Category Archives: Poetry

Mosaic

Leave a reply
Mosaic from the parish church of Saint Michael and Saint Peter, Antwerp

Mosaic from the parish church of Saint Michael and Saint Peter, Antwerp

Looking back on all the pieces of my life
Is not like looking at a picture composed on a canvas
That brings together the palette of colors and shades
To paint a portrait of a person who emerges whole
Stepping forth from the dreams and imagination
 
Nor is it like a sculpture chiseled out of the stone
Seeing the beauty that rested within the raw resources
Standing unchanging and immovable once complete
Where the finished product is merely a skilled refining
Calling forth the potential residing within the granite
 
No, the artist who worked on my life must love mosaics
Being able to pull together the discordant colors and jagged edges
Patiently arranging the broken pieces to see something larger
Seeing something of hidden beauty among the broken shards
Using the mortar of life to bring together the shattered stone

I Thirst

Leave a reply
The Crucifixion as Seen from the Cross by James Tissot, 19th Century

The Crucifixion as Seen from the Cross by James Tissot, 19th Century

After this, when Jesus knew that all was now finished, he said (in order to fulfill scripture),” I am thirsty.” A jar full of sour wine was standing there. So they put a sponge on a branch of hyssop and held it to his mouth. John 19: 28-29

I am the thirsty one who longs for the new wine of the kingdom of God
Once I filled the stone jars at the wedding of Cana with this rich elixir
So the guests of the bride and the guests of the bridegroom
Might savor this heavenly fermentation of the vine
Becoming drunk upon its sweetness
 
I am the thirsty one who longs for the inauguration of the royal banquet of resurrection
The dawning of the new age that comes with the rising of the Son of Man
But until that dawn arrive I sit suspended on the hill of death under the blackened sun
Waiting for the long night of death which will only end when light creeps above the horizon
On the first day of the new creation
 
I am the thirsty one whose disciples vied for the places of honor at the coming of the kingdom
Wanting to sit upon the right and the left
To drink of my cup and to endure the baptism which I must bear
Yet, at its initiation it is two bandits who occupy the places of honor in this place of shame
They will be the first to see the gates of heaven open to them beyond this terrestrial hell
 
I am the thirsty one who inaugurated the feast which is a foretaste of the feast to come
I could occupy the places of honor at the royal banquet
With cupbearers longing for the honor of tasting my wine and ensuring the quality of my meal
Yet, for their king they gave me poison to eat and vinegar to drink
And only the enemy soldier extends the stick filled with sour vinegar which might wet my lips
But does nothing to quench the thirst within
 
I am the thirsty one who becomes the door to enter into the halls of God
Through which the righteous must pass
The Passover lamb that was slaughtered and whose blood was lifted up upon branches of hyssop
To coat the doorpost and the lintel so that the angel of death might not pass beyond its boundary
And to preserve those who pass through and lead them to life
 
I am the thirsty one that is the vine upon which the fruit of the kingdom grows and flourishes
Many branches will be grafted into me to feed upon my life and to grow out of my love
In them the grapes will grow sweet and juicy ready to bring joy and celebration to the earth
Their fruit will be the harvest that produces the never ending drink for the kingdom
So that in every season and the nations of the earth might be refreshed

Neil White, 2016

Posthuman Evolutions Part 2- The Beautiful Ones

Leave a reply

venussymbolVenus- The Images of Perfection

Alexandre Cabanel, The Birth of Venus (1863)

Alexandre Cabanel, The Birth of Venus (1863)

They come to us mediated through the magazines and screens of all sizes
These angelic beings which represent a model of perfection
Far too unattainable for mere mortals to ever hope to attain
Whisked away from the natural world and placed out into the spotlight
Lifted up on stages and pedestals as unreachable objects of desire
These modern day representations of Venus yearning for love and devotion

By some miracle combination in the genetic lottery they emerge from among us
Emerging when fully formed out of the sea of humanity that they came from
Yet, their beauty caused them to be plucked from the waters and placed in the heavens
To be desired and worshipped by those below them and to cast ordinary women into despair

