Category Archives: Poetry

Ice Eagles: A Poem

eagles-on-ice-018

Strutting across the frozen waters of the Platte

The sky’s royalty resting from their hunt

Their power is coiled into their stout bodies

Even on the ground they are a study in majesty and power

Their resting spot is transformed into a spot where the lords of the sky have touched

Eagles on the ice, seen only in passing on a journey

Yet their nobility transforms the dull grey of winter into a polar wonderland

For the king of the air has graced his subjects with his presence

And though he only remained standing on the ice

Never spreading his wings to take flight

Never embarking into the air where he reigns supreme

The brief view of his magnificence gave my heart wings

And on this cold day allowed my imagination to soar

Composed Neil White, 2013

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Esther’s Crown: A Poem

A young flower freshly bloomed

Is harvested with all the other blooms in the garden

To set before the king for his pleasure

Most will be cast aside, forgotten and neglected

Destined to wilt in the vastness of his harem

Their beauty enjoyed, their perfume stolen

One of the many pieces of a bouquet whose beauty will never be enjoyed

Who will never be adored by another after being sampled and discarded by the monarch

Except the Hebrew Rose Hadassah, the orphan flower Esther

Delicate in a world of men, lifted up as the queen of the flowers

The crowning beauty of the garden of Susa

The rose that delighted the king is crowned with gold and adorned with jewels

Preserved to be displayed before an empire

And a nation celebrates in her triumph

And yet are all the other flowers mourned, the loss of their beauty missed

Or does life go on in the world of men scarcely noticing the flowers

Yet Esther is the bud the king could not set aside

Enthroned to be admired, adored and desired

Her path was never hers to choose, and yet she is the queen of flowers

Plucked from her roots and placed on display for the world to see her beauty

Composed Neil White, 2013

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The Gryphon: A Poem

May_The_Gryphon_Be_With_You_by_rage1986

May the Gryphon Be With You, by rage1986@deviantart.com

Once I was viewed as an image of nobility and power itself

The king of the sky and the king of the jungle brought together into something far deadlier

Strong enough to rule the skies and deadly enough to stalk the beasts of the ground

Kings and armies emblazoned my image on their shield and castles for safe keeping

In a world where imagination and magic still existed

And children dreamed of magical beasts that prowled the dark places

Heroes and wizards came to seek my aid in their impossible quests

In a time before the modern world cast its own spell of certainty

And the wilderness of dreamland became tamed by roads of asphalt and concrete

And the dictatorial iconoclasts of plutocracy stripped the artistic from the halls of the world

When the gryphons, dragons and unicorns went the way of the dinosaur

Once I was the master of the earth and sky in another world, in another place and time

Now I don’t belong in the heavens or on the earth

For neither the eagles or the lions would have me

To them I am neither beast nor bird and my presence makes a mockery of both

So what am I?

Am I merely some projection of some alchemist’s desire

Am I the joining of two creatures noble in their own right

Into an unstable and unholy creature banished to live between worlds

On the edge of imagination in the whispers of dreams not yet quashed by the mechanistic drive of progress

Will there come a time when the magic returns and heroes come back to the world

When gryphons and dragons and unicorns can again dwell in the dreams of young and old

Or will they too be thrown into the furnaces of the disillusioned dreams and broken hearts

Of children grown too soon and adults who no longer sing songs

Composed Neil White, 2013

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Not the end…A Poem

cemetary and snow

Standing at the graveside of a man I never met

In a garden of stone blanketed by snow

Growing only silken flowers coated in frost

Surrounded by the family and friends of the one lying in wait

As I stand, stationed between the gravestone and the coffin

My hands on the prow of the oaken ship

That will carry his body on its journey back into the earth

Standing between the living and the dead

Honoring the dead as I mock death

I christen the casket with the mark of the cross

Trusting a new journey has begun

Soon flowers plucked in the prime of their life

Will be the only escorts on the descent into a rose petal lined vault

Soon the body of the beloved of his family will no longer rest in repose in the cold

Instead it will be covered with a warm blanket of earth and snow

Warm in the womb of the earth

Awaiting the time when once again the breath of the creator enters his nostrils

And the touch of the spirit quickens his heart

For though you are a stranger to me, you are known

This is not the end

Composed Neil White, 2013

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Three Small Poems from a Snowy Day

Snow day

Earth and Sky

The sky reaches out to embrace its beloved which lies locked in a deep slumber

The earth continues its hibernation cooled by the long winter

So the firmament sheds its winter robe

And crystal falls from the sky

Frozen tears from the heavy laden clouds

Fall to cover the soil in a cooling blanket

The beloved tucked in for their beauty sleep

As the ground rests peacefully dreaming of spring

When it sheds the blanket lovingly rested on its slumbering form

And from the bounty of the earth green shoots reach out

Bearing flowers, fruits and perfumes for the air to delight in.

