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Writer of the Week: Tina Jordan

There is a moment when a poet or a writer gets up, stands at a podium, and you can sense the audience anticipating something. It's a kind of something that is hard to describe, but once you hear it you know immediately that it was special. Well, that's how we all felt when hearing Tina Jordan read her poetry at an Open Mic Night. Like it was meant just for us, her audience. This Writer of the Week is not just a poet, but she is also an author. Best of all she is from right here in Alleghany County, N.C.

Photo of Tina Jordan, Poet & Author

At 49-years-old Tina Jordan has established herself within the writing community of Alleghany as a poetess.

She writes a mixture of prose and poetry leaning towards the dark and romantic. Often more romantic than dark, though.

Like most writers, dreams help us to envision a great ending or climactic point for our characters, whatever their plight. For Tina it is her dreams that inspire her to write.

"It's the lost art of romance and the ever-alluring world of the unknown that draws me to write poetry." Who can blame her? Tina finds solace putting pen to paper in her bedroom which she says is her favorite place to write. Her biggest supporters are her family and that special someone in her life.

When we caught up to her Tina she was reading True Tales of the South at War by Clarence Poe. This poetess enjoys reading both historical fiction and nonfiction, admitting that her favorite writer is Oscar Wilde. But, it is perhaps the line from Tina's favorite poet Edgar Allan Poe, that best describes her writings. "And so being young and dipped in folly, I fell in love with melancholy."

Having followed her on social media I know that Tina enjoys outings, where she can roam and collect her thoughts to which she added, "and collect blades. Sing and dance." When asked if she has written outside of her genre Tina said, "Yes, I have written a few short stories and have the workings of a novel in the process."

Tina offered the following advice to anyone who is looking to self-publish. "Do it, especially if you're writing for the love of writing. You never know whose heart your words might touch." We could not have said it any better ourselves, or agree more.

Now, here are a couple of exclusive excerpts of Tina's poems.

The Undoing of Sir Byron

It is widely rumored that she floated across the channel on the tail of a sea serpent, while some recount that she was born of

the moon's salty tears as they collided with the surf.

In fair accord, it is declared that she is in league

with the Sidhe; perhaps she is their queen.

By all accounts, she abides in a hidden cave,

curiously detached from both her world and ours.

Her gaze is to be avoided at all costs,

and the women of the village warn their babes not to

rove past Harkin's Crossing lest they chance

an all too grim fate at the hands of the fae.

My brothers-in-arms dismiss my empirical fascination

when I mention a distant sighting of the lass,

and insist that I should not vitiate my good name

by manner of entertaining such wild notions.

Their looks of concern over my subsequent

laughter is always mildly touching.

Try as I may, I cannot subdue the urge to scan

the banks of the river as my diurnal ride carries me

to the far edge of the estate long before

the dew has scattered from the grasses.

My thoughts and my horse are my only companions

this morning; and the warmth of the sun's rays

on my back has the effect of an evening hearth,

dulling my normally keen wits.

I rein in the mare and dismount, giving her

free access to the delicately scented field as I

walk further towards the property line in hopes

of shaking this sudden bout of lethargy.

It is then that I spy her there, shin-deep in

crystalline waters, with cascades of flaxen curls

obscuring her face as she leans down into

the current to fill each of three clay pitchers.

I voice a gentle yet firm greeting, inwardly plotting

the most viable escape route should she take offense

to my disturbance of her ritual and

decide to impale me or mayhap worse.

I am shocked by the quickness of her instinctive

stiffening; and it is most obvious that my

proximity has startled her, as the circlet of wildflowers

atop her head slides out of alignment.

I find the color in her eyes.

Green of summer's forest must surely

be humbled by their depths.

Afraid to blink, I study the sapience of her gaze.

I detect undiscovered notes of longing and fear.

By Heaven's Gate!

This petite, enchanting imp cannot be

the monstrous troglodyte of legend!

I momentarily think to break the silence

by wheedling her with an assortment of spontaneous

flattery; but as the fragrance of blossoms

and temptation envelopes me, I succumb to

the invitation of her dainty, outstretched hand

and the rose toned allure of destiny's kiss.


Despite the cloudless state of the heavens,

an unmistakable smell of pending snowfall prevails.

I know not what provoked that left turn onto

this nameless back road, save my itinerant thoughts.

Could I have been more careless in not assessing

the contents of the trunk in the last two years?

What I would give for a spare tire and

the comforting warmth of my own bed at this moment...

Mea culpa

Why am I always thinking in sarcastic tongues?

At least forty miles from everything, I appraise the

option of bunking in the car to await rescue,

then tarry not in zipping my jacket before beginning

my foolhardy trek into the darkness of the beyond.

The night panders an eerie silence, compounding

forgotten fears that threaten to rise up in untimely rebellion.

I whistle, attempting to dissuade their efforts

A faint light in the distance affects a loosening of my nerves

Until it is partially obscured by a motionless silhouette.

My sudden intake of icy air burns my lungs.

I muffle a cough into my scarf, trying not to attract attention


The next eighty-seven steps are forced, though I long for

an effectual remedy to my current predicament.

My pulse quickens with the reverberation of his greeting,

although my mother’s voice blares a warning inside my

frozen head.

I’m suddenly agog to discover the source of this calming


Once perched by his Buck Stove, I offer a lame rendition of the evening’s events, omitting the highlights of my cowardice.

His eyes are moody sapphires.

I sip the liquid fire hesitantly, noting the intricate floral

pattern near the rim of the cup while my thumb

studies the chip in its handle.

He moves a bit of my hair away from my reddening face

with a softness I cannot recall ever having encountered. The emulsion created by chemistry and curiosity

is undoubtedly temptation.

I consider myself stranded until further notice.

If you would like to follow Tina on Amazon you can find her and her books at the following links. She also has three projects that will be launched this year, so be sure to follow The Stray Branch and Pomme Journal for her poetry too.

Book Links:

Red Veil (2014)

The Blue Wind's Return (2018)

Releasing in 2020:

Chicken Wire and Duct Tape (2020) and poems published in Pomme Journal (2020) and The Stray Branch (2020).

Author Bio:

Tina Jordan makes her home in the lovely Blue Ridge Mountains where she enjoys writing poetry and prose in her spare time. Working as a secretary by day, she uses inspiration from both everyday life and the mysteries of the unknown to fuel her words, which are often laced with hints of romance and darkness.

A new Writer of the Week will be featured every Monday. Be sure to also follow The Writing Wall on Twitter @TheWritingWall, or on Instagram @writingsonthewall85 for the latest. You can also listen to the podcast every 2nd and 4th Saturday of the month. Just search for The Writing Wall on Spotify, Google Cast, Breaker, and more.

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