Author Archives: Jana H White

Glass

February 8, 2014 By in Poetry Tags: , , , , 24 Comments

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Again I woke earlier than you this morning.

Opening the blinds in the next room

I stood there watching the sun move closer

a lover traveling through glass spun from sand

~

The floor was still cold under my bare feet from the night I wanted to

lift myself into the air and dive back down

splashing into the ocean of our bed

making waves of spice and salt and substance

But for some reason I hesitated…

If I laid down next to you

I was struck with the thought that I’d witness your dreams fading

as you turned and opened your eyes.

I didn’t want to chance what I’d see.

And I knew

I’m growing too used to your rambling distances as you angle into a place

further and further away

But who am I to say you’re lost except to me

even intimacy closes certain doors

~

Too often  though you prefer to face the wall

While I ? well

Standing here watching you sleep like this

I know now I’m turning towards the sun

~

~

Practical religion

February 2, 2014 By in Poetry Tags: , , 18 Comments

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I have a small shrine outside my bedroom doorway. Every time I pass the shrine I know I’m praying. Sometimes my eyes glance to the side as I pass. Most often I can keep moving. Then there are the times I stop and I bow my head. Or sometimes I have to raise my arms up high.  It all depends on how much I have to say.

Also … I  start the day with a really good breakfast and when I get down to the end,  I always leave the last bite for the garbage gods.

I definitely give the neighborhood trees my allegiance … nothing overt … I just make sure I look up as I pass. And I’ve started to pick up any litter I find in the alley.

As you can see,  I try to spread my religion throughout the whole week. When I pass people on the sidewalk, I look them in the eyes to see if they see me. If they do I’ll smile. Otherwise we can stay invisible. I show respect.

Sundays are different.  It’s not because it’s religion. They’re looser. I admit, it’s a little hard if I’m lonely because then it would really be nice to have someone to tighten things up. But usually everything’s great. And I don’t need to pray on Sundays. It’s a free day.

 ~

artist: Mitsi:b

Cold toes

January 28, 2014 By in Poetry Tags: 13 Comments

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Cold toes   

Slip them under me    I’ll warm them like they’re endangered species 

But rest from words percolating as you thaw      It’s far from spring

Sinking into the rhythms of our warming blood

chanting pheromones lost to icy blue snow

we morph like changeling far north foxes as the hairs rise on our skin

Our winter eyes dilating         wide opening into internal circuitry

we go humming and sliding off the depths of winter’s edge

~

~

 

Spinning

January 24, 2014 By in Poetry Tags: , , , , , 14 Comments

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We’ve grown tired of being pinched by small rusted tacks

holding tight     meant to toughen our skin

plastered like pictures cut from a magazine pinned to

our bellies   our faces   our sins

~

Listen you old schemers

we’re not looking for saviors

nor suckling blind messengers peddling  your news

~

We seek grounding instead

in the wild fecund darkness

deeply cocooned in a memory unbound

Listening to choirs of winged ones spinning

from the silk of our own lightened stories now loosened

and taking flight from the sound

~

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Photo credit: felixinclusis.tumblr.com

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Modification

January 21, 2014 By in Poetry Tags: , , , , , 23 Comments

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In the stunned summer sun

rows upon rows of

silent corn stand

   their postures attentive

but ineffective

except in the order of things.

I hover somewhere overwhelmed 

between grief and loss   

Imagining

three sisters rambling in freshened fields 

corn, beans and squash

   a symbiotic sweet milk of the earth

~

The abduction of the corn  

entered    altered  chastened   

bound now to precision   

replication

A singular armada of swollen ears

no longer listening

~

A survivor

I depend on the humblest herbs

too common to become a sport

Drinking teas steeped in wildness

we mingle in the blood

By moving together though

we gain momentum

Instead of rubbing salt  

like two sticks to start a fire

lamenting these golden

hollow walls

~

 ~

artist: Michal Lukasiewicz

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In a clearing

January 17, 2014 By in Poetry Tags: , , , , , 15 Comments

Ice dreaming

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In a clearing

the ice covered pond

reflects the cool sun’s glare

~

sleeping   dreaming   waking

The green light at the bottom of the pond is kept on

~

The writings in books

are like skates on the pond

Cutting figures in the ice

while staying

on the surface of dreams

~

 Mermaids come as night falls

 cutting holes

from the bottom of the ice

 singing their siren songs

 to awaken the sleeping minutes

of hearts and minds

keeping time

~

While hurrying clouds congregate

rebellious against the moon

and I sit here alone

in dark wonder

watching the glow

from the warming fire

~

The bright moon

My breath in the air

All I hear is stillness

 ~

A living journal,  my poems are weaving and circling around themselves…puzzles unwinding in a clearing…a dialogue now in waves more than starts and fits, editing me….

””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

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photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/gomattolson/3238276252/”>gomattolson</a&gt; via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a&gt; <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/”>cc</a&gt;

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Wild God trails and half-world journeys

January 16, 2014 By in Poetry Leave a comment

Along with 1000’s of other wildlings, Coyopa’s poem “Sometime a Wild God” stirs well the male embers. Mark Lewis’s reading is howling good.

Tom Hirons's avatarCoyopa : words by Tom Hirons

As some of you may have noticed, December saw a flurry of attention for the poem ‘Sometimes a Wild God.’ I’m really not sure quite what happened, but I know that facebook was heavily involved. The site went from getting about 250 views each week to almost 20,000 just before Christmas. Yes, 20,000. Thankfully, we’re back down to about 100 a day now. Phew.

Perhaps it was the solstice, perhaps it was some fortuitous conjunction of the outer stars. Perhaps it’s just a mystery and that’s that, but I’m glad – there’s nothing that feeds a writer’s self-belief more than having lots of people from all over the world saying how much they like the writer’s work. And – in the wake of four years’ studying and a distinct lack of soul-nourishing-deep-water-poetry-inspiring time, for all that I’ve managed to drag up the occasional word-nugget from the poetry-veins deep…

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Singing shells

January 14, 2014 By in Poetry Tags: , , , 16 Comments

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Dark glasses in the sun hiding blindness

 I’ve been running ahead while looking back

until

collecting silent clues

I’m becoming a butterfly amongst the bees

winging it

as I find my way

down the dark passage

of singing shells

 ~

Finding a winter rhythm this year is a bit like being in a jerky elevator…..best laid plans, just get to the floor and open the door. The words coming slow in a weathered  suspension, collecting clues from poems becoming puzzles….meaning pivoting on just one word … the rhythm finding me in a slow molasses changing well- engrained routines, unsettling boundaries used to the intimacies of osmosis.

Perfect landing

December 31, 2013 By in Art, Poetry Tags: , , , , 14 Comments

Perfect landing

~

I step lightly between the landing of the animus

The muse who comes lifting honey

from the hives

~

Pollinating words penetrating

through veils

Boundaries permeable by light

still feeling the sinew and bones of intention

 smiling around dark corners

unabashed

“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

Pregnant with Animus…keep it steady there  © J.H. White