Category Archives: Poetry

Waiting-A Poem

Hanging between possibilities
Trying to stay balanced between the past and future
Remaining focused on the present with eyes on the horizon
Each step carefully placed
One before the other
As I move along the mobile wire
No tether keeps us safe on the walk of life
it would be easier to be magically transported to the far side
But the journey must be made patiently
Slowly walking the wire
Each measured footfall testing the tension
Praying the destination is worth the danger
The unseen future beyond the visible horizon

Neil White, 2013

The Playground of the Mind

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I wonder and imagine and play
With the past and present and future
Real and imaginary, fantasy and reality
All ready to coexist in the playground of my mind

And like a child entering a room full of toys
Anything is possible to be manipulated and combined
In the service of play and delight
The experimentation of the possible
And the boundaries of the unimaginable
Become the field of play

Sometimes I feel like the master of that universe
Able to manipulate the winds of creation
To serve my own whims and will
Oftentimes I am blown here and there by the winds of curiosity
Distractedly moving from one shiny object to another
And at the end of the day when I am exhausted by the work of the day
When I lay down upon my bed and close my eyes
The child continues to run untiringly in the playground of my mind
Reveling in the mystery of the subconscious
And dancing through my dreams with his muddy footprints

Neil White, 2013

Dark Days

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There are days where the emptiness takes over
And nothing can fill the abyss inside
When the successes of the past are transformed
Into the bars that the future can never measure up to
And the idealization of the way things were
Steals the joy of the present and the hope of tomorrow
And the emptiness of the house echoes
With the hollow sounds of failure.

When my own insatiable expectations overwhelm
My all too limited time and abilities
Where my spirit chastises weaknesses
Weaknesses others never see

Then as inexplicably as the appearance
Of the dark clouds the sun re-emerges
The dark day passes and the flowers
Of new life emerge in its light

On my journeys I know that the dark days
Pass and that the sunlight returns
Yet, my heart aches for those who dwell
Trapped within the darkness of their own minds
Isolated from their own brightly burning light
And I pray that their dark days
May pass into the breaking of a new dawn

Neil White, 2013

The Grudge- A Poem

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I captured a grudge to let loose on you
For grudges are common in Kalamazoo
I found one the right size, it fit in my hand
For a fully grown grudge can swallow a man

It started so small, such the simplest slight
But I held this small creature with all o’my might
I held it so tightly, there in my hand
’til its tail wrapped around my arm like a band

And it brought me some comfort right there a’first
As it fed off my anger and purred with each curse
But the longer I held it the more that it grew
And its fur turned to spikes which wounded me too

I want to let go but I no longer know how
For its beady red eyes are eyeing me now
The grudge in my hands that I’m holding so tight
No longer resembles the original slight

This once tiny grudge that I should’ve set free
I held it so tightly that it’s now part of me
What once was so small that it fit in my hand
Has grown up until it has swallowed this man

Neil White 2013

Tears in the Red, Red Clay

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They had heard the sirens moan before
Within the sleepy town of Moore
They had felt the pain and loss of a storm
And May of ninety nine they still mourn
But nobody was prepared for this day
When tears would fall upon red, red clay

In Oklahoma the wind is part of life
Normally passing without much strife
Even tornadoes are part of the spring
With their rumbling groaning songs they sing
But rare is the monster that ruled this day
When tears would fall upon red, red clay

In the aftermath of the evil wind
Laid homes and schools and those within
Many still living, too many lost
And all of us observing the cost
Of nature’s fury put on display
On a tear-filled day on the red, red clay

No words of mine can soothe the pain
Of those whose lives were torn in twain
But my thoughts and prayers go out the same
To the people of Moore who struck their claim
And weep and morn for children not at play
On the tear soaked ground of red, red clay

Neil White, May 21, 2013

for those who endured the tornado in Moore, Oklahoma May 20, 2013 and those who will help with the recovery

The Spirit of Creativity-A Poem

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At play in the depths of chaos before time began
Dancing in the dangerous depths of the waters of creation
Playfully forming light and darkness, earth and sky
Throughout the ages bringing form to the formless
Giving substance to the wisdom and words of God
Delighting in bringing new and unusual forms of life
Shaping and creating with the molecules and elements of dust and the air
Over the eons you listened and danced and played
Giving birth to the world you delighted in
And it was good

