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Saturday, December 7, 2013

New view


This is the first design departure in the Thank You side since I started the Mini-Thanks project.

I took some helpful comments from George Lottermoser and Jeffrey Percival on yesterday's design. I hope I have addressed the cluttered, redundant look and moved away from the life coach paradigm.




Friday, December 6, 2013

Feedback, please?



I'd like a little feedback, if you please. I like to listen and encourage people. I love the part time shuttle gig for that exact reason. I would like to offer that set of skills to people that need to be heard and helped along their way.

While it might be easier to simply say LIFE COACH, what I am attempting to do with this card is indicate my approach a bit so as to weed out those that might not be an appropriate fit.

Or, maybe the card is simply confusing to too many people and thus a farce.

What do you think?

Thank you.

Monday, November 25, 2013

Them (of me)


Them (of me)

Call your dogs m/lady
send the children away
for I am going' home
nowhere yonder over there
where last I saw the sun
haloed 'neath that rainbow sky
past my eyes frozen looking there
past my skeleton fingers
reaching there
past where the jackals
carry my dead flesh
past where the worms leave
them (of me)
in the dust I will be home
leave us alone

---
there is no door
© David White 1974

Friday, November 22, 2013

Reviewing the Practice

I spent a couple years trotting the good doctor out to B2B networking events attempting to help people with their language for commercial purposes.

The people I was meeting did not seem to think it mattered if there were typos in their marketing materials. And then the economy tanked and marketing dollars evaporated.



The doctor had already been with me for 20-odd years before that quite content as a caricature.

Perhaps one of the reasons a practice in healing marketing language did not blossom is ... perhaps.


If ever there were a day to call in to work, writhing in the throes of wellness, TODAY would be that day. I want to tell you this story now.



***
Please note: (if you have read this far) the web and email addresses listed above have not yet been set up and are subject to change without notice.









Tuesday, November 12, 2013

Almost Ready For This



The autumn colors had gotten past their prime
gotten a little muddied and subdued until the
first snow today the startling white color
brings back the greens and golds and
burgundies of leaves and trees
that are not quite ready
for this

Saturday, November 2, 2013

Any. Way.

Any. Way.

Do not bother to stop and smell the roses.
It is not the stopping or the smelling
or the roses
any. way.

First, you think you’re stopping
but it’s restlessness and fidgiting ...
There’s a fly. Your stomach grumbles.
Leg cramps. Boredom. What time is it?
Oops ... sorry ... that’s sitting meditation.

And smelling? As if smelling will
capture the rose and bring it home.

What of the other six senses?
The sense of temperature,
of pressure, pain, position in space,
acceleration and the passage of time?

You might think this is just another rose
in just another poem but the usually shy
chrysanthemums are whispering with tulips.

I think I heard your name.
Listen.

...

DLWhite • 8/9/13

Flaming Red Maple


Thursday, October 24, 2013

Drippin' Springs

I spent last night in Drippin’
with another man’s woman
we slept in separate bedrooms
he stayed in New York City

I spent last night in Drippin’
south of Austin thirty miles
you know how the truth hurts
when you get it caught in lies

We’d hung out talkin’ dirty
country western sings the blues
drinkin’ beer and Wild Turkey
shootin’ dollars worth of pool

She introduced me to the kitty
the riot shotgun and the dogs
we smoked a couple bowls
and watched teevee
like falling off a log

I spent last night in Drippin’
with another man’s woman
we slept in separate bedrooms
he stayed in New York City

he called her late that evening
to ask her where she’d been
she said out Christmas shopping
and hung up the phone then

I spent last night in Drippin’
south of Austin thirty miles
you know how the truth hurts
when you get it caught in lies

---

David L. White
from Songs for Tentative Guitar
Pilot Press - Austin 1980

Dear Lisa

Dear Lisa

I wish I’d have known you
before you got married
got older and harried and
Harry got gray
cuz the song in my heart
is a hard one to carry
I guess I’ll just sing it away

Don’t take this poem home
to Harry, Dear Harry
it’s no laughing matter
he’ll throw it away
but the song in my heart
is too big to bury
I just I’ll just sing it away


---
David L. White
from Songs for Tentative Guitar
Pilot Press - Austin 1980

Cold Spring

There's no one waiting in Wisconsin
with their arms flung wide
the winters aren't bad in Austin
but I got Cold Spring on my mind.

