Party this, and party that

Party this, and party that,

let’s use up resources,

and spend up big.

Damn the planet!

I’ve started,

or finished,

or crawled a little further,

and I’m entitled,

so party this, and party that,

let’s use up resources,

and spend up big.

Who cares about

spirit and growth,

wisdom and all

that comes through peace

and quiet and

reflection,

application of spirit,

rather than

application of trite,

- I’ve started,

or finished,

or crawled a little further!

So party this, and party that,

let’s use up resources,

and spend up big.

 


Copyright © Kayleen White, 2013 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 :)

Old Soldiers, Old Glories

Old soldiers are wont

‘tis said,

to spend time

reflecting on past “glories”

- perhaps

in attempt

to make sense

of inutterable horrors;

so do others

- and old

civil rights campaigner,

mayhap cursed

by relevance deprivation,

and empty nesters

seeking reward

for long grinding tears

of pain

and trial

and misery

and heart-break

- leavened,

from time to time,

by moments of love

on either side,

and now,

 as the loan from the future

is repaid with

independent, capable

adult-hood,

sought to be regained

- or, sad to say,

used

as bargaining tool

Copyright © Kayleen White, 2013 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 :)

Our Path

We speak
as if
our path's a singular thing;
and yet
'tis truly a skein
of disparate threads,
some thicker,
or brighter,
or longer,
that forms
the multi-faceted
meaning
of our life.

Copyright © Kayleen White, 2013 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 :)

[Content Warning] Evil

Machiavelli,
Moriarty,
and other villains foul
- not, mind you,
all named with an M,
need not be
cruel
or unpleasant
in order to
evil do.
sometimes
the greatest evil's
to do a kindness
and grant a soul
that which most
it desires
- if that be not
what is meant to be.

Copyright © Kayleen White, 2013 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 :)

[Content Warning] The Workhouse Howl

Man’s inhumanity

to mankind

is well known

in war

and strife

and bloody dictatorship:

but what are we

to make of

a place

a time

a culture

that thinks the poor

or unemployed

are merely lazy

- there’s jobs out there

if they really want them

and then

to prove its point

compounds

the error

future tho’ it be to them

of concentration camps
for women and children
in places and climes
far to the south

by building prisons

for the poor

and

in backward echo

of "work will make you free"

calls them

workhouses.

Copyright © Kayleen White, 2012 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 :)

Who is Better?

The babe-in-arms

barely registers

others as

not self;

The toddler

does,

but seeks to

crawl, then

walk, then talk

- and then is at school,

finding just how scary the big kids are,

‘till,

years later

the toddler is now one,

and then

is youngest student

at high school,

finding just how scary the big kids are,

‘till,

years later

the student is now one,

and then

is youngest undergrad

at university,

knowing how much more

the graduates know

and chasing that same

degree,

‘till,

years later

the undergrad has that

desired degree,

and is

least experienced

in chosen profession,

‘till,

years later

the grad now has

hoary experience,

and

maybe,

experience of life

in family

or travel

or fields less well travelled.

And ever onwards,

always is seen

the back of those

who have gone before,

and ever onwards,

as time passes,

the new becomes

one of those

who have gone before,

and the question

must be asked,

babe-in-arms,

toddler,

child,

student,

adult,

is any one

better than the other?

Is any one

but a stage

to what comes next?

Copyright © Kayleen White, 2012 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 :)

When the Time is Ripe (Short Story)

Far below, the grey waves bashed monotonously against the grey cliffs. Grey skies, grey water, grey mood – it all fitted the skin-clad band, skins grey with wear and grime, standing glumly at the top, looking at each other. Finally one spoke, one unassuming, not at all like a leader, but with an authority in his voice that belied his appearance. 

“Then we are all agreed. It is not yet time – this place is not yet ready?” 

The others nodded, slowly, and reluctantly. 

“Very well. We know what that means: we see out these lives, and join together again some time henceforth, in another time, another life.” 

One young male started weeping; another spoke with anguish in his voice. 

“These people, these lives, they’re so primitive! We didn’t come back to …” 

“I know”, the leader replied. “We came back to bring a better life, and now we’re going to have to share their miserable existences, share their … lack of hygiene” he sniffed with disdain “– of medicine. … We’ll suffer their same risks and fears, and … eventually, we’ll die like them. And then, we’ll be reborn – although we’ll be scattered to the winds, until the time is right – really right, this next time, and we’ll be together again, and ready to help lift this world into a new light.” 

The oldest there, an unkempt, grey-bearded figure, shook his head and spoke:

“It’s such a shame, such a shame. All those thousands of years – tens of thousands - of needless suffering and pain …” 

“True, Alberr, but we cannot override their free will, and the chance of abuse of our teachings is too close to certain. Do you want to make the suffering and pain greater?” 

Alberr shook his head, and their leader nodded. 

“OK. You were all trained on this possibility. Now go! Return to your tribes – we shall not see each other again in this lifetime, and shall not see each other altogether for many thousands of years.” 

Slowly, reluctantly, carrying their sorrows and fears as best they could, the figures left, travelling in different directions, some sharing part of the journey, pondering the years of risk and pain and turmoil to come, none of them to die of old age.

And the world turned on, and they waited ...

(the poems Cro-Magnon and The Idea Whose Time Has Not Yet Come were written as part of me trying out ideas for this story, which I was originally, way back then, going to work up into a fuller length story.The genesis was a very vivid dream I had :) )

© Kayleen White, 2012 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 :)