But their reigns are short. Only as long as they can sup the waters of the fountain of youth
Their beauty and their power do not last and as their bodies age their allure quickly perishes
And other beauties are lifted up to occupy the places vacated by their fallen predecessors
Their brief brush with immortality proves to be all too transient as time marches on
Some will hold on for a time longer by enhancing their beauty through surgical means
Others, assisted by the masters of the media, will use the digital tools to hide their flaws

But what comes up must always fall, and for these beautiful ones the fall from the heavens is hard
They are angels who long ago lost their wings and halos to feed the appetites of their devotees
For while love may be forever, lust quickly finds a new object to obsess upon
And broken images that once were perfection now litter the landscape

Venus, Ancient Rome bronze figurine

Venus, Ancient Rome bronze figurine

Post Human Evolutions Part 1

Leave a reply

MercuryMercury-The Liminal Travelers

Amelia Rose, Virtual Relaity Content Around a Female Head, image from http://vrworld.com/2015/07/31/opinion-what-is-the-future-of-virtual-reality/

Amelia Rose, Virtual Relaity Content Around a Female Head, image from http://vrworld.com/2015/07/31/opinion-what-is-the-future-of-virtual-reality/

Does there come a point where homo sapiens become so transformed
Adapting to their new environment to the point where they evolve to post human species
Is there a point where the physical world humanity was created for recedes before a virtual one
And a population self selects themselves to become the occupants of a digital age
Living their lives through an avatar constructed not of flesh but from coded images
Where the construction of identity takes place on the multiple earths of the new reality
And the clouds of the heavens are exchanged for the cloud of data that is beamed through the air
 
Does the image of the mirror fade away before the image that traveler projects
A new self created to voyage in the liminal places of the new world
Does part of the human race change into some bio mechanical being wired
Permanently connected into the wireless broadcast that form the air they breathe
Do the sense of sight and smell become mediated through the screens of cyberspace
And do the geeks inherit the world where they can be the creators
As they occupy that liminal space between the virtual world and the physical
Becoming the ambassador to the other human species from their undiscovered country
And carrying their tribute of images and icons to the new gods of Rome
For they are Mercury, the messenger of the gods occupying the space between
The mediators for the unapproachable others that have been selected away
From the mass of the humanity to dwell in among the pantheon of new deities

 

 

All That Is Solid Dissolves Into Air

Leave a reply

Smoke 1When the air becomes heated hotter than the smith’s forge
And the pillars of the earth begin to falter under the heat and pressure
When cynicism strips away every foundation, every dream, every hope
And all that is solid dissolves into air. 

In that breathless, lifeless landscape of an atomistic existence
That tears apart the ties that bind under conditions of molecular fission
The stories told, the dreams cherished and the hopes nurtured burn
When all that is solid dissolves into air. 

Can fusion reemerge from the fission and the foundations be sunk anew?
Can the furnace of our destruction be quenched and the pressure released?
For the atom rich air has no place left for the complexity of life
Until that which was dissolved becomes solid again.

Not of One Mind

Leave a reply
The Dragon Writer by 25kartinok@deviantart.com

The Dragon Writer by 25kartinok@deviantart.com

I argue with myself each day
Of what to do and what to say
Do I act polite or misbehave
Act the fool or face try to save
Each choice comes with voices who
Each try to tell me what to or not to do
One voice tells me to be responsible not risky
Another I seem to rigid and be more frisky
Another says just be you regardless what they think
Yet all these different voices can drive me to the brink
Sometimes I wish my thoughts weren’t quite so loud
But sometimes these dialogues can make me proud
For sometimes I solve all the problems of the world
And in the cacophony new insights are unfurled
This inner debate within the courtroom of my mind
Produces some amazing judgments and inspiration find

Neil White, 2015

 

The Actor

Leave a reply
Various Balinese Topeng Masks, Photo by Gunawan Kartapranata shared under Creative Commons Attribution- Share Alike 3.0

Various Balinese Topeng Masks, Photo by Gunawan Kartapranata shared under Creative Commons Attribution- Share Alike 3.0

