Enigma

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Rooted in the Greek word for riddle

I steady myself

in the middle of the stream

So much rain

my toes search for purchase

as I move along in the strong current

~

But I’ll not wander in the side eddies

where the slickest algae

coats the surface of the stones still idling there

passing time as if singular

feigning reflection

~

An intoxicated accumulation

of over fertilized organic matter

girdling themselves

as if they could hold on to the ground

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My days have been emptying

full of the feeling that I’m living in two separate realities

~

More than a waiting game

too much hard evidence

~

Carrying a pack that needs to be cleaned out

and made into a traveling case of essentials

fit for traveling in even faster flowing water

~

I’ve been carrying these stones around with me for decades. The one with the impressed shells is from the Northwest Pacific coast and was gifted to me. Its partner once dwelled further south, somewhere along the coast by Half Moon Bay, south of San Francisco.

They traveled with me when I returned to the waters of the east coast, after my sojourn with the Pacific.  The stones always hold a corner of one of my gardens, along with a bowl of water for the critters and birds.

The poem inserted into the photo arrived out of the blue, as many poems tend to do. It came as a puzzle and I chuckled as I considered who it could be referring to.

That is until…. could it possibly be “water”?  And partner with the poem “Enigma”?

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Poems and photo © Jana White

Instagram @ Jana_H_White

Perfect Landing

I step lightly between the landing of the animus

The muse that 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!

 



Painting and journal entry © Jana White

Instagram @ Jana_H_White

Pencil Noir #7

” There is no route out of the maze. The maze shifts as you move through it, because it is alive.” ….Philip K. Dick

 

hello….hello….hello….

I’ve returned from traveling on the dark side of the mountain. I was never really (completely) lost. It did require entering the mountain to find my way out though, as the mountains began to float away.

While underground I made steps through the dark tunnels trusting a lighted candle. Finally I came upon an immense cavern and there I found a working head lamp, a pencil and a passage to the open air.

The moon’s light cast long shadows as I swam towards shore. Floating on my back, I sent it kisses. Digging in the sand at the shoreline I looked for wave washed shells to tell me their secrets. Before continuing on my way along a phosphorescent passage of singing shells.

Now I am here retrieving my poethead. And finding rhythm in the alchemy of the virtual heart.

 

Pencil drawing by j.h. white

Singing shells

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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.

Before dawn

I’m pedaling

slowly

It’s a down time

face up floating

a sea of heart’s desire

directed,

as night caresses

and dreams open like books

dissolving their meaning

no longer rigid

 rising to the surface

for light and air

~

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

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

Now deep in the hum of an extended writing project, I miss the relationship with my WordPress community. I wondered if I could keep up both directions in expression….the immediacy of day by day reflections and the task of organizing a larger body of work into a cohesive whole.

Still opening to deeper insight in the stillness of the night, nowadays after hours of the chaos of creative effort, I’ve decided to re-post some of the earlier poems, unedited. For me they are like talking with an old friend….calming, encouraging. Where am I today with these thoughts? Do they surface now with new meaning? I treasure the comments made and the friendships that have been nurtured with these seeds that were sown in this fertile ground.

Under the radar

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They softened or hardened

their intelligence

walking deftly

under the ladders

of hierarchy

~

While circumnavigating

the solid grid of references

they wander barefoot

dancing Flamenco

The flight of their passion

entertaining the complexities

of insight

bright seeds

 planted in fecund dust

under the radar

~

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photo credit: Unknown

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Three

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Doubt and Belief silently argue

as they sit upon a box

~

Trust joins them

adding 3 wheels to the box

~

giving mobility

to the debate

~

everyone’s muscles still tense

when they pass Hope or Violence

~

but they are now meandering

around the countryside

~

looking for the exact spot

where their grief is buried

~

~

photo credit: Unknown

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