to bury us
in the knotted masks of tall grasses
before setting fire to the cairn of chaff
~
our children
lie dormant
as seeds of light
~
we
as we were
are gone forever
~
now
defying gravity
I am here to witness
love breathing
~
through my own flesh
~
painting: J.H. White 2007
~
I want to thank my fellow traveler, Geo Sans. Even though it is a solitary journey, no one goes alone.
~
~
images flicker On / Other fading away
behind aural gesturing
waking me
this new dreaming
populated by redolent wording
and
oddly melodious phrasings
~
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
© J.H. White
~
scraped rust from my tongue
older than before I was born for nothin
score the initiations of death
my gaming sport
rough and blunt points
for taken the hoes down
I’m not even tired yet
just getting started
gimme gimme
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
To call out my anger. To give voice to all sides in this massive and long holding violence so I can see touch be whole at least in myself. I’m not asking for some peaceful distancing. Some mental balancing. Somewhere in there lies compassion…somewhere. I will find this flower
© J.H. White
~
gravity persuades
silenced by the waiting by the cusp
lanterns lit in the dark
wax low
I don’t need eyes to hear light
~
Heart upended
sight suspended
shattering
light
~
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
Migraine auras. They’d come in sequences of three days, lasting for about twenty minutes each time. Just the auras. Not the headaches. For the most part.
Crossing a bridge, the pungent smell of rosemary, walking away from the house…the triggers were identifiable.
It’s been a few years now since the perpetuating upheaval of estrangement. No more auras. They were a physicality of the moment.
The heart in the picture is new and looks like it comes from a teenage notebook. Most definitely.
I added the edges surrounding the heart, cut from an old sketch book where I’d drawn the auras.
Glued together
I look at this picture
as an old tattoo on my
perfectly elastic body
absorbing the sun in the salt spray.
Aye
I’m a sailor
in the sea of love.
the smallest hole
in the ice
of a dense winter
~
“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
© J H. White
Mountain
that yearns
to be a flower
learns
the ephemeral language
of
beginnings
“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””'”””””””””””””””””””””””
”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
Painting by © J H White
On my walk through the woods this morning due east, the sun shone straight into my eyes, blinding me, until the path curved and the low winter sun was hidden behind trees. The path wound alongside a stand of white pine. They grew tall with a dense under story of dead branches at odd angles. Impassable. Continue reading
The Poetics of Light 