There are winters here in Austin
you don’t need to own a shovel
and no work days you stay home from
on account of the weather

and you wonder why I complain
well, it just ain’t Cold Spring
in the rain

I had a crazy painter lover
from New Orleans Houston Denver
city daughter of a doctor
we go nowhere real soon

she hasn’t asked that we stay friends yet
now that lovers over
it’s okay, I’ve been busy
in a Cold Spring memory

She spent some time at the university
and heard it all but the
Cold Spring memory

A northern high school buddy
climbs a salesman's ladder
his wife makes good lasagna
and they came here for the weather

Next year their daughter will be three
with a British Texas accent and a
Cold Spring memory

Just an hour from Milwaukee
eighty miles from Chicago
are the tourist vista lagos
that I call home

and when I think of Cold Spring
don’t even ask me why
I get those tiny
Cold Spring teardrops
in my eye

So I guess I’ll go to Cold Spring
and buy myself a shovel
and teach their children Sunday School
and forget about I am

I guess I’ll go to Cold Spring
where there are no cops or stop signs
with the weekly farmer socials
at the local tavareen

I can almost feel the breeze
I’ll be writing Central Texas memories

---

David L. White

Pilot Press - Austin 1980

Wednesday, October 23, 2013

Grateful Walker / this is that

A long legged walker
I expressed pain at
Having checked my steps
Fumbled with my laces

Ananda offers up a title
On creativity by a
choreographer

I am grateful I am
Moving again
I feel the music
Tingling in my toes

Some or much
Creative work
Is not frozen forever
But is a moment
of motion
In motion

This is that

...

DLW
10/23/13
2:47am

Sunday, October 13, 2013

The whole bed moves

You there
Fellow traveler
In the dark
(I'm yelling telepathically)
that restless thing you're doing
Seems to provide no relief

One of us needs to meditate
Or move to the couch

I'm no expert on the Richter scale
But these are tremors
Of wake up magnitude

Now bathing in the light
of the refrigerator
I gargle a tsunami
Of orange juice
While surfing internal
Alliteration

Hello mind
Creaky cranky
old friend
Grab your board
Let's ride the waves

This full
blissful
meditation

...

© David L. White
October 13, 2013
2:31 am

Marketing

Put a human face on your cash cow
and the milk will taste much sweeter
Climb on board and ride her home
once you squeeze that teater.

Already

I'm crying already
You're not even gone
Your obituary
On Wikipedia

I cling to our
YouTube moments
In the ever after
Already

...
For Joan Baez

David L. White
October 13, 2013
4:15 am



Saturday, September 28, 2013

Saturday Morning Tea

it’s morning me and the steam
of jasmine darjeeling honey tea

a golden hour semi-precious
shimmering ephemera
an eternal momentary in between

this idea that I go on and on
you might easily beat it out of me

rather than argue I would tell you
I don’t know
it’s my favorite bright dark place

I don’t know and
I do not have to know
now and when I do ... I do
simple like that

this apparent void perhaps to you
is not a call that fools rush in

nothing is broken - no need fix
plenty fixed already

it may be back to bed for me
to flow and grab and let it go
to wrestle with language divine
I go on and on ... and on

~~~

the problem is you think you have time
buddha

~~~
9/28/2013
dlw

Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Dear Garrett Seminary Student,

Thank you for asking me for my thoughts on the meaning of the phrase Biblical obedience.

When you wrote that we would talk and you would listen I was quite beside myself - as you might imagine.

I’d considered recording my voice and sending you an MP3 and I have not ruled that out at this moment.

It occurred to me that I might not be as ‘composed’ as I would like during a vocal presentation and I would have to organize my thoughts - which means write them down - so, I might as well write them down.

My first thought hearing about obedience of any kind is to look around the room and see who is talking to whom. Usually a self-appointed authoritarian is wielding a sharp edge of truth as a weapon under which one is made to scrape and bow.

More often than not the self-appointed authoritarian indicates two basic things; he is merely acting as an agent for a higher authority, or there is one truth, he knows it and you don’t.  Rather than bring himself under the rule, he will find someone he can subjugate, or at least be made to feel guilty.

