Category Archives: Poetry

Vacation

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So often the journey of life is told like an epic tale
Where we go out to conquer the monsters that haunt our world
Yet, sometimes a trip can be merely an adventure
Or a time to retreat from the constant cares of the life of labor
A time to encounter a forest of firs and ferns and pines
To climb a mountain only to see the view of the sunrise on the ocean
Seeking out the beauty of the waterfalls and the lakes
Cruising out on the ocean to see creatures the size of leviathan
Playing in the cold water of the seas among the krill and plankton
Rafting down the river and resting in the summer sun
Eating from the bounty of the sea or simply enjoying a campfire smores
A story where no monsters haunt the garden of Eden
That for a short time we get to inhabit and to dine on its harvest

The Intro to Poetry challenge, day 4 is to write a poem about a journey using a simile

Picture from one of our treks near Bingham, Maine from our vacation this June

Picture from one of our treks near Bingham, Maine from our vacation this June

Debtor

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For years I’ve struggled and fought tooth and nail
Sacrificing the possible pleasures of the day to pay
Every time I think that I have almost overcome
The mountain I have been tunneling through
Another landslide places several feet more of iron
Between myself and the light at the end of the tunnel
Sometimes I feel trapped within the mine
A slave continuing to excavate gold and jewels
Indentured into servitude by the cost of living
Perhaps if I had some expensive habit to give up
If I had gambled or drank away my salary
Or enjoyed some grand series of trips or experiences
I might take some solitude from the memory of those times
Or find strength in the turning away from the bad habits
Yet, it is merely the cost of responsibility that hangs over my head
The cost of being a father, of bearing the burdens that life has given
So I know nothing more to do than to grasp the pick again
To apply my strength and sweat to the bedrock that lies in my path
Determined not to be overwhelmed by the mountain above
To continue to clear the tunnel for that elusive other side

Long Lost

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By Alfred Jensen (1859-1935) - The Bridgeman Art Library, Object 225483, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24979280

By Alfred Jensen (1859-1935) – The Bridgeman Art Library, Object 225483, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24979280

At the time we were inseparable, two mates encountering life
But time has its way of pulling apart and placing an ocean between
Colleagues and friend braving the stormy seas of life
Divided as the four winds blew our sails differently
Every now and again I look back across the seas of time
For friends who traveled with me for a part of my journey
Going along as we sailed the currents for the time allotted
However currents shift and winds pull and times separate
I’ve had so many friends in the various ports I’ve called home
Journeying like a merchant marine through my life’s journey
Kindness encountered and given from one friend to another
Long lost except in our memories and recollections of the journey

This is a part of the intro to poetry posts, day 3 where the prompt is friend and the challenge is to use an acrostic (line beginning with a progression of letters either to spell something or like above alphabetically)

What Lies Beneath

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IMG_0751

There is a kindness in the smile that reflects the big heart that lies within
Where tenderness and tenacity together toil to transform the world in little ways
For there is a fiery resolve that refuses to release its hopes and dreams
There is a curiosity in the eyes that are continually seeking and wondering
And the ears that sometimes hear a little too clearly bringing in the sights and sounds
Of the world to the quick mind that lies beneath, continually trying to make sense
Of the experiences of the day and the wisdom of the ages, taking into itself
The cares and the worries of the moments and turning them over and over
Looking for the meaning in the moment and the wisdom in the worry and weariness
Perhaps that kind smile and curious eyes and thinning hairline together form
A window to a soul that is a fusion of the best of the saint and the sinner
For what lies beneath is an soul that is older than its years and kinder than its scars

This is a part of the #introtopoetry prompt where the topic is a face and the challenge it to use allteration. I didn’t originally intend to use my own face but it ended up being helpful in working through some of the worries of the moment

Fostering Creativity        

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I brought you into my home after years of neglect
You had moved from one dysfunctional home to another
Desiring more than just a roof over your head and food
Wanting beyond measure to be seen, heard, valued and loved
So many times your voice had been overshadowed and unheard
Noise from speakers or computer screens or the raised voices of anger
Drown out your soft voice that timidly awaited a guardian’s response
And you came into my life nervous, wanting to trust but unwilling at first
You pushed me away, tried to keep your distance not daring to believe
Your love had been shunned too many times, they looked through you
How many times were you moved late at night leaving all you had behind
How can you feel safe here in a new house when you never had a home?
 
