~
Buddha said to the Deer…
“It’s time to poke the Tiger”
~
Painting © by Jana White
Instagram @ Jana_H_White
Tag Archives: spirituality
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
He sang my pulse a metronome
~
I once took a lover
Substantial as the undertow
He sang…
He sang my pulse a metronome
As mermaids surfaced mesmerized
~
He showed me between his strong legs
Thick hairs, long soaked in the moon
Permeated with his strength and compassion
~
To love and be loved is evermore
His words becoming the flesh of dreams
I moved like seaweed in his tides
Undulate and grounded
Melding with the cello of his landing
~
Compelled, the spirits
Shuffling wistfully in dust
Remembered their names
Became eager for color
Incanted lullabies
Spellbound by our heat
As it rose to claim them
~
Proud, my body animal
Went to ground bearing seed
I became witness and thunder
Rounded and swelling in storms
Unfolding broad wings bearing rain
A haloed tunnel of bone and cusp
~
All forgotten in the first cry of birthing
As in this moment my world split in two
And continued to divide into ocean and land
Both realms indigenous to the lost souls of Man.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Artist: “Whispers” Monique Passicot
Somewhere
~
Balancing, not so delicately,
on the heads of seven pins
I wake in the middle of the night
dazed by the hurrying of the sun and the moon through the sky.
~
Somewhere there is an open field
where the seeds of tall grasses live out their days
in dialogue with dew and stars,
Cicada legs thrumming the air
a stillness held in their cadence,
Where fire flies lace the leaves of trees in encircling forests
inscribing their delicate electrical tracings of desire,
a lit calligraphy of … hello, come see me
I am aflame with light
~
Somewhere there is an open field within me
amidst the deep woods of words
the impregnable tall trees of thought
a vast silence of living
wrapt entirely in wonder
Modification
~
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
~
Singing shells
~
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.
Becoming
Words embracing form
Even substance cannot slow to definition
the holiness of momentum
~
“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
~
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
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
~
“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””
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.
The Weaver’s Edge
~
Honing the edge of fragility
we bend and still bend
gracefully bending and weaving
settling turbulence
~
Becoming tuning forks
we chose our words with care
They are the air
we breathe
~
~
Artist: John Franzen
~
The Poetics of Light 