He, with speed, once descended

he, with speed


He, with speed, once descended

beyond reach of the voices echoing his name


He fell into a carnel river, its current carrying

him out to sea where, becalmed or turbulent,

He could find no sleep, no relief.


Assuming the contours of nebulous complexity

In despair he sank deeper into this silent world

which loosened the skin that bound him to memory


Sleek and facile now, he glided with a grace that was genuine

belying the anchor that still weighted his heart

Until drawn by the moon he swam in the shallows

where one day he was tempted ashore.

Too long untouched by sleep he emerged on dry land

with a prayer on his lips anointing the sand with his tears and sorrow.


Blessed by engagement with sadness he listened

his heart beat in cadence

with an emergent refrain

his prayer now in sync with the blighted terrain

he began to feel this sorrow was shared

Of a single heart beating


With a mind accustomed to formulating events and endings

Closer and closer he circled towards this endless wellspring

his newly trusting heart cycling up and down the mountain of tension

creating momentum and joining these opposites


Holding his own

between speed and a still point of being



Art: Alice Wellinger

He sang my pulse a metronome



I once took a lover

Substantial as the undertow

He sang…

He sang my pulse a metronome

As mermaids surfaced mesmerized


He showed me between his strong legs

Thick hairs, long soaked in the moon

Permeated with his strength and compassion


To love and be loved is evermore

His words becoming the flesh of dreams

I moved like seaweed in his tides

Undulate and grounded

Melding with the cello of his landing


Compelled, the spirits

Shuffling wistfully in dust

Remembered their names

Became eager for color

Incanted lullabies

Spellbound by our heat

As it rose to claim them


Proud, my body animal

Went to ground bearing seed

I became witness and thunder

Rounded and swelling in storms

Unfolding broad wings bearing rain

A haloed tunnel of bone and cusp


All forgotten in the first cry of birthing

As in this moment my world split in two

And continued to divide into ocean and land

Both realms indigenous to the lost souls of Man.


Artist:  “Whispers” Monique Passicot




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.


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


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




In the stunned summer sun

rows upon rows of

silent corn stand

   their postures attentive

but ineffective

except in the order of things.

I hover somewhere overwhelmed 

between grief and loss   


three sisters rambling in freshened fields 

corn, beans and squash

   a symbiotic sweet milk of the earth


The abduction of the corn  

entered    altered  chastened   

bound now to precision   


A singular armada of swollen ears

no longer listening


A survivor

I depend on the humblest herbs

too common to become a sport

Drinking teas steeped in wildness

we mingle in the blood

By moving together though

we gain momentum

Instead of rubbing salt  

like two sticks to start a fire

lamenting these golden

hollow walls



artist: Michal Lukasiewicz


Singing shells


Dark glasses in the sun hiding blindness

 I’ve been running ahead while looking back


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.

Perfect landing

Perfect landing


I step lightly between the landing of the animus

The muse who comes lifting honey

from the hives


Pollinating words penetrating

through veils

Boundaries permeable by light

still feeling the sinew and bones of intention

 smiling around dark corners



Pregnant with Animus…keep it steady there  © J.H. White

Before dawn

I’m pedaling


It’s a down time

face up floating

a sea of heart’s desire


as night caresses

and dreams open like books

dissolving their meaning

no longer rigid

 rising to the surface

for light and air





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.