the Mask



Still pressing up against the hardest surfaces

the ones made smooth and polished from stroking

the oldest deceits stand effortlessly smirking

no longer disguised in trick wrapping

nor granting the encumbered insurance of knowing

power cradles itself suckling from the lives of the many who trustingly feed it


Why is it our children are taught only humans may realize potential?

Was this the start of the game?


By bedding these apocryphal gods

we’ve found more synthesis than birthing

as we rotate each new upstart 

this long line of rulers, healers and salesmen

organizing the most popular projections

when even they are fooled into being

just the face of the mask


worn by indifference


I wrote this poem about twelve years ago…overwhelmed, angry, frustrated. If anything, the situation has become  worse but I am encouraged now by small, intrinsic, heartfelt actions that turn this tide. I am a human being who loves and is loved…this has to count for something


photo credit: <a href=””>origami joel</a> via <a href=””>photopin</a&gt; <a href=””>cc</a&gt;

Hear me #2

youthful abstraction


scraped rust from my tongue

older than before I was born for nothin

score the initiations of death

my gaming sport

rough and blunt points

for taken the hoes down

I’m not even tired yet

just getting started

gimme gimme


To call out my anger. To give voice to all sides in this massive and long holding violence so I can see touch be whole at least in myself. I’m not asking for some peaceful distancing. Some mental balancing. Somewhere in there lies compassion…somewhere. I will find this flower

© J.H. White