Akimbo

abstract 6

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there are no round corners

my imagination is akimbo

jolts of current spark within context

without setting light

What to do?

~

I gather the dexterity needed

and carry it to the scales

only to find

it weighs more than I do

~

my skin is transparent

I employ a magnifying glass

angling towards the sun

the beam passes right through me

blazing and unhindered

~

I bulk up

looking for muscular advantage

and slip easily into the crowd

our words are hot but cool off fast

leaving nuggets between my teeth

~

I turn invisible

and pass easily through the crowd

floating a few inches off the ground

I still stub my toe

while leaving no footprints

~

I want to weep like a child

but worrying about the leak

I put duct tape on my face

covering my mouth

leaving space for my eyes

~

awkward and exploding

my imagination

is no longer rooted

in safe ground

I am uncomfortable

I am vulnerable

profusely sweating

in the slipstream

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painting and poem: Jana H. White

 

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Pencil Dust

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Indomitable as a sovereign species

progress draws its discordant lines

straight through the rhythms of my days

move…

A bucolic bovine sound?

Or a swarm of ooooooo’s

persistent and indicative of shove?

five toothbrushes

pail of sponges

caustic powders

poisonous sprays

My disciples of progress

grooming the delicate interstices of

refrigerator seal

baseboard cracks

faucet edge

I wash the wood and plaster body

My thoughts anointing and releasing

each surface that held the poems, the remnants, the family,

the guests, the conversations, the discipline that twisted time

into sailor’s knots and tied dreams into a body of words

able to float in this deluge of constant progress

This particular move (one of too many to count)

This wood and plaster body

that held me disciplined within panes of glass

where I grew words into lines, into paragraphs, into pages, into life

enclosed in winter and summer solitude behind the glass

Erasing all outward signs of a life

We have nothing in common

this place and I

We have nothing now in common

except the fine pile of pencil dust

intentionally left behind

scrumbled raw into the grains of wood

in the floor of my kitchen

Finished, I set the keys on the counter

leaving progress

behind

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The past few weeks have been a scramble. In mid March my landlady informed me that she is downsizing, selling her house, which she has run as a Bed and Breakfast, and will be moving into my apartment! In a city with a 1% vacancy rate, after 3 years tenancy, she asked that I be out in 34 days. She also holds my last month’s rent and a considerable security deposit. She apparently needs to legalize the fact that she has three units behind the house that she successfully rents by the day, week, or month through Air B&B. This is illegal in this city unless the owner lives on the premises. If caught this may incur a $500 a day fine. I think she still may not be in full compliance because two of the units are unattached, but she’s getting closer to her cash flow.

I beat the deadline she set by ten days. Sanctuary! I am now back in the garden….

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Noh mask: Acrylic and graphite on black paper….  j.h.white

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I am revolution

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I am revolution

Not a fabricated metaphor

outlined in black ink

 A resilient cartoon in cry or bark.

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I am revolution

Tender skin in every breath

every thought every feeling forming

Every single one

without turning

away

~

I am revolution

Arms stretching wide in virtual illusion

where beauty can find me

beyond

 sightless eyes

 observing life

~

I am revolution

I am chaos emergent in complexity

the memory of myself

becoming

 change

~

~

photo credit: Unknown

Spinning

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We’ve grown tired of being pinched by small rusted tacks

holding tight     meant to toughen our skin

plastered like pictures cut from a magazine pinned to

our bellies   our faces   our sins

~

Listen you old schemers

we’re not looking for saviors

nor suckling blind messengers peddling  your news

~

We seek grounding instead

in the wild fecund darkness

deeply cocooned in a memory unbound

Listening to choirs of winged ones spinning

from the silk of our own lightened stories now loosened

and taking flight from the sound

~

~

Photo credit: felixinclusis.tumblr.com

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Ouroboros

ouroboros

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I don’t fear melting into this earth.

 Each morning

I wake into the air

I do not rise      I do not move

I do not open my eyes

until my nose has sensed persuasion

my tongue has tasted sweetness

and my ears have heard the world

~

I was a child with dreams of becoming

Now I am older with dreams of being

~

Transformed

Nothing and everything is changing.

I am like a snake shedding its skin

and

biting its tail

~

erasing  the lines

of time

~