snow-birds_00386155

Snow Birds

Feathers puffed up as small parkas while they congregate at the feeder

Singing joyful songs in the cold winter air

Flitting along the ground leaving no footsteps in their wake

Too light to disturb the covering of snow

Songs echoing as they share in the banquet of food and friends

Shimar in snow 5

Joy of the Pomeranian

Lustily leaping across a blanket of snow half as deep as he is tall

Yipping with joy as he crosses the expanse of the yard

Greeting his comrades behind the opposing fence

Bounding along the expanse of the border that separates them

Barking and chasing at the shadows and scents of his challengers

No greater joy than the thrill of the chase

And returning home, his long hair coated in the crystals of day old snow

Resting on the vent with his mouth open in an expression of fulfillment

Composed Neil White, 2013

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Anxiety: A Poem

The Abyss by Alexiuss at deviantart.com

The Abyss by Vitaly S. Alexiuss (alexiuss) at deviantart.com

I stare into the abyss of a future created by the demons of depression

It is not reality, it is not what will happen,

And yet as I cling to the precipice of sanity it is all I see

A nightmare that roams in the day consuming the green meadows of springtime

It saps the passion of the blood and fills my veins with ice

My heart pounds in rebellion, confined within the cage of my chest

Yet I move not

The very things that would free me are denied me

Hope is consumed by the illusion of despair

For it is not real…it is not real…it is not real

You are a liar granting me titles and names that are not mine

I am not worthless or weak or crazy but for your lechery

You are a parasite feeding off my life energy

Consuming the power of my dreams

 

You are a murderer and my soul is your mark

Locked into your arena, you call on me to yield

To proclaim you the victor

To give up

But you will not last

You will not steal this day and so I fight against my own mind

I name thee, I know thee, and again I rise

Sapped but still standing

Weakened but stronger than thou

For as I walk through your illusion, into the present that is present

I will again find hope and joy

And you shall be vanquished back to the depths of the pit you dwell in

Composed Neil White, 2013

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The Puzzle Master: A Poem

Apophysis by Sheri Lynn Meyer (1footonthedawn in deviantart.com)

Apophysis by Sheri Lynn Meyer (1footonthedawn in deviantart.com)

Hawkish eyes darting quickly through the layers of color and shapes

Making sense of each riddle in turn, seeing the pattern in the parts

Problems become joined into solutions and chaos begins to be shaped into order

Heart and hand, eye and mind, vision and patience all work in concert

At the joining of things once pulled apart

And upon the workbench of possibility shapes begin to emerge

What will the message in the medium be?

The puzzle master sees the picture in his mind

Only he knows how one piece might fit within the whole of the body

But with one piece missing the puzzle is not complete

Each piece is precious, sacred, worth holding onto

And so the puzzle master sits at the workbench, the creation unfinished

A labor of love out of the broken pieces of life

A puzzle, a challenge, a riddle

Out of brokenness, wholeness

Out of pieces the picture

Out of diversity some mystical unity

Without the puzzle master’s perspective it is merely jagged edges

A cacophony of color

More problems than solutions

More questions than answers

More pieces than places

And yet in the patience and vision of the puzzle master

It is the beloved masterpiece that he has poured his life into

And until all are again one

Until all the jagged edges form a smooth surface

Until the wounds of time are healed

The labor of love continues

Composed by Neil White, 2013

For my son’s 14th Birthday

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La Magdalena

Guido Reni (1575-1642)-The Penitent Magdalene

Guido Reni (1575-1642)-The Penitent Magdalene

A poem inspired by Michael Parkes’ picture La Magdalena and by extension Mary Magdalene. La Magdalena is a copyrighted image but click the link at the name to see the image that inspired the poem.