That would be an easy-to-find working principle of external obedience. And external brings to mind internal obedience. That simply speaks to which rules one imposes on oneself. Ah, but who’s voice is it?

Let’s look at the biblical component of your chosen phrase.

In your mind, go to the bookstore or library and pick out 77 or more books and pile them on a sturdy table. Pick some creation stories, mythology, poetry, songs, histories, children's books, futuristic fantasy, some how-to instruction types and plenty of religion and spiritual books. They can be any size, have different fonts, colors, and languages.

Next, pick out 66 or the 77 or more of those books, hiding the unused books wherever you wish.

Now, using a band saw or mechanical knife blade, cut off the bindings and stack your 66 selections in any order you see fit.

There we have approximately what we had before binding was invented.
Gutenberg is usually credited for printing the first Bible. And he might have done just that. However, the most incredible thing he did was create movable type, making it possible to mass produce so many pages without hand carving each letter for each page/plate ... unless the Chinese beat him to it.

But, without binding a varied collection into a single collection with consistent and common elements, we would not have the singular book we call the Bible. And we have only called it that less than 600 years.

So, given that the original collections included songs, poems, prayers, fiction, fantasy, mythology, creation stories, how-to instructional rules, etc. I wonder if it is possible or even desirable to be obedient to all of it.

I think we, individually and collectively, choose what parts we believe to be true, or take what has been drilled into us and wrestle with that.

Finally, we have readers and writers. Whoever authored the books, God or Man, in the ever-ongoing editions in dozens and dozens of languages, is less important than this; if there is not an inspired and inquiring reader, the rest of it matters little.

Here resides the Holy Spirit; in the inquiry, inspiration and interaction. Be obedient to that.

###

Now that I am finished with this writing session I see plainly that I might have said this: The Bible is a book. Believing in and being obedient to a book is missing the point.

Also, now that I have about 600 words here, I am entirely uninspired with the notion of reading them out loud so that I can send you an MP3.

Thank you once again. Good luck with your project.
Blessings,
David White








Tuesday, July 9, 2013

The Last Frontier

The Last Frontier

The last of the last of the last frontier
stands before you, there in the mirror.
and you will arrive before the rest
the beast to vanquish, beats in your chest.

go quietly there and you will find
a drinking pool deep in mind
and there in quiet, without the fear
sits the last of the last of the last frontier

----------- ----------- ----------- -----------

© David L. White 199x?

Friday, June 21, 2013

Garden of Eden

The Garden of Eden is Closed

Chorus:
We're tighty, we're mighty,
we're righter than righty,
and now almost everyone knows,
we'll arm or disarm you at the drop of a hat,
but the Garden of Eden is Closed

Verse

Down at the mouth of the Tigris Euphrates,
is an old eucalyptus palm tree,
 this is the place, they say with bald face,
 where God kicked out Adam and Eve

Chorus

We bombed them back to Old Purgatory,
we kicked their ass in the sand,
now our stadium's full
with the red, white and bull,
seems like God's got a flag in his hand

Chorus 

But God and the Devil are playing strip poker,
They both have five aces and very long sleeves,
and you're sitting there, in your underwear,
wondering when you get to deal.

Chorus

Yeah,  God and the Devil are playing strip poker,
while evil is being undone,
you're sitting there in your underwear, man,
this ain't looking like fun

Last Chorus

We're tighty, we're mighty,
we're righter than righty,
and now almost everyone knows,
we'd like to do more for the poor and all that
but not while there's oil in the hose.


----

A 3 chord, country-western style lament regarding the war
© David L. White 2003

Saturday, June 15, 2013

Prince Frog




- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 Some there are princes
and some there are frogs
yet to be a prince
is to sit on a log
is to know yr not far
from being a frog

 - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

@DoHappyBetter
David L. White © 1974

Thursday, June 13, 2013

Four Shorties


=========================

nothing to it
(Hobo Daze Anthem)


when there’s nothing to do
and nowhere to go
I go there and do that

no promise but proximity
no direction but desire

nothing to it


=========================

The Alphabet Soup
Conversion Kit  - $9.95

you wonder
if you won’t
some day be
in to a can
with your spoon
well in hand ...

you stand in a field
the wind blows
thee oats are sowing you
isn’t that wild?

