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Becoming Beauty
face up floating
in a sea of glass
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Beauty lies below me
in the elemental caprice of
sunlit patterns reflecting sky
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Beauty circles above me
in clouds collecting salted tears
We all become the ocean when it rains
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Beauty walks behind me
with gravity leaving footprints
Its strength the shifting sands
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The wind of Beauty
blows quietly within me
ever seeking itself without measure
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The source of this gorgeous photo is unknown
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Fragile like smog shadows rifling valleys
the mountain holds its breath
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Fragile like feverish water
the ocean aborts the moon’s children
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Fragile like bees loosing direction
and stamens playing their last hands
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Fragile like children born overwhelmed
by viruses perplexed
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Fragile still
like a flower
self-sewing in the garden
in blooming will make no mistake
intelligence in its unfolding
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Artist: Max Ernst
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There is nothing ambiguous about loss
it fills the spaces left behind
a tenderness that registers the slightest wind
so vulnerable it stops breath from breathing
in sudden recognition of how hard it is
to fill space when empty
waking each day turned inside out
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There is nothing ambiguous about loss
That sharp clacking of stone upon stone
leaving a path of shards
the hidden gravity that shades the color blue
Where memory seems more than skin
translucent but barnacled…
a legacy of the light of dead stars
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There is nothing ambiguous about loss
it separates the cut edges
opening abrasions with graveled hands
where hearing is more sensitive than sight
as music evokes both acid and balm
and the heaviness of dreaming
is carried in weary flesh
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There is nothing ambiguous about loss
I am ever present in its deep grain
comprising the growth rings
through which side branches grow
I have become something other than I was
something less something more
while separated from beauty
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This seemingly inexhaustible thirst
redeemed in the breath of wildness
each inhalation responding
each exhalation my wordless prayer
In animal distress
I bend low at the stream
Silent, listening…. I drink
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Photo credit: http://amolecularmatter.tumblr.com/
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I dream of being a weed
traveling in my roots carving deep,
just carving, scraping away
letting go more of the surface
each time I tap deeper
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These are restless nights
waking with soil packed tight
at the corner of eyes picking at
worm castings under fingernails
the scrim wrapped tight round my head
caked with quartz shards and clay
filaments of memory scattered about the floor
the moon an aboriginal instinct
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I’m a veteran miner
more comfortable in the dark
where I can keep an eye on things
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On the surface my tough rosettes
of green continue to vitamin the grassy bank
the untamed sun persisting in its pursuit
until finally … reluctant with abandon
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There is no letting go. Why would I?
There is nothing of worth to carry…
All I can do is bloom
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drawing and poem …. j.h.white
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Dark, my scent the smoke of wood fungus
Hidden, my intimate flesh the sugared amber sap of trees
Returning, my under arms the rotting nurture of fallen leaves
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The fertile air tentacles
leaving traces
of spores and maple and mold.
Some leave quickly and some take hold.
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Poem and painting … j.h.white.
Winter Solstice 2015
Every December for the past few years I’ve curated a storm of snowflakes from white paper. I’ll accumulate a blizzard eventually. Try as I may, because they’re small, I’ve never been able to duplicate the same snowflake twice.
Each year seems to have a certain design theme…a defining scissors Rorschach test of sorts. Some years they’re gracefully hypnotic, one year like a child cutting with blunt scissors. Last year the flakes looked more like an archaic language waiting to be deciphered. This year I wanted to branch out and so I added glue, a pencil and a little paint.
There’s not enough peace in the world to feel giddy this year making paper snowflakes. Not that there ever has been enough peace in the world, but lately peace seems more fragile. I’m aware of the families sleeping in tents and under trees along the roadside. I think of the children as I draw.
I’ve also been daydreaming about the absolute quiet of snow. I wonder, what would it be like if the entire world experienced a few days of absolute quiet?
Drawing collage by j.h. white
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Grazing
our lips meet
in wild fields
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Before sailing
into
a jungle
of beastly
delight
~
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“Passions that quicken your senses, fulfill; quench the thirst of lonesome years! Yet the sun has shadows, learn to control your will; to enjoy life long happiness, not tears! Wait! Rise to the stars above & thrill! Arouse the very flames of life! Sweetheart, kiss me: Hold still, hold still!”….. Excerpt from Dr Bronner’s original rant.
Dr. Bronner’s Magic Soap … http://www.subgenius.com/updates/5-99news/X0007_BRONNER.txt.html
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“The human microbiome (or human microbiota) is the aggregate of microorganisms, a microbiome that resides on the surface and in deep layers of skin, in the saliva and oral mucosa, in the conjunctiva, and in the gastrointestinal tracts. They include bacteria, fungi, and archaea. One study indicated they outnumber human cells 10 to 1.”
Human microbiome …. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human_microbiome
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Drawing and poem … j h white
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Balancing, not so delicately,
on the heads of seven pins
I wake in the middle of the night
dazed by the hurrying of the sun and the moon through the sky.
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Somewhere there is an open field
where the seeds of tall grasses live out their days
in dialogue with dew and stars,
Cicada legs thrumming the air
a stillness held in their cadence,
Where fire flies lace the leaves of trees in encircling forests
inscribing their delicate electrical tracings of desire,
a lit calligraphy of … hello, come see me
I am aflame with light
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Somewhere there is an open field within me
amidst the deep woods of words
the impregnable tall trees of thought
a vast silence of living
wrapt entirely in wonder
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All around
the long bones of the trees
raise small green prayer flags
from their roots
of winter solace
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Signals humming in the first spring wind
“There are so many lost in their own momentum”
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There is an urgency
as the intrepid green shoots
attend to the living word
“With”
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As everything cycles new in the next few months, my activities surround the season. I’ll be lending my hands, my arms, my back, my muscles, my eyes and my ears where needed. My softer parts and all my bones go along for the ride. …giddy with enthusiasm.
I’ll also be germinating the next set of audio broadcasts. The seeds have been planted. I am immeasurably grateful to everyone who listened and lent their own thoughts … such beauty….you have my heart….
I’m learning trust in so many ways
opening like a flower
in a field of wild light
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Artist: Paul Klee
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Doubt and Belief silently argue
as they sit upon a box
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Trust joins them
adding 3 wheels to the box
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giving mobility
to the debate
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everyone’s muscles still tense
when they pass Hope or Violence
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but they are now meandering
around the countryside
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looking for the exact spot
where their grief is buried
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photo credit: Unknown
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Poetry of Light 