It was fun, but life has caught up with me. Good luck, all.
Ann WJ White
It was fun, but life has caught up with me. Good luck, all.
Ann WJ White
"I am absolutely going to find you." You left with my bag of books. I had testing tomorrow, and you ran off. I took my shower, washed my hair. I made a snack for both of us. On the table it was all set for you, right next to the hot dogs with relish, I left the book right there. I'm ruminating about this whole thing. I had no idea you would leave me. After all, we were going to study for tomorrow. You're in the same class. Now look, I don't know you picked the book up. Maybe you did it by accident, but it was the only book there. You might have been cleaning up the table. That would have been kind. I'm ruminating about this whole thing. So, I'll go out and pick up the ice cream. My favorite is peppermint creme, and sometime before I get back, I want you to know, that you can put this book back. I'm not a hysterical roommate. But I will say this again... I am absolutely going to find you. I'll be ruminating about this whole thing.
Starscapes Background on Mars is black. Stars bound. Gas sings in sibilant color; Red, yellow, blue, green, purple, orange. A heaven worth of Skittle's. Heaven born rainbows, freed from Earth. Vast and breath catching, frozen in the shade, the universe encapsulates the planets. Comets sling off meteoric tails, Sending the burning to their death, Or tailing them along in the distance. Clouds, quarks, crystals, suns, X-rays and the decay of atomic Nuclei, penetrating gamma rays, Alph waves and beta waves, Cosmic Rays to destroy, electromagnetic radiation must be protected again. Humans cannot stand before it, in their most base form. Someone speaking out about the effects Of Earth's plant and animal life says" "So far we are alone, just us." Perhaps on Mars there were some bacteria, Perhaps RNA and DNA were born in a puddle that dried under the supervision of rays. A moving, living system of forces, That smells like raspberry and tastes like rum. I'm told that life is encouraged to live, here out in the Universe around us. Containing rays at light speed, Gravity to move ships, rocket flight, Shuttles and homes afar, This is my dream: to live, to see.
It's Not a Fair Request Ann WJ White The song reverberates around the soothing sound of music. People nod and hum along, A song of loss, but acceptance. I will not accept. My heart beats with a slide, a murmur, the wall thickens, the prison fights back. The stenosis of my heart bleeds, can't hold the blood, Must be caught out and removed. The only way to survey is not to give into the pain, but to fight it. To growl and mask a face like a wild animal. I can't let niceness win. This is my life. A open heart surgery. A chest opened, without the ability of medication instead. At the moment that the calcium in my valve fixes itself shut like glue, I am dead. I won't celebrate that. My brain fuddles around, killing itself. It takes aim at the immune cells the T and B cells. There is a riot in my brain. If a virus or bacteria scoots in along the white matter, if it remembers the formulation in the DNA. The white blood cells will leapt forming a battle against anything that doesn't belong, even stress. Stranger danger! The brain will attack medications that have similar DNA. I can't sit and listen to a healthy punk tell me how grateful I must be. I fight for every day of my life. I can't be healed with medicines, they can only try to shut it down until the next circus that my body brings forward. It's called Multiple Sclerosis, with a pandemic, virus, stress or germ my brain can be shredded. A puzzle torn, ripped, unfixable. No soft delicate feelings making me nice. I won't die, not by ignorance or foolishness. I'll fight for my life. Then I'll write a song.
A Mysterious Party Ann WJ White The country cottage, surrounded by evening light, is host to the many fireflies, nightbirds and shadowed creatures. The building wears a mask of civility under the languid heat of summer night. Strange voices project from the treeline. Stars hold the brightness near lamps down low, seeking the dancing of the moon and her friends. They share a strange bottle of time. For years, those who wore the mask of mysterious circumstances came under the stars to show their longing. Insects sang with their viols, while they zoomed flirting, telling fables of treasures enchanted world long ago.