=========================

- Postcard -

Delmar is almost always
on vacation. He’s
on one right now. He’s
sending you a postcard
from your own home town.
Yr reading it.
The weather is fine. He
wishes you were there.

=========================

Three’s a Trio

We’re not waiting for
the other shoe to drop,
the fat lady to sing or
the cows to come home.

We’re putting the last screw
in this three-legged grief.

A wide and wild ranger,
Guzman’s gone at sixty-three.

==========================

Upside Down Cake

=====================================


Upside Down Cake

Snow flake
finger print
iris pattern
grain of sand
galaxy
Can you spell DNA?

We save the idea of unique,
frame it
put it on a pedestal
up high and out of reach.

Bring it down and see
it's just like you and me

Nothing is unique
no product or process
unless everything is
especially

Can you have your cake and eat it too?


=====================================


© David L. White

Both and Beyond

====================

Both and Beyond

It is
as it is
and
as you
seem it
to be
and,
as much as
it is true for you
it is equally or more
for me. As well, our friends
and enemies.

====================

© David L. White

Dead Squirrels

=====================================

Dead Squirrels

In various stages of bitten disarray
dead squirrels lie in the oak leaves
by the side door

the dog brings them there
my brother takes them away.

And then, she, dog, dead - just like that
eyes closed forever to the west northwest
under the dirt and oak leaves also

father and I brought her there
the dead squirrels took her away

=====================================

© David L. White

Curiosity Kills Cat

=================================================

Curiosity Kills Cat

Slow or quick? Peaceful? Violent?
All nine lives at once,  one at a time, or ...
some combination you fill in the blank?

Was it a crime of passion?
Well-planned?
Accidental?
Murder suicide?
Inside job?
Mob hit?

Perhaps the cat in question rode
a lead horse in the Inquisition.

What do you think?
Dare you say?

Insider sources name death by thousand cuts.
A question leads to more questions.
Answers are irrelevant, obscure,
ill-informed, mis-informed, uninformed.
Clear and simple? we reject them.
Suspiscious trickery we do not hear, assimilate, act upon.

yes, insiders point to the death by a thousand cuts.
It is a mob hit - a culture-induced coma
with little chance of waking up.

We all do of course, wake up, not always just in time.


Curiosity kills cat. Stay tuned.
Press conference at eleven.
There will be no time for questions.


=====================================

© David L. White

Almost All the Greek

===================================

Almost All the Greek

Yasu, Christo ..
Tikanis?
Kala.
Scata, Afaristo. SaGaPo
Spanakotiropita

Hi. Chris. How are you?
Fine. Shit. Thanks. I love you.
Spinach Pie.

That’s almost all the Greek I speak.

Occasionally I will mention that lovely appetizer buffet-on-a-platter Loukanikomeze and Roditys, a semi-dry red wine

I can say Baklava too but it’s very sweet. I save it for special occasions like this.


=================================================

© David L. White

Mangoes in June

==========================================


Mangoes in June

In the new week of the new year
in the very early morning of our
very first cold, cold day
I pumped, paid for gas and
chatted with K.C.,
our dark complected
Indian-born convenience store owner-operator.

I think he’s been living in our Milwaukee latitude for all of seven years.

“Well,” he said, “at least we only have two months left of winter.
I must have looked quizzical ... perplexed.

“January and February,” he said, forgetting spring, the equinox,
March 21st April snow ... early May wet dumpers.

I admire his optimism and
I like to add a little spice to the conversation.


“So,” I said, holding my hand at my waist,
“if the crazy weather keeps up we’ll be shoveling up to here in summer.”


“Yes,” he said, wistfully, “sometimes we have mangoes in June.”



