It’s only a moment
- you’ll be back soon,
when nighttimes’ need
is tended to,
but already
my hand
is caressing the space
you were in,
my palm
tasting your pillow,
fingertips taking in
the memory of
your scent
on your pillow,
where
but a moment ago,
you lay,
and breathed
and lived;
that space
my hand will gladly cede
to your living,
breathing, warm
scented return.
© Kayleen White, 2008
I undertake these writings – and the sharing of them – for the sake of my self expression. I am under no particular illusions as to their literary merit, and ask only that any readers do not have any undue expectations. If you consider me wrong, then publish me – with full credit, of course :)
Please also note that I check only occasionally for comments, so if you make any, please be patient.
22 June 2008
04 May 2008
The moment of Now
As I make my way
to this day’s work,
I pause,
as traffic is
brought
to an orderly cease,
by firm command
of traffic lights,
and gaze,
through other cars
- other, stationary cars,
cars with drivers
bored or impatient,
but all,
for the moment,
brought to a stillness
matched by the endless
patient grace
of the trees I see,
trees slowly turning
for an autumn
coming at measured pace,
a kaleidoscope
of changing, chaotic
colours, frozen
in this moment,
reflected in river
also, at this moment,
at peace,
with surface unbroken,
unmarred
e’en by rower’s
passage;
I gaze,
and spend an aeon
in this moment’s magic.
© Kayleen White, 2008
to this day’s work,
I pause,
as traffic is
brought
to an orderly cease,
by firm command
of traffic lights,
and gaze,
through other cars
- other, stationary cars,
cars with drivers
bored or impatient,
but all,
for the moment,
brought to a stillness
matched by the endless
patient grace
of the trees I see,
trees slowly turning
for an autumn
coming at measured pace,
a kaleidoscope
of changing, chaotic
colours, frozen
in this moment,
reflected in river
also, at this moment,
at peace,
with surface unbroken,
unmarred
e’en by rower’s
passage;
I gaze,
and spend an aeon
in this moment’s magic.
© Kayleen White, 2008
Autumn
They blend, those leaves
all different shades,
different hues dancing
with other colours,
and with light
and shade
and reflection
on the river
they overhang
in this autumn.
© Kayleen White, 2008
all different shades,
different hues dancing
with other colours,
and with light
and shade
and reflection
on the river
they overhang
in this autumn.
© Kayleen White, 2008
[Content Warning] Why?
Sorry: the formatting has been bloody lost when I added the Content Warning - on several posts, and I don't have the time to fix them all so I won't fix any.
He’s under pressure; she’s been thrown in at the deep end; they’ve got a lot on. Why? For what purpose? So CEOs in ivory towers can get their rocks off? So aggressive - mostly young - Go Getters can go and Be Got? So ratepayers can save their few cents of blood money? She needs a break; he’s wanting a Lifestyle Change; that company’s been sold so it’s founder can retire to The Good Life, away from all that was built, all that was So Good. Why? For what purpose? So World Bank Moguls, Politicians, and Economic Commentators, can croon their ideological chant Compete! Compete! Compete! to each other in round, like some Economic Rationalist version of Frère Jacque? Com-pete, com-pete, Com-pete, com-pete, A-gainst you, A-gainst you, Money for another, Money for another, Make me rich, Make me rich! They're having Some trouble With their work-life balance; She’s not coping; He’s depressed. Why? For what purpose? So those who cooperate, collaborate, communicate, are denied a place to contribute? So those who cannot study and learn and get degrees can not be a part of society? Or ... maybe so mindless ideologues can crush morale and make trivial accusations of others alleged imperfections, shortcomings, lack of balls, in the name of bureaucratic rules, minimising insurance risks, maximising shareholder profits? He’s under pressure; she’s been thrown in at the deep end; they’ve got a lot on. Why? For what purpose? © Kayleen White, 2008
[Content Warning] Challenge
Sorry: the formatting has been bloody lost when I added the Content Warning - on several posts, and I don't have the time to fix them all so I won't fix any.
Pressure, pressure; why isn’t this yet done? Why haven’t you included this? These are the joys of the efficient workplace the economically competitive. People reacting in anger brusqueness as a defence to others passing their stress down the line, these are the joys of the efficient workplace, the economically competitive business. No room for any who are not aggressive go-getting; no room for softer touches, human interaction, these are the joys of the efficient workplace, the economically competitive business. I hope the coins saved in someone’s pocket, the ego’s flattered by vain boasts of deadlines met, and targets exceeded, are worth the lives of those who do the work, for these are the joys of the efficient workplace, the economically competitive business. © Kayleen White, 2008
Cro-Magnon
Taller,
stronger,
more graceful
more perfect in every way
- or so we’re told,
were the Old Ones,
the ones now gone,
perfect,
yet not so absolute
in their perfection
that they could be here today.
