shadowing all poets
looking for voice
Outdistancing condensations of time
Treading lightly upon soiled shores
Eroding titled consensus
Unifying mismatched ethos
Upending obscurity
Surprising bare feet
~
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
“”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
Photo credit: http://www.unidivers.fr/centre-pompidou-danser-sa-vie-2311-204-2012/
~
After so many years
it grays me to see
how often we enter into
an agreement of unkindness,
each day a choice of persuasion,
where shadows of unmet desires
play against the walls
of our routines
sung by the low hum
of tuneless notes.
~
no apologies
aching hearts
~
we are both waiting
to be
apart
””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””’
””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””’
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/striatic/133146861/”>striatic</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/”>cc</a>
~
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.
Apparently our own bodies are small walking planets…or verdant jungles or distinctive arboretums. Really… Newest scientific findings show we have an estimated ten times more microbes than human cells in our own bodies. We are all teaming with unique colonies of microbes living symbiotically. Continue reading
naked
impressed
open to skies
deep in the left heel
tender
I don’t need to follow you
I can see where you’ve been
in the waves
with their tongues of silver
”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””’
””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””’
photo credit: <a href=”http://www.flickr.com/photos/elliotmoore/45457311/”>Elliot Moore</a> via <a href=”http://photopin.com”>photopin</a> <a href=”http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0/”>cc</a>
Mountain
that yearns
to be a flower
learns
the ephemeral language
of
beginnings
“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””'”””””””””””””””””””””””
”””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
Painting by © J H White
Twice a month I meet for a few hours with four other women. Our friendship has a history as neighbors, fellow artists, some mothers, a few grandmothers, some wives, some ex-wives…it’s a toss up but we share artistic enthusiasms. Our lives are busy and we may not see each other as often as we’d like in any of these roles. But every other week we make time in our schedules to get together. We’ve all said that this time spent together is essential to each of us. For these particular meetings we’ve come to listen deeply to each other. Continue reading
Fractals fascinate me. This one is reminiscent of an old world map… but on some distant planet where the sea forms geometric plates that continually shift and reconfigure according to this planets three moons and the land spews forth in continual eruptive engagement.
It’s in the eye of the beholder. The middle form might be a river enraged and snaking through carefully groomed farm land. But not today…
Facing the window overlooking the garden
I am blindfolded,
a veil over my eyes.
Taken into this darkest of rooms, I wonder
If I am blindfolded…how am I seeing in this darkness?
My heart has been opened Continue reading
The Poetics of Light 