===================================

© David L. White

Prayer for our Church at Guernica

===========================================


Prayer for our Church at Guernica


On the slick edge of weather
we hit the wall
steering column crushes chest
pierces sternum

air bag deploys late
abrading face
and snapping neck

children unbelted and unconscious
frozen askew
mucus like mildew forms at their nostrils
blood and lunch and feces pool in the seat

ghosts and souls hover,
not yet ready to leave

beneath the wreck they lick battery acid,
brake fluid and antifreeze, or lie back on
the hood like a coat of paint,
watching the autumn clouds roll in
and the sun set

It looks like the planning commission and
construction crew failed to properly deploy
the blinking orange barrels and iridescent
arrows marking the way

fines double in work zones
slow the hell down

Some say it's a failure of the anti-lock braking system.

As is so often the case these days - we blame it on it -
the several levels of plausible deniability.
We blame it on IT - info tech - a typo in a line of code
glued to a chip set - no one's fault.

Well, someone always takes the blame and the
insurance company sends us the bill.

Whatever the case, we're on our own and
bleeding out.

In the distance getting closer are the twin sirens
of the attorneys and the conflict resolution team
followed by a busload of assholes and the
medical examiner.

Dear God,

Bulldoze this stretch down to the granite,
scratch our names in shiny stone,
and make it rain the manna of fresh soil, seed
and the perfect complement of
wind, sun and rain.

Amen

DLW
Labor Day 2010
4:04 a.m.



==========================================

© David L. WHite

Las Guerras Fresas - The Strawberry Wars

============================================

Las Guerras Fresas
The Strawberry Wars, Part One of ....

My God, how we rejoice
in these nearly unnatural fruits,
with their uniform large size and
their extended growing season.

... these delicious fruits grown in desert valleys
owned by mutual fund, stock holding,
corporate farmers,
like you and me.

... grown in desert valleys made green
with federally subsidized water paid for and
pumped down from mountains by people
like you and me.

... sprayed with toxic wastes reclassified
as fertilizers by chemical bureaucrats
appointed by Senators and Congressman
that were voted in, or not, by people
like you and me


Yet these lush and juicy berries
are brought to market on the backs
of brown people working for bordertown wages
trying to make a life at slaving wages
permanently bent over by middle age
and we would like to fence them out
these people
like you and me

Will you pick them?

Alien or not, illegal or not we've already paid
much too dearly for this tasty toxic priviledge.

We might have our strawberry shortcake,
but can we eat it, too?



==============
Las Guerras Fresas
The Strawberry Wars, Part Two

Does it matter if what I say, nickel for nickel is true?

The part about slave labor wages
and toxic waste, puppet politicians
and the very few
rich corporate farmers
subsidized by us; owners by mutual proxy

What if california never does slide into the ocean floor?
What if the Imperial Valley remains salt-free?
What if we discover fertilizer really is good for us?

Will the strawberry wars ever be over?
Or will it bring an endless stream of POW's and MIA's
and us among the dissappeared, marching to hell
with strawberry grins and whipped cream lips
and shortcakes in our hip pockets

==============


Las Guerras Fresas
The Strawberry Wars, Part Three

Wal-Mart Redefines Organic Thru Lobbying and Legislation
Monsanto Outlaws Home gardening
and buys the old Blackwater mercenary team

You will eat what we feed you.
We know where you live.


===========================================

to Julie

==============================

You came to me
excited and alive
peeking out from a
November cap and collar

smiles and scarlet cheeks
starbursst your jubilance
across my dark gray sky

with thoughts in other moments
your so brown eyes touched as
deep and true as the chill
that rushed in the door
telling me you'd gone again.



==============================

© David L. White 11/5/1973

Authors and Titles

============================================
Like the fine print ingredients on a can of non-perishables here are my
Authors and Titles

Emerson, Thoreau, Brautigan, Krishnamurti, Castenada, Black Elk, Lame Deer, Trungpa, Suzuki, Alan Watts, Lao Tzu, Tom Robbins, Matthew, Mark, Luke, John, Paul, George ... Gurdieff-that is, Ouspensky, Bukowski, Bly and Bly, Yogananda, Kerouac, Rajneesh, Russel Edson, Martin Seligman, Mattieu Ricard, Chopra, Dr. Seuss, Wendell Berry, Kabat-Zinn, Howard Zinn, Kubler-Ross, Mary Oliver, Anne Lamott, Annie Dillard, Julia Cameron, Natalie Goldberg,

As a Man Thinketh, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance; and Archery; and Making a Living, Siddhartha, Buddha Nature, Dancing Wu Li Masters, Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism, Conversations with God, Books of the Dead: Egyptian, Tibetan, A Course in Miracles, The Disappearance of the Universe, The Power of Story, Where Ever You Go There You Are, Think, Flow, Happiness, and The Possibility of Everything


===========================================


Mary’s Passing

========================

Mary’s Passing

The morning after
Mary’s passing Pat and I
hugged a little longer and
shared a couple extra
kisses.