What changed?
What happened
that they died out
leaving fragments of bone
a few chips of stone
here and there,
recognisable
only to skilled eye?
And what
of their low browed cousins
once thought bow legged
more lately
re-evaluated Neanderthal,
not so bad after all.
Are either still here?
Tall clever Cro-Magnon,
short powerful Neanderthal,
do their spirits live on
in us?
Do their genes
still carry their graces
their gifts
through to us
mere mortal
humans?
Homo sapiens sapiens
who have hung round for a while.
And what
of the future?
What changes to our species
have yet to come,
and for what reasons?
What changes,
or circumstances,
will lead us to make the next
great evolutionary leap,
and who will be left behind
for future creatures
to ponder over their bones?
© Kayleen White, 2008
stronger,
more graceful
more perfect in every way
- or so we’re told,
were the Old Ones,
the ones now gone,
perfect,
yet not so absolute
in their perfection
that they could be here today.
What changed?
What happened
that they died out
leaving fragments of bone
a few chips of stone
here and there,
recognisable
only to skilled eye?
And what
of their low browed cousins
once thought bow legged
more lately
re-evaluated Neanderthal,
not so bad after all.
Are either still here?
Tall clever Cro-Magnon,
short powerful Neanderthal,
do their spirits live on
in us?
Do their genes
still carry their graces
their gifts
through to us
mere mortal
humans?
Homo sapiens sapiens
who have hung round for a while.
And what
of the future?
What changes to our species
have yet to come,
and for what reasons?
What changes,
or circumstances,
will lead us to make the next
great evolutionary leap,
and who will be left behind
for future creatures
to ponder over their bones?
© Kayleen White, 2008
[Content Warning] How Can You
Sorry: the formatting has been bloody lost when I added the Content Warning - on several posts, and I don't have the time to fix them all so I won't fix any.
I don’t understand how you could do that How can you possibly like that? I think such and such – don’t you? Oft times innocent enough, such seemingly simple sayings, such lack of comprehension, such emotional walls and manipulations, can have sinister import. Such sinister obtuseness, such mental unyielding, such these are the tools in trade of the bigot, the despot, the bully. From spectacular world destroying evil through social cliques who seek mutual support and reinforcement, to reactionary rants, all such evils begin thus: I don’t understand how you could do that How can you possibly like that? I think such and such – don’t you? © Kayleen White, 2008
The Idea Whose Time Has Not Yet Come
‘tis time
we hear
from time to time
for the next great thing
- the next idea
who’s time has come
or, mayhap,
not a thing,
but a one,
a person,
poised and ready,
prepared and polished
- tho’ maybe not
so sure of that.
But what,
pray tell,
of the idea,
grand and glorious,
or the one,
studied and learned,
whose time has not yet come?
Do such
wait, and then
fade into eternal nothingness?
Seems such a waste
- and does not sit right
with the idea of
matching time
and thing.
Maybe
the greats
cycle in and out,
taking a peek,
and dancing off
to play some other where
till time and
thing are both
right.
Maybe it’s not
so innocent;
maybe
the ideas come
down from above,
thrusting,
striving,
trying,
seeking
a way,
a place,
a one, a person,
through which to be born.
Maybe such things
even try
many doors
many places
all at the same time
and the one
we think the lucky
One
was indeed,
the lucky one.
Maybe
the one
seems so
perfect, so
One-ish
because of past
trials
travails
troubles:
maybe their
time
is a fitting
and justly deserved
climax
to past
oblivions.
So ...
pray tell,
what
of the idea,
or the one,
whose time has not yet come?
© Kayleen White, 2008
we hear
from time to time
for the next great thing
- the next idea
who’s time has come
or, mayhap,
not a thing,
but a one,
a person,
poised and ready,
prepared and polished
- tho’ maybe not
so sure of that.
But what,
pray tell,
of the idea,
grand and glorious,
or the one,
studied and learned,
whose time has not yet come?
Do such
wait, and then
fade into eternal nothingness?
Seems such a waste
- and does not sit right
with the idea of
matching time
and thing.
Maybe
the greats
cycle in and out,
taking a peek,
and dancing off
to play some other where
till time and
thing are both
right.
Maybe it’s not
so innocent;
maybe
the ideas come
down from above,
thrusting,
striving,
trying,
seeking
a way,
a place,
a one, a person,
through which to be born.
