Category Archives: Poetry

Holding On

Closeup of silver iPhone 5s on the table by Dalibur Masil. Image from https://www.fotopiq.com/closeup-of-silver-iphone-5s-on-the-table/

Please continue to hold, your call is important to us….
Comes scratchily through the speaker of a phone two tables away
As their displeasure at continuing to wait is shared with us all
Patrons who have come only to eat and enjoy and escape
To be waited on for a few minutes after all the times of holding on
All the times when our wants and needs and calls were not important
And here into this brief retreat and in dissonance to the soft music
The distorted voice shatters the magic of a simple meal alone
As I am thrust from my reflection by this ongoing interruption

All our representatives are currently busy, we will attend to your call as soon as possible
The voice is loud enough that initially I wondered if it was my own phone
But soon I discover the source and I am amazed at the rudeness
The rudeness of broadcasting the rudeness we all endure on a daily basis
A reminder of the lines both physical and audible that we patiently endure
The times where we are not important enough nor valuable enough
To merit the time of another person’s time, to be heard or seen
And a part of me wants to shout, “turn it off, make it go away! Let me eat in peace!”
Am I just one more person who wants to tell the waiting one they shouldn’t be heard?

We are sorry, due to high volume there is no one available to take your call, please continue to hold
How long must we hold on? A minute? An hour? A day? A lifetime?
Before someone hears our voice and can answer the need that forces us to wait
As I reflect on the daily dismissals of our humanity that we encounter
How the digitized world continues to create longer lines and greater mazes
That we must navigate like mice searching for the bit of cheese that lies at the end
How we have become tethered and available all the time for people to reach us
Yet, we hold onto that tether hoping to hear confirmation that someone is available to us
And what we receive is elevator music and an automated voice telling us to hold on

Prophesy to the Wind

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The Knesset Memorial, Jerusalem (Detail) Ezekiel in the Valley of Dry Bones

O mortal can these bones live? This people who continues to dwell in the valley of death
This people who refuses to learn from the past, these ears that did not hear
These hands which did not help and the eyes that remain obstructed so that they do not see
The cataracts of hatred and privilege that blind them to the neighbor they sacrificed
The ears made deaf by the cacophony of shouting voices that no longer hear the victims cry
And yet the Lord says to prophesy to the bones and once again they will rise up again
Bone will join to bone, sinew to sinew, flesh and tendons and heart and muscle will grow anew

So dry bones hear the words the prophet proclaims, from one who stands in the valley of death
Daring to enter into that place where dreams have died and history is forgotten
Walking to the remains of a people whose heart and soul shriveled and died as they forgot love
These shambling remains of the people of a dream and a hope, to a nation which lost its way
Stand upon the graves of the present and shout at the top of your lungs about resurrection
Not to some distant heaven but a new creation where eyes and ears and hearts are opened
The death of the moment is not the end of the story for the prophet tells of new beginnings

The prophet whose voice strained as he tried to change their direction of yesterday’s winds
Now prophesies again to the four winds that blow upon the earth as they return the breath of God
Which enters into the nostrils and fills the lungs with the air of the new creation which doesn’t die
For the voices of hatred and death, of separation and war, the raised voices of angry men fall silent
As the still, soft, silent creative words are finally heard after the fire, thunder, winds and quakes
And with tears in his eyes the prophet sees the dry bones live, the blind eyes see and the deaf ears hear
As the new hearts learn how to love rather than hate and arms are raised to embrace rather than strike

Perhaps the prophet is a madman listening to the voices in his head and prophesying to the wind
To continue to cry out for the possibility of something new as demons dance in the graveyard
To believe that the dry bones might someday choose something other than the death they know
Or perhaps the stubborn prophet is the only sane one, the voice of life in the midst of devastation
The dreamer who refuses to give up in the midst of the nightmare and believes the darkness will end
Perhaps like Isaiah and Jeremiah and Ezekiel the prophet will become a beacon of hope in the night
O mortal can these bones live? Can this people be renewed? O Sovereign Lord, you know

Until that day the prophet’s voice goes out to the dry bones and prophesies into the wind.

Paper Ships

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Image from http://herearemonsters.blogspot.com/

Another paper ship sinks amid depression’s black sea
Too fragile to withstand the storms it encountered
Absorbing the waters it intended to sail upon
Drinking in the inky waters of the abyss

Leviathan lurks below the water’s edge
And the Kraken picks off its prey from the deep
Even the bravest and best captains are lost at sea
In the uncharted lands where the dragons hunt

Many brave ships pass through these waters
They let down their nets hoping to bring up a catch
Or they cross through these waters looking for new lands
And some are desperately trying to find the way back home

These icy waters can freeze the soul and stop the heart
Storm can be violent and the doldrums deadly
Sometimes the sea demands its sacrifice
And another paper ship feeds the sea’s unending hunger

To Catch an Albatross

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Southern Royal Albatross in Flight, East of Tasman Peninsula, Tasmania, Australia, Picture by J.J. Harrison shared by Creative Commons 3.0