The cards of destiny were stacked against me
No hearts or diamonds, only clubs and spades
The scars of my past and the demons of my present
Howl for my skull in the fish town of Magdala
Outcast. Harlot. Sinner. Prostitute. Pariah.
The names and titles I bear before the world
A lover, unloved.
A heart shattered under the weight of misdeeds, real and imagined
No longer whole, but made to be defiled
Invisible to all who might help, a face unseen and a voice unheard
In the dust-filled wilderness of my captivity
No sun or moon or stars to light my way underneath the brimstone skies
A future damned by the past which forced itself upon me and violated my soul
No way to master the rock of my shame
Liberated from the demonic debris of my desolation
From the top of the boulder of an identity I could not remove
I let the cards of destiny fly in the wind
The darkness of the night gives way to a new dawn
Death dies to make way for the fecundity of a new creation
The sinner becomes the saint. The outcast becomes the sister.
The harlot is drawn near by the friend of sinners and tax-collectors
The pariah becomes the disciple
The unloved one will see love itself die and be reborn
For no tomb can contain love
I will be the first, but not the last, to weep tears of joy for a tomb opened
The gates of Gehenna shattered and the prisoners of Hades set free
Freed from having to seek a better past I sit upon the rock of eternity
Watching the beginning of the life of the new eon
Leaving the wastelands behind, I journey towards the horizon

composed Neil White, 2013

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Ashes and Dust

AshWednesday

By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread until you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; you are dust, and to dust you shall return. Genesis 3: 19
 
The fire of time burns in each of us, slowly consuming our days and our years
In the springtime of our youth we seemed immortal, we didn’t feel the touch of the flames
Nothing could touch us, we burned brightly while our wood was green
Our branches were too tall to be licked by the tongues of flames that licked the ground around us
We were warmed by the risks and the dangers that we believed would never shorten our days
And yet each of us leave a trail of ash on the pathways we walk.
But in the summer of our adulthood, when the air was hotter and drier we begin to feel the touch.
Our joints begin to dry out, the vigor of youth wanes, and the rainment of youth begins to dry
The pain of loss begins to touch our lives and we begin to wonder whether we will endure
For the fire of time burns hotter as the days get longer
As the seeds we planted begin to grow and we marvel at the vigor of youth
We also begin to see the trail of ashes that we left behind
And we pray that the ashes and the dust fertilize the ground for the journeyers behind us
Rather than poisoning the wells from which they and we shall drink
In the fall of our lives, the third age, when leaves begin to fall to join the dust of the ground
We are no longer young, not yet old, and yet we have seen those whose roots caught
Those who the fires of time consumed far too young, and we know we are but ashes and dust
We pray for those who make the journey behind us, and rejoice in the seeds we have sown
We look back at the trail of dust mingled with ash and we wonder what could have been,
What should have been, what still might be, how long the ash and the dust will continue to blend
We wonder what we might do in the autumn days of life as the fires of time continue to dry us for winter
As winter comes, the green has gone and our wood has dried
We are not creatures of iron or bronze that can be melted down and recast into youth,
No, we are dust and to dust we shall return.
Some burn brightly and shortly, other molder on throughout the winter
But the fires consume us all, and the energy of our lives returns to the earth we were taken from.
We are dust and ash, mingled together on our journey through the seasons and ages
We begin and we end, we are all born and we all die, we are mortal as much as we flee our weakness
Yet, dust and ash though we are, we are precious and valued
We desire to live and breathe, to make a difference, to share our journeys and stories
We love, laugh, cry, desire, struggle, we are always life and death mixed together
And yet even though we end, we make a place for others to begin
And life continues, sustained by the hands that formed us from the future and past
The ashes of history that become the dust, the earth of the future
Marked by ashes, we continue our journey to the dust
Trusting the potter who breathes breath into dust and ash
Treasuring dust and ash beyond gold and diamonds
Though diamonds are forever, dust and ash live and die,
Yet dust and ash live, precious under the mark of the cross.

Composed: Neil White, 2013

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The Ballad of Ruth

The Ballad of Ruth[i]

William Blake, Naomi Entreating Ruth and Orpah

There was no bread in the house of bread[ii] and so from the house of bread the breadless fled

To Moab went Elimelech and Naomi[iii] the sweet with two sons, departing hungry yet full

Foreigners in a foreign land they seek life but find only death and emptiness

A father dies, but leaves two sons behind to watch over the sweet one and to carry the name on

And yet the names of the sons, Mahlon and Chilion, tell a tale all their own and a short tale it is

For Ruth and Orpah marry men whose part in the story seems only to perish, and perish they do[iv]

So in Moab is left Naomi the sweet made bitter, no longer hungry but empty

And yet in the house of bread, bread has returned

In the land of Moab sweet has turned bitter, bitterness has filled Naomi from bone to bile

In a foreign land the blessing of God seems to have turned to a curse, fullness to emptiness

The joy of wedding and the blessing of hope into the dirge of mourning and sons buried too soon

There is no gift for the wives of her children except to send them home to their father’s house

No sons left to give or bear, only a wish for the Lord’s kindness and a new beginning

For with Naomi there is only death, what is left but to return home to die

Breadless, childless, loveless, hopeless and bitter

And yet to the house of bread, Naomi will return

In the land of Moab, Orpah returns home to her father’s home but Naomi will not return home empty

The love of God comes wrapped in an unexpected form, the Moabite wife of her son

She becomes not only the bearer of grace and mercy but as the agent of God’s love[v] for the wounded child

Ruth’s words that, ‘where you go I’ll go, where you live I’ll live, your people will be my people and your God my God. Where you die, I’ll die and there I’ll be buried.’