Maybe such things
even try
many doors
many places
all at the same time
and the one
we think the lucky
One
was indeed,
the lucky one.
Maybe
the one
seems so
perfect, so
One-ish
because of past
trials
travails
troubles:
maybe their
time
is a fitting
and justly deserved
climax
to past
oblivions.
So ...
pray tell,
what
of the idea,
or the one,
whose time has not yet come?
© Kayleen White, 2008
09 April 2008
Cycles (short)
The world changes
as it spins
round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
Changes
- not always to the new,
not always for the better,
but change nevertheless;
unavoidable,
unstoppable,
unquenchable
- ride it or ruin,
seek only to guide it
towards the better.
The world changes
as it spins round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
The only permanence
is change;
we can
lose our way
in the universal turmoil,
or
we can grow
and flourish
in the nutrient of the new.
© Kayleen White, 2008
as it spins
round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
Changes
- not always to the new,
not always for the better,
but change nevertheless;
unavoidable,
unstoppable,
unquenchable
- ride it or ruin,
seek only to guide it
towards the better.
The world changes
as it spins round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
The only permanence
is change;
we can
lose our way
in the universal turmoil,
or
we can grow
and flourish
in the nutrient of the new.
© Kayleen White, 2008
07 April 2008
Cycles
The world changes
as it spins
round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
Some keep up with the change;
some do not
- like engineer KK,
initials two parts Klan,
attitudes just one;
mocking and making fun
of those who try
to care
and save
and have a world for
those to come.
KK, if you had
credibility
with those who cared,
maybe you
would have saved
those trees
you claimed
activism
had
- ironically,
sadly,
perhaps even misguidedly,
lost.
The world changes
as it spins
round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
Some mistake the changes
- like the lover,
alone, she thinks
because she could not
change to share her love,
when truth
shows neglect
lack of respect
lack of understanding
- she did not "get"
the one
once taken for granted,
now lost.
The world changes
as it spins
round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
Some experience changes
- turmoil, mistaken loves,
painful lessons
in freedom
and truth
and responsibility,
as ways of preparing
for changes yet to be,
- like the lovers to be,
becoming who they must be
to be able to recognise
and take
the door yet to be opened
in years to come.
The world changes
as it spins
round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
Some,
blest with honesty,
acuity,
or some other gift,
lead the way
and start
something
- not always good,
that has not been known
to those now here
- tho' it may have been
known
and lost
long ago.
The world changes
as it spins
round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
Changes
- not always to the new,
not always for the better,
but change nevertheless;
unavoidable,
unstoppable,
unquenchable
- ride it or ruin,
seek only to guide it
towards the better.
The world changes
as it spins round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
The only permanence
is change;
we can
lose our way
in the universal turmoil,
or
we can grow
and flourish
in the nutrient of the new.
© Kayleen White, 2008
as it spins
round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
Some keep up with the change;
some do not
- like engineer KK,
initials two parts Klan,
attitudes just one;
mocking and making fun
of those who try
to care
and save
and have a world for
those to come.
KK, if you had
credibility
with those who cared,
maybe you
would have saved
those trees
you claimed
activism
had
- ironically,
sadly,
perhaps even misguidedly,
lost.
The world changes
as it spins
round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
Some mistake the changes
- like the lover,
alone, she thinks
because she could not
change to share her love,
when truth
shows neglect
lack of respect
lack of understanding
- she did not "get"
the one
once taken for granted,
now lost.
The world changes
as it spins
round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
Some experience changes
- turmoil, mistaken loves,
painful lessons
in freedom
and truth
and responsibility,
as ways of preparing
for changes yet to be,
- like the lovers to be,
becoming who they must be
to be able to recognise
and take
the door yet to be opened
in years to come.
The world changes
as it spins
round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
Some,
blest with honesty,
acuity,
or some other gift,
lead the way
and start
something
- not always good,
that has not been known
to those now here
- tho' it may have been
known
and lost
long ago.
The world changes
as it spins
round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
Changes
- not always to the new,
not always for the better,
but change nevertheless;
unavoidable,
unstoppable,
unquenchable
- ride it or ruin,
seek only to guide it
towards the better.
The world changes
as it spins round and round,
round self and sun;
the world changes.
The only permanence
is change;
we can
lose our way
in the universal turmoil,
or
we can grow
and flourish
in the nutrient of the new.
© Kayleen White, 2008
28 March 2008
A clean start
This morning is soft,
washed clean
by last night's rain
- last night's flow
of soft sound and supple water,
light-hearted as it drops
and flows
and soaks into the dawn.