On empty I pulled into
McD’s for some delightful
sassy banter with fiesty Judy,
bought myself a coffee and
a salt naughty sausage.

I headed out - went south and
puttered through the park.

No passing.

========================

© David L. White




Untitled: to a Robyn

===========================================

Untitled: to a Robyn

One morning I woke up in Wisconsin
and you were in New York and
the possibility of our
ever meeting again was
on the endangered species list

(going the way of
dodo birds and dinosaurs,
in the general direction of
whooping cranes and whales,
becoming a possibility extinct)

I called the D.N.R.,
the High Sierra Club of the Heart,
the Audobon Society of Finer Feelings
and then I called you

and you had seen it, too
(perhaps the last existing opportunity)
flying wild and free
in a refuge between us



© David L. White 5/18/82

Dead Hero Sandwich

============================================

Dead Hero Sandwich

I'd been feeling lousy
all day long.
I thought it might be
the death of Lennon.
I had something to eat
and felt much better.


===========================================

© David L. White


12/8/80
RIP John

The Garden of Eden is Closed

============================================

The Garden of Eden is Closed

Down at the mouth of the Tigris Euphrates,
is an old eucalyptus palm tree,
 this is the place, they say with bald face,
where God kicked out Adam and Eve

Now Saddam Hussien had put up a fence
and charged the people to see
but when the bombs dropped
all that sorta stopped
Uncle Sam was taking a pee

We bombed them back to Old Purgatory,
we kicked their ass in the sand,
now our stadium's full with the red, white and bull,
seems like God's got a flag in his hand

Chorus:
We're tighty, we're mighty,
we're righter than righty,
and now almost everyone knows,
we'll arm or disarm you at the drop of a hat,
but the Garden of Eden is Closed

 
But God and the Devil are playing strip poker,
They both have five aces and very long sleeves,
and you're sitting there, in your underwear,
wondering when you get to deal.


Yeah,  God and the Devil are playing strip poker,
while evil is being undone,
you're sitting there in your underwear,
man, this ain't looking like fun.

Last Chorus:
We're tighty, we're mighty,
we're righter than righty,
and now almost everyone knows,
we'd like to do more
for the poor and all that
but not while there's oil in the hose.

============================================

© David L. White

Selling Flowers

============================================

Selling Flowers

dedicated to Delmar Shreeves and High Vicki



“Delmar, I say, Delmar,
didn’t we just pass God
in the last parking lot
and weren’t he selling flowers
and yelling something about;
‘jus;’ take one home fr yr old lady today’?
not selling flowers fr unicef or jesus or fuck love
jus’ flowers in patches
sewn by his old lady with that same love
who doesn’t either wave nobody’s
raggy banner. they ain’t pushing
anything real hard.

“God Dammit, Delmar, I say,
“why don’t we swing around the corner
and see what he’s got in carnations?”



===========================================


© David L. White

The Long Commute

==========================
The Long Commute

Inbound and outbound,
we navigate on auto-pilot.
We stop and start,
lost in our own rolling clouds
of perception and perspiration.

The scenery and seasons
often seem so much the same
that whole lifetimes
begin to blend together.

And as we drop our coins
in the toll booth basket
at the gates of breath,
we move back and forth
in space and time
between God and
what else is there?

============================

© David L. White

Just a dream

===========================================

I just had a dream.
We were all in it and
everyone we know
was there. It was
someone-we-love's
tearful, crazy separation
and ... that was that.

Awake, now I imagine
it is actually
all of us ...
moving on
dying
so,
I thought I'd better
say goodbye.

You never know
when your ...

===========================================

© David L. White


Watch the Parade

================


Watch the Parade

We busily slap mortar
to the bricks of our
very own prison walls
keeping the outsiders out
and the insiders in.

