whispering story is told. (II) poetry is the ailing father, brother, uncle, son. his shrinking form re-tuning the strings … The subtle swell of red hills, dense with camellias and red tulips who sway and dance so softly to the steady rhythm of some silent, somber song. I can see, too, the occasional ruby-throated hummingbird flitting in time to this quiet melody; All of this nestled sweetly against an alabaster horizon, that long, pale blanket … The words my father said on that ninth of April Repent You’ve been faking it, son. The dogs playing at my feet As my world crumbles around them. The look in my mama’s eyes as I reached out for comfort Broken Defeated in my arms. The dogs playing at my feet As my world crumbles … 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 still can’t figure out if I am just angry at you for refusing to love me or if I only resent myself for throwing away that love. How many nights have I spent shaking my head at your lack of forgiveness while ignoring the fact that I may not actually deserve it. It’s been … Piecing together the delicate features of your young face is impossible, for I don’t yet know the details of your mothers. Are your wide, bright eyes dark like mine? Or- are they of a lighter hue that would, no doubt, disarm me completely? At the very least, I can somehow feel the soft curl of … where are we going in twenty-twenty? we’re never not going. so i ask again: where are we going? forward or backward? up or down? wherever it is, let’s do it right, let’s do it together. 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, … The furious thunderstorm has always fascinated me. This remains true as I climb into my bunk in my dark prison cell to watch the spectacular show through my tiny plexiglass window. The midnight sky flashes wildly and, even through these thick, concrete walls, I feel the earth shake as thunder rolls, displaying its incredible power. … Continue reading Watching a Thunderstorm from Cell 228 – Jordan Earls 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 … 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 it’s for to … 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? … A Pain Shared – Jordan Earls
A Place I’d Rather Be – Jordan Earls
Brilliant – Jordan Earls
COVID-19 – Jordan Earls
Dear, Little Magnolia – Jordan Earls
Distant, but Mine – Jordan Earls
Every First Snow – Jordan Earls
Firefly poems – Jordan Earls
Horses – Jordan Earls
I Am From – Jordan Earls
Lady Godiva – Jordan Earls
Landspeak – Jordan Earls
Lay it Down – Jordan Earls
Mr. Bluebird – Jordan Earls
no such thing as love – Jordan Earls
poetry is… – Jordan Earls
The Meeting – Jordan Earls
The Shame – Jordan Earls
The Things That I Love – Jordan Earls
this poem is true – Jordan Earls
To Those I Hurt – Jordan Earls
To Whom I May Never Meet – Jordan Earls
Twenty-Twenty – Jordan Earls
Wasps – Jordan Earls
Watching a Thunderstorm from Cell 228 – Jordan Earls
When I Dare to Write- Jordan Earls
Why I Write – Jordan Earls
Youth – Jordan Earls