The sun,
just under the horizon,
is stretching and yawning,
sending soft pastels
slowly walking
- still stiff with nighttimes stillness,
over the horizon
into the fresh showered day
to nudge and stir dawn's feathered choir.
I have "things to do",
places to be,
a rush to get swept up in.
But for now,
this glorious now,
I will relax
and share this fresh, calm day,
this palette of gentle colour,
wet earth scent,
silence,
and stillness.
© Kayleen White, 2008
washed clean
by last night's rain
- last night's flow
of soft sound and supple water,
light-hearted as it drops
and flows
and soaks into the dawn.
The sun,
just under the horizon,
is stretching and yawning,
sending soft pastels
slowly walking
- still stiff with nighttimes stillness,
over the horizon
into the fresh showered day
to nudge and stir dawn's feathered choir.
I have "things to do",
places to be,
a rush to get swept up in.
But for now,
this glorious now,
I will relax
and share this fresh, calm day,
this palette of gentle colour,
wet earth scent,
silence,
and stillness.
© Kayleen White, 2008
25 March 2008
Renewal
Merge and meld,
meld and merge,
make that cosmic mantra mine!
I thought them soft,
I thought them soppy,
those gushy friends of mine,
all on about
soul mates,
and two becoming one.
Merge and meld,
meld and merge,
make that cosmic mantra mine!
I'd been in love,
I knew the score,
I even given up
- convinced I'd not see love again
- till I did;
I even knew
love's embrace could hold more than two.
Merge and meld,
meld and merge,
make that cosmic mantra mine!
They were soft and soppy
I was real - I knew love,
until I found love anew.
Now I,
hard nosed I,
wanted to become one
with my heart's love;
now I
knew of soul mates becoming one.
Merge and meld,
meld and merge,
make that cosmic mantra mine!
Two hearts,
one heart beat,
one love,
one shared soul.
Merge and meld,
meld and merge,
now that mantra is mine!
© Kayleen White, 2008
meld and merge,
make that cosmic mantra mine!
I thought them soft,
I thought them soppy,
those gushy friends of mine,
all on about
soul mates,
and two becoming one.
Merge and meld,
meld and merge,
make that cosmic mantra mine!
I'd been in love,
I knew the score,
I even given up
- convinced I'd not see love again
- till I did;
I even knew
love's embrace could hold more than two.
Merge and meld,
meld and merge,
make that cosmic mantra mine!
They were soft and soppy
I was real - I knew love,
until I found love anew.
Now I,
hard nosed I,
wanted to become one
with my heart's love;
now I
knew of soul mates becoming one.
Merge and meld,
meld and merge,
make that cosmic mantra mine!
Two hearts,
one heart beat,
one love,
one shared soul.
Merge and meld,
meld and merge,
now that mantra is mine!
© Kayleen White, 2008
16 March 2008
The Coming of the Night
Such peace.
The end of the day,
all work done,
time to wind down
as sun goes down
and bold brushed clouds
sail about the west,
their colours
and cheerful flow
as they tack to and fro
add to the tempo
and tinges
of this time.
Red,
all rimed in red,
normally a colour
of aggression, energy and vigour;
maybe it's been tempered
by the long, sideways journey
through Earth's sacred halo
- Gaia's thin band of air,
so all I feel is
a strengthened energy of peace.
As birds' songs fade
with the light,
and the scents of the day
settle with the sun,
all is in readiness
to turn east
and greet
fast approaching dusk
and the introspective pleasure
of nightfall.
© Kayleen White, 2008
The end of the day,
all work done,
time to wind down
as sun goes down
and bold brushed clouds
sail about the west,
their colours
and cheerful flow
as they tack to and fro
add to the tempo
and tinges
of this time.
Red,
all rimed in red,
normally a colour
of aggression, energy and vigour;
maybe it's been tempered
by the long, sideways journey
through Earth's sacred halo
- Gaia's thin band of air,
so all I feel is
a strengthened energy of peace.
As birds' songs fade
with the light,
and the scents of the day
settle with the sun,
all is in readiness
to turn east
and greet
fast approaching dusk
and the introspective pleasure
of nightfall.
© Kayleen White, 2008
13 March 2008
[Content Warning] Winston's dog
Sorry: the formatting has been bloody lost when I added
the Content Warning - on several posts, and I don't have the time to fix
them all so I won't fix any.