The Storm Ann WJ White Shears of wind whinge up and around the ledges of mountains. Atop, cream-filled clouds pass lazily over meadows, gathering, waiting for the sultry heat to arrive and blend currents faster effort. Indeed, bend the currents out of place, heat the cumulous clouds until they are black like vulture wings. Fill them with particles of active humid molecules. Change their molecular structure to more. Create the nimbus blends that crack with future thunder, Bring the Gods to sample the storm. The rain perkily dances in flushing, gushing streams. Enlarging drops, Proving their prowess as missiles against gardens, metal conveyences. Shove them downstream, clashing with boulders. Rebounding the storm. Add the generating of lightning, gesticulating from the clouds as if ringing profanity from above. Change color schemes to violent life, to winds like wild griffins screaming. The bully storm starched in enormity. Hold your bolt high, then release. Threaten from flooded Skys. Now the gale climaxes roaring, as they clash against each other, Building the storm taller, a nimbi-cumulous monstrosity of fear, seeking to sanitize the air of its dry thirst forever. Force the violent expulsions, let your weakness disappear. Bring the cold above. Hail in summer, thrusting tornados, waterfalls created from the sky As the weather reaches out for more and more. Let a rainbow emerge to swiftly calm the madness, with violet to color the shadows, orange to spotlight fires on the ridge. Slow the choppy wind and tame it with hot tears falling upon the hills. Bring cooler water to otters arriving muddy slides amidst the hills. Terror gone from splashes of play. Breath a moment and separate the clouds. Oxygen and carbon dioxide molecules sooth between city streets, Umbrellas can be opened to provide a cool safety as winds calm. Rubber macintoshes sleeve the runoff so that children Can find puddles to splash in like seals, bears, and foxes. The rain sobs, then becomes a memory, flooding only flower pots. Sun breaking through the wind, opening the winds to teasing play. Soon it will vanish into pulses of water running the gutters. The stores will reopen, markets change again to talk and laughter. Bridges will calm, provide a bypass of passage for the ceremony of night, Long since planned against the Summer's reign.
Spring Kigo, Haiki Set Ann WJ White Nesting birds arrive. Singing bright lullabies near, Filling the green trees. Old frogs leap and call, Turning spring dances in air, Waiting for lovers. Spring's optimism Decorates blooming plants and Leaf kaleidoscopes Storms lash out above, Elaborate referees Washing winter away.
Lost and Redemption of a Life Ann WJ White Awakening the morning, waiting for it to rise, I follow a small tortiseshelled cat to her breakfast, carefully apportioned puree of chicken served on a glass dish, glistening. She is the reason for rising, for dancing, for singing a song of the past. For when she has fed, her dreams begin to scatter the dreams I failed to dream. She chases them, rounding them up, toying with them, until I sigh with frustration and join her. There are no appointments, not this time. No eyes to watch, no tasks to be designated to me. Here the clouds fill the sky with tale strong clouds, bright blue sky, and the sun at the right angle to tease the flowers into bloom. We sit, the two of us, talking of birds, frogs and small skinks. The outside walks past us, children riding scooters, Strollers, bikes, and the others in the neighborhood who share patience for time to pass. The phone is silent. The TV ignored. Paints stand near a canvas, looking coy. Books are everywhere, Each shouting an advertisement until one is lifted and the cover opened. Sinking into a soft couch with Cat sitting on my chest, we read together. She purrs. Time passes. The paints trip me when I find a need to rise. It is their turn, and spill out like the flowers in my front bed. An orange is peeled and insanity seeks my attention. A wishy cloud of something takes form. A woods, a water, a story, it spins around. It stands upside down on its canvass, shouting "Try this now, or this, be upside down and see." And I do see, a conglomeration fantasy. The brushes move faster and faster until it is lunch. A simple day, a simple sandwich, hardly a mind set to enjoy it before it is gone. Wandering upstairs, I pause to nap. Seeking the dreams from long ago, the memories pass. Stirring against boredom, Cat bites my eyebrows and sets me back upon my path. Mysteriously, the laundry has vanished. Something is standing outside of time. I take the drugs upon the table, and go out. A camera hangs from a strap as Cat pushes the door shut. So I wander, down to the swampy park, there to find a pair of beaver, small fish frolicking over bits of broken branches, drowned grass, and an old "No Dumping" sign. The heron pause and watch the water, fishing intensively. Crows mock me, small sparrows chirp and clean their nesting spots. I am alone