The albatross would dance in the air above
Riding the currents of the divine breath
Calling to us here aboard the ship
Urging us forward as we rode the wind
Charting our path before us as we sailed
Floating gracefully and effortlessly
As we struggled to trim the sails
to capture the atmospheric inspiration

Perhaps if I could befriend this avian guide
If I could somehow coax him to join me on deck
The spirit of the air descending on the son of man
I could befriend this emissary of the heavens
And this airborne ambassador might intercede
For these sailors and their captain upon the sea
Who struggle with wood and cloth and rope
To capture the atmospheric inspiration

I devised my plan to catch the great albatross
With fishes, I beckon him to circle lower each day
Slowly coaxing him down from the clouds above
Until the day when I might break bread with him
Sharing communion with him upon the deck
As we pass through the waters to the promised land
Fellow sailors, one of air and one of the sea
Passengers being borne by captured inspiration

My mind conceived the plan that never was executed
Thanks to the vision that visited me that night
For my heavy eyes became a screen where an angel showed
A future with the albatross captured by the heart of man
For they are spirits of air and we have hearts of dust
The winds would not give their blessing to my plan
Nor the seas consent to the spirit of air to be captured
By the creature of soil who longs for the air’s inspiration

For in my mind I wanted my friend to stay near me
And so, a snare was set to keep him from fleeing too far
Some measure of freedom I would allow my new pet
But spirits of air are not meant to be restrained in their flight
And heartbroken the bird soon began to look sickly
It refused to eat, it broke our communion in its fast
And soon in my dreams it lay motionless upon the deck
In captivity breathing out its final expiration

The skies and seas mourned the passing of this noble creature
This prince of the air which had graced us with its presence
And the ship came to a halt as we entered into the doldrums
No current and no wind to fill the sails and move us along our exodus
Water, salty water, everywhere, but not one drop to drink
As the sun beats upon these mariners growing ancient
Waiting for the days to pass upon the still and silent sea
Wishing for some inspiration from heaven to move us

In the nightmare, we dwelt for days unknown on those dead waters
Mere skeletons of the men we were prior to our journey’s genesis
Caught with our exodus slowly baking in this blue wilderness
With blackened lips and withered tongues the crew sought
The Jonah that had cursed their voyage and whose sacrifice
The seas thirsted for so that relief might come to those trapped
On this immobile wooden coffin which drifts aimlessly
Wanting some body to fill the uninspired wood and cloth

For I was the offending party, the one caught with the albatross
Now destined to be food for the fishes that circle this dead man
Instead of communing with the spirit of the air I am consumed
By the demons of the abyss that rise up to claim my body
Descending into the watery hell where I uttered my last cry
The albatross hung around my neck like a sinner’s crucifix
The spirit of the air and the man of soil offered to the sea
As my final cry expires into the watery tomb of the ocean

Water falls from the sky and the haunting cry of the albatross
Awakens the sleeper like Lazarus called forth from the tomb
And the salty air enters into my lungs as I wipe tears from my eyes
For I am alive and the albatross flies free, sailing the wind
This angel of mercy which flies before my life coaxing us along
As a gentle rain falls upon the creaking deck of the ship
And I am refreshed in my journey through the waters
As I inspire both the salty air and the new life I was granted

Dreams of Grandeur

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Robert W. Buss, Dicken’s Dream an Unfinished Painting (1875)

The dreams of the person I could be
The image of the person my mind’s eye can see
Dreams of grandeur about things I might do
Leave me dissatisfied with that which comes true
And when my critical eye spots the smallest flaw
I become my very worst critic and harshest law

Yet, I’ve enough wisdom within to know
That dreams may come and dreams may go
My imagined working capacity
Doesn’t always match reality
And comparisons are rarely kind
Between lofty dreams and reality’s bind

Someday, perhaps I’ll dwell at peace
The most grandiose dreams I’ll release
Content with all I am able to do
The dreams and tasks I made come true
And the person within the mirror I see
Will be satisfied with the person I came to be

The Djinn’s Warning

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Djinn by Remton at deviantart.com
http://www.deviantart.com/art/DJINN-279317118

Dreams you think I peddle, yet nightmares are what I sell
Fondest wishes may be the path into your darkest hell
If who you are and what you have don’t leave you satisfied
The things that you would ask me for will leave you dead inside
The wishes you are about to speak won’t fill the hole within
So, think carefully before you speak these wishes to the Djinn

You think you will be satisfied with wealth beyond your dreams?
Wealth I will give, but not enough, though gold flow down in streams
Money a cruel master is, though it starts a gentle drug
Even with more than you can spend the emptiness it won’t plug
Possessions can indeed possess and men of means grow mean
Defending what he thought would give him freedom makes him obscene

Perhaps it is the beauty, the princess that you seek
Though she is pleasant on the eye she isn’t for the meek
For though I can grant you what you need to get into her bed
I will not grant you release from the questions in your head
You are the one who thought perhaps an angel at your side
Would make you more than who you are or calm the boy inside

Fame it is a fickle thing and power fails you too
Although it makes you for the moment bold and new
But soon you find it is just another mask you have to wear
An act you play, a part to act, a path into despair
You’ve sold your soul to become the person others need
And their applause and adulation becomes your source of greed

Oh, I’ve been asked to grant the master work of song or pen
And I’ll grant one but remember the inspiration is not within
You’ll try with all your life to reach the pinnacle once more
But all the notes or words you write fall hollow to the floor
In years to come they’ll look back and remember the one hit wonder
This work forever more will be the shadow that you live under

Strength and speed and athletic skill or enemies who are laid waste
Athleticism I can grant for a time but you’ll find it’s just a taste
Strength and speed and skill they come from years of discipline
But when it’s given suddenly the regimentation is not within
And one enemy’s place another soon will fill, a vacant space is free
You won’t have changed, and nature it abhors a vacuum. See!