You asked for the Lord’s blessing in my departure, but may the Lord judge me if I depart

For neither life nor death, nor things present nor things to come will be able to separate Naomi

From the love of God shown in the Moabitess

To the house of bread, Naomi returns with Ruth as her only harvest

To the house of bread came two women, one known and one unknown

The known is Naomi, gone for a decade or more, returning as Mara[vi]

Departed sweet and returned bitter

The other is the Moabitess, the daughter of former oppressors, the alien, the outsider

She is the immigrant, the unprotected, the dangerous defiler, and yet she is Ruth

The outsider bears God’s grace in a way the insiders do not

At harvest time they return to a home long abandoned with empty fields.

Will there be bread in house of bread for the breadless?

Is there a place for the alien, the outcast, the widow, the poor and the weak?

Will the leftovers be enough to fill their emptiness or will they die forgotten?

Will their bodies be sold or taken for free in the reaping fields?

Or will new life begin in the harvest, will life return to the lifeless and bread to the breadless?

What will be gleaned in the barley harvest? Blessing or curse, life or death?

The fields are ripe in the house of bread and the harvest begins

The worthy man extends the blessing of the Lord’s covering[vii] and offers the shelter of his protection

For he has taken notice of the Moabitess working in the fields and knows of the grace she has shown

The outsider is made equal of the servants out in the fields and return home with a bushel of grain

Bread had returned to the breadless, life to the lifeless

Boaz has spoken to the heart[viii] of Ruth, and his words have returned hope to the bitter one

Bless the one who has covered us, who has not forgotten the dead

Bless the one who grants bread from the house of bread

Harvests come and harvests go in the house of bread, and then comes the celebration

The eating and drinking, the festival and feasting for once again the work is done

On the field of the threshing floor lies the worthy man, the fruit has been separated from the chaff

On the floor, covered[ix] lies the man who provided a covering for Ruth and Naomi

Work done, mercy extended, blessing shared…

Yet in the mystery of midnight what will happen to what lies on the threshing floor?

For in the mystery of midnight Ruth comes, perfumed and prepared

On the threshing floor at midnight the man finds himself uncovered and a woman lying at his feet

“I am Ruth, spread your covering over me” Once you wished the Lord’s covering on me, now be that covering

Can you accept the foreigner as one of your own, can your family be my family and your home my home

Your God is already God, may I go where you go, may I die where you die

In the mystery of midnight are the worthy man and the foreigner

Two agents of grace, two who covered others

Will the mystery of midnight on the threshing floor of the house of bread be fruitful?[x]

The worthy man and the kinsman and the elders at the gate must make settlement

Land must be redeemed, a family saved, life will begin anew

A sandal is passed, the deal is done

The worthy man and the foreigner are now one

God’s covering came, life begins anew

A child named Obed in Naomi’s lap grew

And from Obed, Jesse, and from Jesse , David the King

And a foreigner showed grace, a worthy man covered her and life began anew

In the house of bread begins a line of kings

And in ages to come over the house of bread the angels will sing.

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[i] This is taken from the book of Ruth, this is not a translation or paraphrase but I do stay fairly close to the story and try to capture some of it’s patterns

[ii] Ruth plays on the Hebrew word for bread which is lechem, Bethlehem is literally the house of bread

[iii] Naomi one of the meanings of Naomi is sweet one

[iv] Mahlon’s name is similar to one of the Hebrew words for disease while Chilion name is the Hebrew word ‘to perish’

[v] Another of the key words to Ruth is the Hebrew word ‘Hesed’ often translated kindness in Ruth, but most other places it refers to God’s actions of unmerited grace and mercy

[vi] Mara is the name she gives herself which means bitter, the opposite of her former self

[vii] Another of the keywords in Ruth, kanap which can mean wing, covering or garment and will be used playfully from this point on in the story

[viii] Another Hebraism which may mean speaking kindly to or may indicate sweet-talking

[ix] This is again Kanap, as the blessing of the Lord’s covering was  wished on rush, now this covering will become that covering

[x] This scene is pregnant with images that can go either in an innocent or non-innocent way, it is like a movie where the door is closed and what goes on is based largely on assumptions.