It's morning; - and your point is? It's a new day, things to do! Life to live. Things? - same old things: the go-go-go at work, the struggle to finish yet another hacked round job with bigots pretending to be knights "saving" the job from the problem they ensnared you in to; the housework isn't done - look at the cobwebs, choke and cough on the dust. Life? - a life shared with one who hasn't changed as I have who no longer understands or relates someone who demands and takes for granted the boons I bring. It's morning, and though Winston, with his cigars and inspiring speeches for times of horror and desperation, is long gone, gone and buried on the other side of the world, Winston's black dog is back. © Kayleen White, 2008
08 March 2008
On the night of the Dark Moon
Some are small
- well, faint, really;
others bright,
large
- they grab the viewing eye,
even through city's smog and gloomy light.
I don't feel small,
I don't feel insignificant,
I just feel warm, and
comfortable, and
at home,
as I gaze up.
No moon to add depth and perspective
- the stars don't do that
tho' it would seem they should,
As I feel flooded
with the vastness
of eternity
As I gaze at them,
lost
as in a lovers eyes.
© Kayleen White, 2008
- well, faint, really;
others bright,
large
- they grab the viewing eye,
even through city's smog and gloomy light.
I don't feel small,
I don't feel insignificant,
I just feel warm, and
comfortable, and
at home,
as I gaze up.
No moon to add depth and perspective
- the stars don't do that
tho' it would seem they should,
As I feel flooded
with the vastness
of eternity
As I gaze at them,
lost
as in a lovers eyes.
© Kayleen White, 2008
29 February 2008
Spirits of Flower
Consider the rose
sweet, soft on eye and nose,
but with thorns harsh of hand;
Now consider the lotus,
pretty, but found only
in harshest of water;
Both function,
with good and bad,
which is best?
Now that woman looks comfortable
motherly
calm, reassuring
- and so she sounds
and the listener
is comforted and calmed.
Consider that woman
she looks comfortable
motherly
calm, reassuring
- but sounds
harsh, crude, confronting,
and the listener
cringes, and is confused.
And now those men:
one hard faced, tough and crude
in look and spirit,
and the listener
cringes and cries,
but does not think to be confused;
the other,
hard faced, tough and crude in look,
but gentle and caring of spirit,
the listener
is reassured and strengthened
- and confused;
But then the listener
looks within
and sees
woman,
both comfortable, motherly and comfortable,
and hard faced, tough and crude,
and man,
both gentle and caring of spirit,
and hard faced, tough and crude,
and others,
some both male and female,
some neither;
none afraid,
all free of rule and restraint;
all function,
all with good and bad;
which is best?
And now, consider
that woman
who looks so hard faced, tough and crude,
but sounds
motherly
calm, reassuring;
the listener
is comforted and calmed,
and not now confused.
And that woman
she looks hard faced, tough and crude,
and so she sounds;
the listener,
listens to other voices within,
and is unperturbed,
and not confused.
And that man,
who looks so soft and gentle
and sounds so soft and gentle,
the listener
is reassured and strengthened,
and not confused.
Now that man
he looks soft and gentle;
but sounds,
harsh, crude, confronting
the listener,
listens to other voices within,
and is unperturbed,
and not confused.
Consider the rose
sweet, soft on eye and nose,
but with thorns harsh of hand;
And the lotus,
pretty, but found only
in harshest of water;
Both function,
both have good and bad;
which is right, and which
is wrong?
© Kayleen White, 2008
sweet, soft on eye and nose,
but with thorns harsh of hand;
Now consider the lotus,
pretty, but found only
in harshest of water;
Both function,
with good and bad,
which is best?
Now that woman looks comfortable
motherly
calm, reassuring
- and so she sounds
and the listener
is comforted and calmed.
Consider that woman
she looks comfortable
motherly
calm, reassuring
- but sounds
harsh, crude, confronting,
and the listener
cringes, and is confused.
And now those men:
one hard faced, tough and crude
in look and spirit,
and the listener
cringes and cries,
but does not think to be confused;
the other,
hard faced, tough and crude in look,
but gentle and caring of spirit,
the listener
is reassured and strengthened
- and confused;
But then the listener
looks within
and sees
woman,
both comfortable, motherly and comfortable,
and hard faced, tough and crude,
and man,
both gentle and caring of spirit,
and hard faced, tough and crude,
and others,
some both male and female,
some neither;
none afraid,
all free of rule and restraint;
all function,
all with good and bad;
which is best?
And now, consider
that woman
who looks so hard faced, tough and crude,
but sounds
motherly
calm, reassuring;
the listener
is comforted and calmed,
and not now confused.
And that woman
she looks hard faced, tough and crude,
and so she sounds;
the listener,
listens to other voices within,
and is unperturbed,
and not confused.