Creativity, I know there are times you are scared to speak or to sing
And while I do not know how long you are mine to foster, my home is yours
I see you, I hear you, you are important to me and I love you
I will sit in silence away from the noise of the world if you let me
And I know it will take time for you to heal from the brokenness
But I see joy in you and I hope one day to see you dance
I want to be there to record your voice as you sing your song
Or to frame the pictures that your delicate fingers lay down
I will be patient while you lash out in fear or upend the furniture
I will be watching admiringly as you grow into whatever you become
For to me you are a gift beyond price and a treasure to be nurtured
A child to be loved and spoiled, supported and set free

Seeking Wisdom

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Wisdom by Wes Talbott at Deviantart http://www.deviantart.com/art/Wisdom-287775380

Wisdom by Wes Talbott at Deviantart http://www.deviantart.com/art/Wisdom-287775380

The poet’s quest is to pay attention to the ways in which the secrets of the universe unfold in exploration
Perhaps, in the dusty shelves of a library filled with ancient and venerated tomes wisdom may be found
Or she might be discovered in the exploration of new lands and new world, the open eyed journey into the unknown
Perhaps, it is in paying attention to the mundane and ordinary tasks and chores that form the bulk of each day
Or in the enjoyment of the celebratory feasts where rich wines and fine food dress the banquet table joyously
Maybe wisdom whispers in the conversation of an old friend, a child, a lover, a beloved old saint or a grumpy old miser
Some knowledge can only be learned by passing through the crucible of pain and loss, the moments that break us
There is a certain wisdom that is only learned in the salt of tears and the darkest shadows of our mortal lives
Yet, in her time wisdom makes merry the soul, glad the heart and allows the poet’s spirit to sing new songs
For in her own way lady wisdom brings order to the chaos of creation and paints the heavens with her bright palette
And perhaps seeking wisdom is not merely the means to the end but is the end itself, the answer to the meaning of life
Not as some all-encompassing proverb but in the journey of seeking after wisdom as a lover seeks the object of desire
And to be amazed at the ways in which wisdom in her own time chooses to share her secrets with her seeker

Post-Human Evolutions 3:The Gladiators

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marsglyph

The Sons of Mars: The Gladiators

 

 

Jean-Leon Gerome, Pollice Verso (1872)

Jean-Leon Gerome, Pollice Verso (1872)

They enter the new coliseums to the thunderous applause of their devotees
These modern day gladiators lifted up as the heroes of the age
The champions among us, some mingling of humanity with lesser gods
In ancient days the gladiators were slaves who fought for the promise
Of an elusive freedom once they had earned Caesar’s favor for their prowess
But the modern day sons of Mars who ascend to the hallowed fields of competition
Can be richer than princes and occupy the choice seats at the banquet of life
 
Stronger, faster and more powerful through blood and training
They are freaks of nature capable of godlike feats with their bodies
For a time they seem invincible and unmatchable and we watch them
Projecting them onto screens that are even larger than the life they live
Yet, once they fall they are quickly consigned to the dustbin of memory
For there is no place for wounded warriors or broken gladiators
Some few may transcend their place on the field of play and ascend
Token warriors remembered long after their final fight, a chose few
Whether broken in body or mind of simply feeling the mortality of age
There will always be new gladiators, younger and hungrier
Drinking up the applause of the adoring mob who have assembled
To worship the sons of Mars whose lives are lived in arena

Neil White, 2016

Nostalgia

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Nostalgia: From Greek ‘nostos’-returning home + ‘algos’- pain

Memories can contain truth and still be a lie
And we can be homesick for a home that was never ours
Sometimes the picture of the past is painted in the brushstrokes of nostalgia
Wide strokes that blur the sharper points of reality, dulling the story
Concealing the jagged edges of pain, sorrow and regret
Choosing colors far more vibrant for the memory than the sepia past
Caught walking backwards on a road that continually pulls us forward
Oblivious to the pitfalls and potential of the present or the promise of the future
Bent on returning to a home far smaller than we imagine in our minds
And a past that never was, at least not quite the way we remember
For our memories can contain truth and still be a lie
 
When the memories of the past overwhelm our imagination for the future
Or our appreciation of the present, then our homecomings will always be sad
Freighted with the expectations that they can never live up to
Loaded with a past too heavy for the ambiguity of the present to stand
We can look into the mirror of our desires trying to create a better past
But perhaps instead of continuing to attempt to touch up the painting of the past
We can begin the new canvas that stands before us blank awaiting our brush

Neil White, 2016

The Walls I’m Trapped Within

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Sometimes there are walls in my mind
That I don’t want to admit are there
Until I smack into them and they hold me inside
They block up my ears so I no longer hear
They cover my vision so I no longer see
And they surround my heart to keep me from feeling
At some point I created these walls and hid inside
And I stand on one side and you on the other
 
But don’t give up hope on me lost in my prison
If I run up against the wall time after time
Eventually the mortar will begin to fall and stones break free
Perhaps your story will slip to the cracks to my ears
Or through a broken brick I might catch a glimpse of you
Or like the wall my heart might wind up broken
And like the walls of Jericho the might come a tumblin’ down
So together we might stand side by side