here. This is not reality. My life does not move in smooth lines without contrasts and complications. Never. Walking back, I hear voices calling out for ice cream. I shrug past them. My heart echoes with empty thoughts, but no drive. There is banging coming from inside my house. The parallel emptiness has been invaded with cause. I turn and walk away, quickly, with agitation. But stop, when a dear friend sees me. She is alone, surrounded by time, pandemics, busy children lost to work. It is her smile that captures me, her love, her open life as she moves one foot after another. The chat fills time, and somehow valued by me. I plan a surprise cake. Turning back to my home, the cat has gotten out on the roof. She's howling madly, annoyed that I have forgotten my duty, It is time to feed the cat, again, the same as it all is. Now it is all different. Sound, industry, purring and yowling. Entering the house, my son kneels in the hallway, building a wooden floor as I have always wanted. My daughter is scrubbing bathrooms. My husband has taken his father out to walk, A break from my resentment of the old man. And the phone rings, unmerciful it screams for attention. Stops and begins again. There is an ethereal sense to it, this hounding. This is not right, all out of place, purpose confused. I answer the phone and my life changes. A moment of spinning choice and test results. The voice is brisk, businesslike, full of details. The answers my brain did not want to comprehend at my last appoints. The words burn themselves into my flesh. "We've make a mistake. Your heart is continuing to fight the stenosis that binds you. The surgery will not be needed for another ten or fifteen years. Your neurologist called me and said your Multiple Sclerosis is stable, and well controlled." When I pause in shock and don't respond, he bides me to ask, but my is feeling again with emotions. Tears from, and he bides me get a cool drink. Sit down. Call him back when the questions arise. But I am already pushing my way to my children, explaining, hopefully. Hugs surround me and my husband arrives. "I'm going to live, a good long time." All of the horror that sat in my subnormal has left for others. My husband swings me around and joins the children in celebration. Plans are made, dinner out at a place where lingering and talking is imminent, a movie to follow. Suddenly the fog and distance are gone. My confusion is gone. The Cat smiles in her strange cat fashion and warms my soul.
Perseid's Shower Submission #5 Ann WJ White We laid on our backs. Lake Itasca, the beginning of the Mississippi parkland. A family waiting for the dusk to transmogrify into night full of stars and silence. Waiting for meteors to travel at thirty-five seconds per mile above us. You joked this was the first time you had laid in a gutter, on purpose, that the stars would be hammered into place as the kids giggled. The in-between us settled watching for constellations. The ranger beamed a flashlight and told sky tales, pointed out stars from above. Glowing, she taught us curiosities, sent clear streaks of light back and forth, until we froze motionless; fire, red flaring rocks, burning, streaking past our eyes in clusters of fifty or more, as barred owls called. The cascade gathered Perseus's streak and tales of fame, dissolving into clouds of matter. The Perseids, through black air from a comet Swift Tuttle, flaming along their gaseous tails, burning within our our atmosphere, never landing. A dance of freedom. One hundred meteors an hour, two hours on the ground, warm air, soothing night breezes breathing as small soft snores filled the air, fading into dreams. Hushful waking. We silently gathered blankets, sleepy eyed children, and found our tent.
Do you remember, Wayne? (an epistolary from long ago) Ann WJ White When your kiss lightly touched my lips, you fled the room back to your world? You left me standing, holding my breath. Suddenly, I was aware you were gone for good, before you had even arrived. Leaving me with no past or future to hold, leaving the air, taking your only essence. I tagged along after that. Following others, seeking that air of mystery and hope. I found other kisses. I looked everywhere, but for you. A shadow, but life went on. Distrustful, sharper, watching in the bright sunshine. But, every once I wondered, why did I feel like you held my heart in your hands? Forty-one years later, I saw you. You were listed on Amazon, a published mystery writer, a doctor without an office, still roaming through life, hiding from something. I read the book, but your essence wasn't there. Heard from my sister that you had a band of rock and roll throwbacks. Still in the shadows, but wiser, I'll never look again. You had your mystery, your breath, a moment. I'd rather wander the world, looking at other mysteries, with someone who sees me with joy. I like the dark lit jazz bars and paper umbrellas with the daylight sun. I found a man whose heart I hold, with a kiss, and stayed.