And that man,
who looks so soft and gentle
and sounds so soft and gentle,
the listener
is reassured and strengthened,
and not confused.
Now that man
he looks soft and gentle;
but sounds,
harsh, crude, confronting
the listener,
listens to other voices within,
and is unperturbed,
and not confused.
Consider the rose
sweet, soft on eye and nose,
but with thorns harsh of hand;
And the lotus,
pretty, but found only
in harshest of water;
Both function,
both have good and bad;
which is right, and which
is wrong?
© Kayleen White, 2008
A New Start (Ode to Brian)
A small, desperate band
- no-hopers, the arrogant
would dismiss them by,
slackers – liars who
did not deliver
their hopeful promises.
A small, desperate band
- from within their number,
the crushing pace, the over
whelming load, the
small, desperate struggles,
were all clear,
- the brave attempts
to meet others’ deadlines,
to do the impossible
with impossibly small numbers,
impossibly few skills.
A small, desperate band
- their leader oft gone
answering the call
of other leaders,
- and,
the demand
to do as a worker
and then, only then,
to lead.
A small, desperate band
- led in absentia,
surrounded by snarling
wolves, eyes glowering,
growling,
in the gathering gloom.
A small ,desperate band
- graced now with
a glimmer, a tiny glow,
of hope:
a new leader, a new start.
A small, desperate band,
warmed by human touch,
- heartened
by leader who faced
the slavering wolves
and guided a path through
dangers seen and not,
speaking soft promises
of help, not hindrance.
A small, less desperate band,
looking to new, gallant
leader,
flexing aching psyches,
stretching stressed personas,
daring to hope.
A small band
with great and talented
leader,
a leader so great
other leaders see him,
and grasp at his gifts.
A small, disappointed band,
once leader now grafted away,
leaving them to the wolves,
slavering and snarling,
circling closer,
planning new demands, new deadlines,
casting aspersions
of not being competitive,
not serving the
Great God
economic competition.
A small, desperate band
- no-hopers, the arrogant
would dismiss them by,
slackers – liars who
did not deliver
their hopeful promises.
© Kayleen White, 2008
- no-hopers, the arrogant
would dismiss them by,
slackers – liars who
did not deliver
their hopeful promises.
A small, desperate band
- from within their number,
the crushing pace, the over
whelming load, the
small, desperate struggles,
were all clear,
- the brave attempts
to meet others’ deadlines,
to do the impossible
with impossibly small numbers,
impossibly few skills.
A small, desperate band
- their leader oft gone
answering the call
of other leaders,
- and,
the demand
to do as a worker
and then, only then,
to lead.
A small, desperate band
- led in absentia,
surrounded by snarling
wolves, eyes glowering,
growling,
in the gathering gloom.
A small ,desperate band
- graced now with
a glimmer, a tiny glow,
of hope:
a new leader, a new start.
A small, desperate band,
warmed by human touch,
- heartened
by leader who faced
the slavering wolves
and guided a path through
dangers seen and not,
speaking soft promises
of help, not hindrance.
A small, less desperate band,
looking to new, gallant
leader,
flexing aching psyches,
stretching stressed personas,
daring to hope.
A small band
with great and talented
leader,
a leader so great
other leaders see him,
and grasp at his gifts.
A small, disappointed band,
once leader now grafted away,
leaving them to the wolves,
slavering and snarling,
circling closer,
planning new demands, new deadlines,
casting aspersions
of not being competitive,
not serving the
Great God
economic competition.
A small, desperate band
- no-hopers, the arrogant
would dismiss them by,
slackers – liars who
did not deliver
their hopeful promises.
© Kayleen White, 2008
19 February 2008
I know not why
I see a rose
I smell it, lightly tingeing the air
Sweet and refreshing.
I touch the rose
Soft petals, firm in their way
But rimmed with thorns.
I hear others
Calling and cursing
They tried to caress the rose
and found the thorns
- I know not why.
I smell a carnation
And see this favourite
All colours and texture
Thorn free allure
Passed over by others
- I know not why.
Many flowers
Many scents, colours, textures
All unique
Some rimmed with rules
Some not.
I see and smell and caress the flowers
and leave the thorns
to those who,
I know not why,
wish them.
© Kayleen White, 2008
I smell it, lightly tingeing the air
Sweet and refreshing.
I touch the rose
Soft petals, firm in their way
But rimmed with thorns.
I hear others
Calling and cursing
They tried to caress the rose
and found the thorns
- I know not why.