From the smallest creature to the wisest person
Your breath fills our lungs and animates our bodies
You knit us together in our mother’s womb
Forming us each as unique masterworks enduring for a moment
Some of us have recognized the brushstrokes of your work
Others endure unaware of your wind blowing through the world
A few have breathed in deeply allowing you to possess them
While others have been brushed by your fingertips in a moment of inspiration
In the midst of it all you dance and play throughout time
Renewing life in the world you delighted in
And it was good

Never there to be controlled by any priest or king
Instead sometimes you would possess and prophesy
And young men would dream dreams and old men would see visions
The great and the small could all be caught up in the ecstacy of your movement
Never tamed for you are the breath of creation
The Spirit who can play with Leviathan and dance with the Behemoth
Yet sometimes you were content to rest in this dust and clay
Opening eyes, revealing truth and love and beauty
Giving gifts for service and building up the community
Dancing on the edges of dreams and playing with the prophets
Dreaming of the vision of a world renewed
Pointing to the life you dream for the world you delighted in
That it would be good

You came down to the world you created like a descending dove
Like a rushing wind, like tongues of fire, in visions and dreams
Always present yet never grasped and defying words to describe
Yet you move the mountains and shatter the power of fear
You are there pulling the wary disciples of all ages beyond their comfort
Beyond their homes to the ends of the earth and beyond
Interceding in words to deep for sighs and moaning in the brokenness
The wounded creation and a fearful people
Revealing the children of God, opening eyes and dreaming dreams
Moaning in the birth pangs of the new creation
Giving birth to that which is good

Breathe in us breath of God and renew our lives
As you playfully created throughout the eons
Now continue to mold and shape us to be the children of God
The world is longing for as it waits for redemption
In the midst of our own sighing may we hear your voice
And in the midst of brokenness may we hear the music you are dancing to
As you dream and sing a new creation in the midst of the old
Renewing and revitalizing, refreshing and recreating
Dancing and playing and singing and dreaming
For your delight is what enervates the dawning of the new age
And it is good

Neil White, 2013

Catching Fire- A Poem for Pentecost

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We stayed locked behind closed doors
Safe from the rest of the world
Wondering what the future held
Would things ever be the way they were?
Should we just give up? Return home
And pretend like our worlds had not changed
Get on the with the business of our normal lives
Or do we dare to dream of God’s kingdom?

Our Lord came down to the water
And fished us out, calling us from our lives
To journeys we hadn’t imagined
The kingdom was near, the blind saw, the deaf heard
The demons were cast out and the religious were afraid
We had no wealth, no security, but we had him
This man who pulsated with the presence of the living God
Who dared to dream, speak and enact God’s kingdom

Our Lord took us outside the world we knew
To the other side of the lake, to Samaria, and into the city
He touched the unclean, welcomed the sinners
Ate with the tax collectors, and called us all to follow
Building this kingdom of outcasts and unholy into something divine
He opened our eyes, our ears and our hearts
Sometimes we heard, sometimes we were still deaf
Sometimes we trusted, sometimes we failed
But we relied on his faithfulness, his trust
His vision of the kingdom of God drawn near

His vision of the kingdom of love met the hatred
Of men who had lost their dreams, of rulers trapped by fear
So they hung him on a tree, cursed before the world
And laid him in a tomb, killing the dream
Scattering his followers to the four winds
As we ran away in our fear and disillusionment
Hiding away behind locked doors
Fasting where once we feasted
Mourning the loss of the kingdom of God incarnate

But the dream didn’t die
Love overcame hatred; the bars of death were shattered
And with this one, this Jesus, resurrection became reality
We saw him, touched him, ate with him, were taught by him
Yet still we didn’t understand how dead could be not dead
How to overcome the scandal of the crucifixion
How to move beyond our fears and beyond the walls
Our fear keeps the insiders in and the outsiders as strangers
As we argue, debate and question the future of God’s kingdom

Light and life, wind and fire, tongues and messages
The same Spirit that drove Jesus into the wilderness
The same Spirit that went forth from him to heal the sick
Cast out the demons, open the eyes of the blind and the ears of the deaf
Comes down and casts us outside
No longer behind closed doors, no longer trapped in fear
No longer caught in the illusion of our own control
No longer fearing death or persecution
But caught up in the moment, catching fire
Not knowing what the future holds
But captured by the pulsating power of God’s presence
That we are not alone, that we go forth in love
Witnesses to the kingdom of God

