Tag Archives: Words

The Gravity of Grief

Artist Concept of a Supermassive Black Hole, NASA/JPL-Caltech. Public Domain under NASA policy

Tragic events expose the fragility of the worlds we inhabit.
Undoing the meaning of the words that we speak and hear.
The gravity of the grief is so powerful that nothing escapes it.

There are no beautiful words that can undo betrayal.
Letters litter the lawn as they lose their creative power.
Words are worthless when the unspeakable occurs.
Tragedy transforms treasured truths into discarded trash.
Narratives go nowhere. Sacred stories are suddenly suspended.
Poetry enters a precarious pause. Its rhymes and rhythms undone.

Someday the words will regain their meaning for the wounded one.
When the gravity of grief is not so great. But not yet.
First the fragile pieces must be gathered, their world recreated.

Only time can transform the truths tragedy trashed.
Patient presence with survivor of the unspeakable
May once again allow words their worth in the world.
Narratives may find their new way. Sacredness seen in stories.
Poetry and prose relate reality in rhyme and rhythm.
Beauty beyond the brokenness of betrayal as new words emerge.

Bleeding Words

Captain Jay Ruffins, 17th Century Quills from Rufus King Manor museum in Jamaica, Queens shared under Creative Commons 4.0 Share Alike

Forgive the words that bleed out from this pen
For the ink that forms them is a torturous mixture
Of a wounded heart’s flow mixed with the saline
Of the river of tears which flow to the sea of grief
And the trembling hands which wield the implement
Shake as they attempt to record the wounds of the world
And like so much spilled blood it rushes like streams
To poison the wells of joy that once nourished

Perhaps like the prophets’ words later generations may see
That these harsh words were the fertilizer for some new growth
Where those who mourn may be comforted as the tears dry
And the poet’s heart is lovingly knit back together by time
Then perhaps the words will be the creative words of spring
But now those words are an unknown language strange to the ear
Words whose syllables have no meaning to the grieving soul
Who must drink of the putrid waters of their own well

For everything there is a time, a time to bleed and a time to heal
And I must speak the words of that bubble up from the well of the soul
Where the light of life seems a tremulous flame in the squall
Where the cold of winter penetrates into the marrow of the bones
And where the slow tick of the clock marks the passage of pain
While I wait for the pen to slowly run out of this tortured ink
For the rivers to dry up as the sun reemerges from its dormancy
Longing for the language whose sounds my tongue cannot form
Joyously drinking from the sweet waters of newly dug wells

Sounds and Syllables

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

Words and Will

Creation by Selfish Eden (deviantart.com)

Creation by Selfish Eden (deviantart.com)

There are no magic words, no secret sounds that bend the world
And yet words have power in the hearers mind
They can create and destroy, build up or tear down
Yet the speaker can only have an imagined result
The secret lies in the will of the audience

The hearer grants the power to the spoken and written word
Accepts the compliment, absorbs the dagger or simply chooses to ignore
Words may fall on ears that hear or on deaf ears, yet they are the same words
In one setting they may invoke desire or love, in another rejection
Some may invite into an adventure into another world, yet they can only invite
Even when they shame, cajole, and ridicule they may strike their mark
Or they may fall as useless barbs to the floor before the will that deems them unworthy

Yet without the words, the good and the bad the will remains at rest
Caught within its own world, not knowing the possibilities and dangers that rest beyond
The will grants one person’s words powers and deems another’s powerless
And yet with the magic of words and will are worlds inhabited
Love and hatred, fear and hope, science and magic all reside
In words and will

Neil White, 2013

purple rose 01 by picsofflowers.blogspot.com

On the cutting room floor

cutting room floor

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

purple rose 01 by picsofflowers.blogspot.com

Creative Words: A Poem

Creation by Selfish Eden (deviantart.com)

Creation by Selfish Eden (deviantart.com)

A clever turn of phrase or a verbal picture
In the beginning come the words
And in their own Genesis they craft a new world
Painting with the spirit of imagination
Breathing new life where once only an abyss rested
The words emerge and join together
As bones and sinews
Muscles and skin
Life emerges from the bone yard of the void
Once they emerge they take their own form and have their own life
Each one its own character to be savored and relished
Evoking sights and smells
Sounds feelings and emotions
Recreating the past
Re-imagining the future
Each one has the potential to unearth memories long forgotten
Some use their indelible ink to tattoo themselves on the soul
The realities they create may be harsh and brutal
In their dystopic world we see the dark side of reality
The truths we would rather not see
The sins we would prefer remain buried
Words that rend the world and pierce the soul
Sometimes the poet and the prophet are one
Crying tears of sorrow over words that cannot be contained
And a people whose ears no longer hear and eyes no longer see
Yet words uttered from the same mouth may ache of passion and love
Calling us to hope
Lightening our darkness
Pointing to potentiality and power unimagined
And a future seen only through the hopes and dreams of faith
But they are never just words
They are echoes of the deep language that pours its magic into the world
They point to the real and imagined
They define and name
They build up and tear down
Words set loose on the world
Bearing the best and worst of humanity’s heart
Laying naked the mind and soul
A mirror showing the sacred and profane blended together
For the world the words create reflect the heart of their creator
They go forth to create
They rattle around in the eardrums and the imaginations
Of those who have eyes to see and ears to hear
For in the beginning the words come
The Genesis, the beginning of all the potential worlds they might create
And in the end, when their pneumatic inspiration ceases
Remains the apocalypse of new creation
Unveiled within our memory

Composed Neil White, 2013

purple rose 01 by picsofflowers.blogspot.com