I smell a carnation
And see this favourite
All colours and texture
Thorn free allure
Passed over by others
- I know not why.
Many flowers
Many scents, colours, textures
All unique
Some rimmed with rules
Some not.
I see and smell and caress the flowers
and leave the thorns
to those who,
I know not why,
wish them.
© Kayleen White, 2008
16 February 2008
Life (a poem)
Our life's a web
a web we weave
as we dance our life.
Our dances are our own
some set to music
some to films or written words
most to love and ideas
- a few, even to ideals.
Our webs are all unique
some love one
some more, one after the other
or a few at once
and others are alone.
Our webs are all special
they all glisten and dance
in the winds of life.
(c) Kayleen White, 2008
a web we weave
as we dance our life.
Our dances are our own
some set to music
some to films or written words
most to love and ideas
- a few, even to ideals.
Our webs are all unique
some love one
some more, one after the other
or a few at once
and others are alone.
Our webs are all special
they all glisten and dance
in the winds of life.
(c) Kayleen White, 2008
11 February 2008
Our field (poem)
I knew how to plant a field,
so I did, for another,
on the promise of a share
and something to barter for now,
something to feed me and mine
keep body and soul together
and clothe and shelter us.
And the other was pleased
- happy at all our field grew,
so he gave me a little more,
another field,
and some dirt to add,
and promised a share
- lesser, but more to barter now.
And I toiled in the other's fields
plied my craft for their gain
- and my family and I,
for didn't we have more to barter now,
while we waited for our share?
And the other was pleased
- happy at all our fields grew,
so he gave me a little more,
more fields,
more piles of dirt and fertiliser
- manure, some called it,
to mix and add,
for lesser share - but
more
to barter now.
And I toiled and toiled,
and thought of my family,
and all they could barter
- and looked at the mountains of dirt
one called overtime,
another called paperwork,
yet another called loyalty,
and from my closed in plot of earth,
I looked at the sky shrinking away,
and called my field,
the place I plied my craft,
my grave.
© Kayleen White, 2008
so I did, for another,
on the promise of a share
and something to barter for now,
something to feed me and mine
keep body and soul together
and clothe and shelter us.
And the other was pleased
- happy at all our field grew,
so he gave me a little more,
another field,
and some dirt to add,
and promised a share
- lesser, but more to barter now.
And I toiled in the other's fields
plied my craft for their gain
- and my family and I,
for didn't we have more to barter now,
while we waited for our share?
And the other was pleased
- happy at all our fields grew,
so he gave me a little more,
more fields,
more piles of dirt and fertiliser
- manure, some called it,
to mix and add,
for lesser share - but
more
to barter now.
And I toiled and toiled,
and thought of my family,
and all they could barter
- and looked at the mountains of dirt
one called overtime,
another called paperwork,
yet another called loyalty,
and from my closed in plot of earth,
I looked at the sky shrinking away,
and called my field,
the place I plied my craft,
my grave.
© Kayleen White, 2008
08 February 2008
A dance (poem)
Twist and sway and work
Arms and legs and body
Glide past that peak
Savour this rhythm
Exult!
As we go
Round and through
and maybe over or under
and I allow myself
to be overwhelmed
As I dance the dance
of the sea.
Use arms and legs and body
To guide this craft
This thing of beauty craft and wit
Through tossing mounds
Of dancing water
Water all moving
To and fro
Lift up there
Dip down here
We court and flirt
Each with the other
We three - no, we four.
Exult in body and mind and soul
As Goddess the Wind
Strokes wave and boat and I
Caressing here
Brusque and dismissing there
Laughing at tumult
As wave or boat or I trip or fall;
This
This is glorious nature
A matter to be lived with
A dance to be loved
- but not mastered;
Never mastered.
© Kayleen White, 2008
Arms and legs and body
Glide past that peak
Savour this rhythm
Exult!
As we go
Round and through
and maybe over or under
and I allow myself
to be overwhelmed
As I dance the dance
of the sea.
Use arms and legs and body
To guide this craft
This thing of beauty craft and wit
Through tossing mounds
Of dancing water
Water all moving
To and fro
Lift up there
Dip down here
We court and flirt
Each with the other
We three - no, we four.
Exult in body and mind and soul
As Goddess the Wind
Strokes wave and boat and I
Caressing here
Brusque and dismissing there
Laughing at tumult
As wave or boat or I trip or fall;
This
This is glorious nature
A matter to be lived with
A dance to be loved
- but not mastered;
Never mastered.