Our problems are not gone, they are new
As we are cast out by the Spirit into God’s world
We meet the outsiders, the gentiles, the strangers
The sinners, the broken, the hurt and the healing
We see the way God’s kingdom is at work in them
And it changes us, it rekindles our own flames
Stoking the fire of the Spirit that breaks down the walls of our fear
Proclaiming the arrival of the kingdom of God

In an age of fear we are captured by the creating Spirit
In the face of hatred and prejudice we are called to love
In insecurity we bring a dream of a world renewed
Yet at times our own fires grow dim
We find ourselves locked behind our own doors
Trapped within our cathedrals
Fearing the outsiders, the strangers and even our neighbors
Then may that same Spirit that moved the frightened few
Into the marketplace, the workplace and to the ends of the earth
Open our eyes, our ears and our hearts to the work of God in our midst
Pushing us towards the kingdom of God

Neil White, 2013

In part this was sparked by David Lose’s video “it’s Pentecost”

Longing for Sabbath-A Poem

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When the city never sleeps and more is never enough
In a world where busyness is substituted for happiness
When the days become weeks and weeks become months
And the joy is drained from vocation making it merely labor
We are longing for Sabbath

When the cruel gods of capitalism
Cast images of a life that cannot be attained
When possessions become objects of our bondage
And we find ourselves bondservants of mammon
We are longing for Sabbath

When we construct prisons of grey concrete and glass
And permanently chain ourselves to our offices
Connected by wireless umbilical cords to the necessity of availability
And there is nowhere we can go to break away
We are longing for Sabbath

Where we can accept the gift of rest
Where we can learn to give rather than to grasp
When labor becomes recaptured as vocation
We are once again stewards of the mysteries of faith
As the world rests with its creator
Accepting the gift of Sabbath

A Love Song for My Muse- A Poem

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Gustav Moreau, Hesiod and the Muse (1891)

She dances at the edges of my dreams
Singing her songs, delighting in the bright corners of imagination
Celebrating the springtime of the mind and shining brightly
She laughs as I reach out for her, knowing once again
I’ll hear her diaphanous voice haunting me
But she’ll not be held or confined
She’ll not come when beckoned
She heeds no time but her own
But she can be enticed
For she loves beauty and laughter
And sometimes in the midst of loss and despair
Her compassionate hand is felt upon my shoulder
Making sense of the sadness and miracle from madness
And sometimes she’ll abide for a time
While pen and paper record the embrace
Of her creativity and my words
Ah, she is an evanescent sprite, but I adore her
She is the playful counterpart to my own diligence
And so to the muse, that spirit of my inspiration
I send out a love song, I read her poetry
I search for beauty and I dwell in the darkness
Waiting again to celebrate her dance, her laugh, her voice
The angel in my mind holding the keys to creativity
And lighting up the corners of my mind’s eye with her smile

Composed Neil White, 2013

On the cutting room floor

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Words and ideas that never reached the light of day
Lay scattered and cast aside on the cutting room floor
The potential of a thousand worlds that never found their creation
Their inspiration expired prior to their birth
Or their potential and light was stolen by some sister or brother
Who came to the world fully formed while they lay in their wake

Would that they could all be saved and treasured
But alas only a few find their way to rest upon the page for the world to hear
To live a short but brilliant life in the eye of the mind
And lay down to rest content in the subconscious memory
Bearing the seeds of more thoughts and ideas yet to be born

Perhaps those on the cutting room floor came to early or too late
Perhaps someday they will be reincarnated into something new and greater
But for now they rest on the cutting room floor
And no one hears their falling and no one marks their resting place

Neil White, 2013

Sign of the Rose

Searchings: Sacred and Secular

Category Archives: Poetry

Waiting-A Poem

The Playground of the Mind

Dark Days

The Grudge- A Poem

Tears in the Red, Red Clay

The Spirit of Creativity-A Poem

Catching Fire- A Poem for Pentecost

Longing for Sabbath-A Poem

A Love Song for My Muse- A Poem

On the cutting room floor