I wear the costume and take my place upon the stage of the world
Waiting for the moments when the spotlight shines my way
Learning my role, rehearsing my lines, hiding in my mask
Inhabiting an identity that fuses me and what is expected of me
Measuring pitch and tone and learning the moves to each dance
For that moment at center stage when the masses watch
And while in the that moment I become another thing
There is a small voice that wonders if they can really see me
The pretender trying to be something that he is not
Pulling people into the role I take on under the mask
Desperately wanting to fit in, to please, to hear the applause
And hoping the acclaim can fill the darkness once the lights go down
For when my time on stage ends who will I be?
Among all the roles I’ve played and the masks I’ve worn
My life that I have poured out as a libation for the audience
And the little pieces of each mask that refused to be left behind
While I wait for the next role where I can live someone else’s life
So that the world may delight in what they see through me
And wondering yet again if this time it is me or the mask I wear

The Whisper of Demons

Leave a reply
The Fool with Two Demons (detail) in a psalter, illuminations by the Master of the Ingeborg Psalter after 1205

The Fool with Two Demons (detail) in a psalter, illuminations by the Master of the Ingeborg Psalter after 1205

There are demons that whisper their words into our stories
And devils dwelling in the details that we created to fill the gaps
Creating conspiracies by blinding us to other possible conclusions
Filling in the places of doubt with stories told in the worst light
Fortifying the bulwarks of certainty by ignoring any contradiction
Allowing us to truthfully tell the lies in the story to others
Infecting them with the virus of paranoia, suspicion and hate
Blasting others in our blundering bluster as the enemies we fear
Naming enemies and traitors and the victims of our wrath
And the first casualty of this whisper is the life of the neighbor
We sacrifice as our enemy on the altar of our unyielding zeal.
 
There are other demons that whisper their words into our stories
And devils dwelling in the details that we create to fill in the gaps
Of the narratives we craft about ourselves in our world we live in
Highlighting all the failures and flaws and weighing them mercilessly
Using the unreal scales imposed upon us by a Photoshop reality
Allowing us to truthfully tell the lies in our story to ourselves
Tearing down our sense of self by whispering their damning words
Destroying our self image with the skill of a master assassin
Renaming our body and soul as unlovable and unattractive
And the first casualty of this whisper is our own life
Sacrificed upon the altar of an unreachable perfection

The Rains of Fall

Leave a reply
autumn by jjuuhhaa at deviantart.com

autumn by jjuuhhaa at deviantart.com

After the long drought of summer turned the fields to faded gold
The rains of fall return to refresh the dried skin of the parched earth
And the tears of the heavens work their healing magic upon the ground
Life briefly returns to the sun baked soils underneath the canopy of color
A flourish of colors adorn the trees and fields as the earth renews its raiment
Greens become mixed with jewels of flowers and the colorful patches of leaves
A season of dirt and dust are washed away by the long awaited water
And the earth emerges from its fall shower renewed and refreshed
Robed in the gold and red of the falling leaves that provide it a covering
As it prepares for the coming chill of the winter that will soon arrive

Sounds and Syllables

Leave a reply
Creation by Selfish Eden (deviantart.com)

Creation by Selfish Eden (deviantart.com)

What power lies within the syllables and sounds?
Do they merely describe a reality fully formed?
A mimetic act of the glorification of creation
Reflecting upon a completed picture imperfectly
A flawed simulacrum of what sense can comprehend
Or is there something more in the words?
Do they reflect or recreate?
 
In these syllables and sounds is there the power of creation?
Do the songs and poetry open up new worlds of possibilities?
Can a statement or the stroke of a pen start a reality?
Can the sounds dance along the chaotic creative waters
Or commands give shape to the formless clay
Or is it something less contained in the words?
Do they reinvent or refract?
 
And perhaps the answer isn’t in the words at all
For maybe it is the potential of the creation already latent
And words may describe the reality that is already present
Or serve as a key that opens up some preexisting door
Echoing the preordained syllables that resonate among the stars
Copying the creative wisdom that predates the cosmos
And perhaps they are only words and yet, they are words
Resurrecting, retelling, recasting and realizing