© Kayleen White, 2008
02 February 2008
Death's new door (poem)
Sorry: the formatting has been bloody lost when I added the Content Warning - on several posts, and I don't have the time to fix them all so I won't fix any.
I wrote this late one night while taking a break from the vigil from my mother's bedside (we shared this duty, so all could have a break from time to time, or tend to our daily duties). It was sribbled on some paper towel, which I've been worried about losing ever since ... I thought I knew death The sharp, sudden of accident the noisome grasp of illness the gentle fade of great age even the violent brute of war, or cime through lives gone past through intimate sharing of medium's tasks through touches from others lives and deaths I thought I knew death but this this death I knew not. Mayhap the nigh unimaginable disbelief of the condemned as their hour approaches comes closest - but they they go in good health. They know not the gargling breath the pause the long, long pause when watchers hold their breath and will to breathe then the twitch the unnerving twitch and one more gurgling almost strangled breath This door they nor I knew not. But no, I do know this door now For I am witness to it I, and my fellow watchers Sitting, conversing sharing the task of holding our dear one's hand this death we share, as witnesses. Share in awkwardness do we talk and make this place light in celebration of life? Or mope show sombre respect. This etiquette we know not. But know we do Our one shared love Our common respect For this dear one Who touched us in so many ways This love We know through even death. © Kayleen White, 2008
My stupid, stupid heart (poem)
Carrying on the theme from my last poem ...
My stupid, stupid heart
Haven't you learnt by now?
Half a century of pain and battering and scars
and still you turn me into a teenager?
You won't listen to logic
- she's too young
- you WORK with her, for God's sake
- you already love another
What's wrong with you?
Logic.
YOU won't listen to logic?
Who's logic?
Mine?
Yours?
Theirs?
Mayhap that's the truth of it
- the logic's their's
- they're the one's who say
who and when and how you can love
they,
with their stupid, stupid rules
that love must fit
before it's permitted.
They,
with their scarred, scared minds,
clinging to the comfortably small,
They're the ones who do the biggest scars of all
on MY intemperate heart.
She's not a logical choice;
I have fights to fight before we can be
(if she'll have me - we've not even talked on this
and she goes away soon);
But the fight of the rules of the small
Is one fight I can do without.
My poor, poor heart,
Keep falling in love for ever!
© Kayleen White, 2008
My stupid, stupid heart
Haven't you learnt by now?
Half a century of pain and battering and scars
and still you turn me into a teenager?
You won't listen to logic
- she's too young
- you WORK with her, for God's sake
- you already love another
What's wrong with you?
Logic.
YOU won't listen to logic?
Who's logic?
Mine?
Yours?
Theirs?
Mayhap that's the truth of it
- the logic's their's
- they're the one's who say
who and when and how you can love
they,
with their stupid, stupid rules
that love must fit
before it's permitted.
They,
with their scarred, scared minds,
clinging to the comfortably small,
They're the ones who do the biggest scars of all
on MY intemperate heart.
She's not a logical choice;
I have fights to fight before we can be
(if she'll have me - we've not even talked on this
and she goes away soon);
But the fight of the rules of the small
Is one fight I can do without.
My poor, poor heart,
Keep falling in love for ever!
© Kayleen White, 2008
31 January 2008
Love: a mourning (poem)
Sorry for this, but I have to get the pain of being stuck in a monogomous relationship with a polyamorous heart off (out of?) my chest. Life stinks at times, and - as some of the characters in the film "Imagine Me and You" say, nothing wrong has been done by anyone, but at least one person (me) is still hurting. Badly. I can think of many reasons why this attraction should never exist, or should not be acted on (it hasn't - so far, anyway), but it exists on my part, and SEEMS to exist on the part of the other. O to have been born in a more enlightened age ...
Love ...
Requited or not,
Forbidden or free,
All forms
Can cleanse and heal
The rent asunder heart,
- or not.
New soul
Face, form and heart,
Has now taken mine,
Requited,
But it cannot be,
So healed and hurt am I,
in this love.
How to be!
We work together;
We are years apart;
But it
Can not be denied,
This magnetism,
only enacted in dreams
until this rule-corsetted world
opens to let hearts be one.
© Kayleen White, 2008
Love ...
Requited or not,
Forbidden or free,
All forms
Can cleanse and heal
The rent asunder heart,
- or not.
New soul
Face, form and heart,
Has now taken mine,
Requited,
But it cannot be,
So healed and hurt am I,
in this love.
How to be!
We work together;
We are years apart;
But it
Can not be denied,
This magnetism,
only enacted in dreams
until this rule-corsetted world
opens to let hearts be one.
© Kayleen White, 2008
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