If I an evil spirit were, this warning I would not make
You humans somehow do not to see the thing makes you great
For somewhere deep inside your soul there is long dry well
Some unrequited emptiness into which you seem to dwell
Your wildest wishes I will grant, but eventually you’ll see
There is a hook, you will want more, you are as trapped as me.

Neil White, 2017

Communio: A Poem

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There are times when the words and symbols spark
Lighting up our world, illuminating the dark
And in our mundane world magic appears
To strengthen resolve or to calm our fears
With a community of saints on holy ground
Where the remnants of ancient faith are found

In those rare times, you can almost feel
The mystery hiding behind the real
Where good and evil struggle and strive
And God and the devil are still alive
Where water and wine and flesh and stone
Unite us together. We are not alone

Where God’s presence has come to earth to dwell
And deep runs the water in the spiritual well
Where hope emerges from the pain
And the drought ends in heavenly rain
Where we see again the world made new
And the magic returns to me and to you

In the Land of Trolls

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Theodor Kittelsen, “The Sea Troll” (1887)

In the Land of Trolls

We dreamed of a networked world full of bridges
Spanning the gaps between people and nations
Connectivity in a globalized world brought us closer
Enabling us to find new brothers and sisters and friends
That lived in lands we could have never visited before
The oceans and borders that separated ceased to matter
And we could share our images, our passions, our hearts desire
Sharing the parts of life we wanted others to see and admire
Never knowing that this land of connectivity built its bridges
In the land of trolls.

They sat there silent: watching, waiting, biding their time
Plotting how to ambush and overwhelm the unsuspecting
The beautiful avatars that ventured over their bridges provoked something
Within them: hatred and ugliness emerged from their gut
And many found themselves overcome by the bile and bellow
The bridges also allowed the trolls to find their own fellows
Together they could construct cathedrals of fear and congregations of hate
Defending the bridges they claimed as their own domain
Mainly working through intimidation and harassment
Yet occasionally in their obsession they use physical violence
But often the psychological scars of the encounter
Entered the blood and bone of the ambushed
In the land of trolls

So how do you deal with trolls, do you abandon the bridges?
Surrendering the dream of connectivity and the connections made
Are armies sent beneath the bridges in an attempt to root them out?
Do solitary heroes stand-alone against the onslaught of the hoard?
Or do we simply refuse to feed the trolls any longer?
Do we deny them the sustenance of our fear or the sight of our pain?
Others have attempted to act as missionaries attempting to convert
Yet, the trolls have often dined on the well-meaning priest of reconciliation
The trolls seem to like the safety and darkness of their unseen haunts
Yet, I wonder, if a troll unseen and unheard even exists at all
Or does it become one more vanquished spirit searching for a victim
Some mortal to haunt with its shadowy threats and terrifying words
Yet, perhaps if their voice has no power they might find themselves bypassed
Haunting an unused wasteland cursed to wander the wilderness
That has become the land of trolls

Seeking Christmas

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It isn’t with the Christmas tree
Or presents wrapped for all to see
St.Nick, he didn’t bring it here
Nor Frosty of the Grinch I fear

It isn’t in the shopping mall
Nor songs that sing our ‘Deck the Hall’
Or houses decked in Christmas lights
Or people packed on holiday flights

Family and friends, feast and gift
Do comfort and my spirits lift
Yet sometimes all the noise and light
Distracts me on this silent night

From Joseph’s trip from Galilee
And his new wife, blessed Mary
From Jesus in a manger lay
For no room was found on his birthday

Messiah, the Word of God, the Light
That came upon that Holy Night
When the angel proclamation began
Peace on earth, good will to man

Come let us go and seek and tell
This child who is Emmanuel
The creator to creation come
A new covenant of grace begun

To seek with Magi Bethlehem
To see the king or the great ‘I am’
To ponder deep within our heart
The words the shepherd did impart

For that is what I seek this year
In the middle of the holiday cheer
The place where heaven comes to earth
To fill our hearts and souls with mirth

Mosaic in the Rosary Basilica, Lourdes

Sign of the Rose

Searchings: Sacred and Secular

Category Archives: Poetry

Holding On

Prophesy to the Wind

Paper Ships

To Catch an Albatross

Dreams of Grandeur

The Djinn’s Warning

Communio: A Poem

In the Land of Trolls

Seeking Christmas