Sing Sing, Attica, Alcatraz,
Christian, Buddhist, Hindu, Sufi,

Sufi's? you mean them Moosleems?
You have got to be kidding.

No, no, no, its just another parade
and the clown's are the way.

Put your trowel down and
sit with me on the porch.
Put your feet up on a brick.
Have a lemonade.
Watch the parade.


=================

© David L. White


The Last Frontier

================



The Last Frontier

The last of the last of the last frontier
stands before you, there in the mirror.
and you will arrive before the rest
the beast to vanquish, beats in your chest.

go quietly there and you will find
a drinking pool deep in mind
and there in quiet, without the fear
sits the last of the last of the last frontier


=================

© David L. White


Just So ... Like this

================

Just So ... Like This


could be
should be
would be .. if ..

or, what was once
or, what may be
or, you tell me
the vigor and vitality
that’s spent in fictionality
when the obvious reality is
just so .. like this

it’s all so very simple; see
deducting rationality
the totals are so totally
just so ... like this

simpler yet, the way to live
not ‘just’ as in diminutive
nor ‘like’, as in derivative


just so ... like this


=================


© David L. White

Dump Teddy

==================


Dump Teddy

If you were naming a poem for a bear
that you had personally gotten there
back when you were ten or so
three hundred ninety-six months ago

then a fuzzy poem with that much taste
wouldn’t be titled Solid Waste
or something certainly plain as Bill
the name’s Dump Teddy; not Land Phil



© David L. White 1997

Under Painting

=====================

Under Painting

How to tell a tiny tale
or water paint an oily whale
eat an elephant, build an ark,
grow some hops and tap a dark.

It’s dig and saw and chew by chew,
there’s no more sleep
the whole night through

It all began way back was
and it’s now and here
we push the fuzz, the
dust, the lint, and does it matter
if you did or didn’t?

and ...

===========

© David L. White

Amarilla

====================

A couple young lovers from Amarillo
in a bright yellow Beetle she says is her baby
drove it all the way to this garage
into the sun all the way into the
blue white hot depths of forever

They pulled in in a cloud of hot stinking
metal smoke that brings tears to your eyes
and they don't have a nickle, a dime or a ride.

Only now we discover that those Texas plates
do not indicate that they've been north here
six months already, have jobs, a place ...
just not yet enough friends and network
to handle the daily deal

It had gotten so hot under that bonnet
that everything that could melt
melted to everything that couldn't

And yes, it's a sorry-assed, bone-headed refusal
to look under the hood until too late becomes
the ever present excruciating now that puts them
here ... in this place
what difference does that make?

Six months in new country is not long enough
to grow roots long enough to water whatever life
we need to lead in this God Bless America.

They're still young. They'll get it figured out.
Maybe tomorrow.
====================

© David L. White 2/24/12



Whistler Fishing

=======================


Whistler Fishing

Last Thursday Eileen was
at dance lessons
learning the mans part
while her man was fishing
out past the Mississippi.

Tonight we meet at the
south county funeral parlor
to shove his satin lined kayak
off into deeper water.

Swing your partner
while you may.
Big fish, little fish
all roll away.

=====

© David L. White - 092511

Baby Carrots

Baby Carrots

Poets ... no more make poems
than carpenters make carp
or plumbers make plums.


Poets grace the glossy rack brochures
of the multi-starred hotels
with alphabetical hors d'oeuvers
(anonymously, of course)
Purée for the poets. Purée! Purée!

Poets write the captions under photos
of food over which you drool.
Tempermental as chefs, they whine
until they get it right.

Poets fingers stink of chalk also
from the Blue Plate cafe blackboard
in the pseudo-leather luncheonette
with the stainless steam table chowline
offering grits, groats, and grist for
the serial miller.


All You Care To Eat at Poem's
The Only Road Kill Diner with Carry Out Carrion
Featuring a never-ending fending off a death
with one lifeless forkful at a time.
Chew. Swallow. Smile. It's all you got.

Poets ... no more make poems
than carpenters make carp
or plumbers make plums.

Today's Special
is a wild-caught, lightly braised Carp
marinated in Plum Whine Sauce
with goose-buttered Baby Carrots.



===
© David L. White