Pencil Noir #7

” There is no route out of the maze. The maze shifts as you move through it, because it is alive.” ….Philip K. Dick

 

hello….hello….hello….

I’ve returned from traveling on the dark side of the mountain. I was never really (completely) lost. It did require entering the mountain to find my way out though, as the mountains began to float away.

While underground I made steps through the dark tunnels trusting a lighted candle. Finally I came upon an immense cavern and there I found a working head lamp, a pencil and a passage to the open air.

The moon’s light cast long shadows as I swam towards shore. Floating on my back, I sent it kisses. Digging in the sand at the shoreline I looked for wave washed shells to tell me their secrets. Before continuing on my way along a phosphorescent passage of singing shells.

Now I am here retrieving my poethead. And finding rhythm in the alchemy of the virtual heart.

 

Pencil drawing by j.h. white

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Singing shells

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Dark glasses in the sun hiding blindness

 I’ve been running ahead while looking back

until

collecting silent clues

I’m becoming a butterfly amongst the bees

winging it

as I find my way

down the dark passage

of singing shells

 ~

Finding a winter rhythm this year is a bit like being in a jerky elevator…..best laid plans, just get to the floor and open the door. The words coming slow in a weathered  suspension, collecting clues from poems becoming puzzles….meaning pivoting on just one word … the rhythm finding me in a slow molasses changing well- engrained routines, unsettling boundaries used to the intimacies of osmosis.

Before dawn

I’m pedaling

slowly

It’s a down time

face up floating

a sea of heart’s desire

directed,

as night caresses

and dreams open like books

dissolving their meaning

no longer rigid

 rising to the surface

for light and air

~

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“””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””””

Now deep in the hum of an extended writing project, I miss the relationship with my WordPress community. I wondered if I could keep up both directions in expression….the immediacy of day by day reflections and the task of organizing a larger body of work into a cohesive whole.

Still opening to deeper insight in the stillness of the night, nowadays after hours of the chaos of creative effort, I’ve decided to re-post some of the earlier poems, unedited. For me they are like talking with an old friend….calming, encouraging. Where am I today with these thoughts? Do they surface now with new meaning? I treasure the comments made and the friendships that have been nurtured with these seeds that were sown in this fertile ground.

Under the radar

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They softened or hardened

their intelligence

walking deftly

under the ladders

of hierarchy

~

While circumnavigating

the solid grid of references

they wander barefoot

dancing Flamenco

The flight of their passion

entertaining the complexities

of insight

bright seeds

 planted in fecund dust

under the radar

~

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photo credit: Unknown

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Three

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Doubt and Belief silently argue

as they sit upon a box

~

Trust joins them

adding 3 wheels to the box

~

giving mobility

to the debate

~

everyone’s muscles still tense

when they pass Hope or Violence

~

but they are now meandering

around the countryside

~

looking for the exact spot

where their grief is buried

~

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photo credit: Unknown

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