The Note Pad
Here is where I will post incomplete & evolving
writings. Once completed they will take their
place on the Main Page.
Addendum - 12/26/07 - xx/xx/08
When still in my perch and upon my chest and hat there laid an inch of pristine snow; was my Baptism complete. I was now in Communion with the share of my Self the Earth entrusted to me at birth. The part of me that carries back to before men stood tall. Instinct. I had shed the laws and privilege of Humanity to adopt the original Human. Master hunter. In the crushing silence I found my Demon. Not hidden behind a tree but hidden within me…
I remained in that black perch watching the snow mask everything but the night. Each flake covering my presence.
As I remained in the perch the snow set upon me. Flake by flake slowly stealing away my identity. As if Winter had not consumed enough, each crystal tooth took another bite out of my remaining humanity. Beliefs, expectations, perspective, all sacrificed to the voracious snow. Reducing me even further towards instinct. Not quite Wendigo, not quite. More like absolution. Freed of doubt. Baptized by snow.
hhhmmm, why the crossing out? are the crossing outs to be a poem instead?
Dear White Bear, waiting with patient anticipation to your Next…gail
Gail,
Thank you for coming over here. Mainly because you inspired me to do this page. The crossed out lines are dropped lines. In red means it need more work. I will express a thought several different ways then edit them all to make one line. If the line or paragraph is BOLD then I like it as final.
All the company is gone now so I can focus back on this. Dobry Noc.
yum yum …i do like what you wrote instinctivly first though, white bear…
Gail,
Thanks for the motivation. I also like the original paragraph. There is enough there for several paragraphs. So I’m stretching it out in order to slow the reader down. Give each idea more time to stain the fabric.
interesting idea White Bear….i am a poet first and like to use as few words as possible to reach straight and deep into spirit…no time wasted lol… i like the thought of each idea being given time to stain the fabric though and liken it to a transformative process going on deep inside where i am learning to perhaps slow down and stretch things out…i am wondering what the value in this is, as i can’t say i have much experience…should be an intersting discovery…how powerfull that you writing can be my teacher in this…thank you, have an awesome day, love gail
Gail,
I very much believe that Words are magic. To me each sentence is a path through the woods. Each word a bread crumb. Leading the reader to the front door of a cottage. Compelling them to open the door and walk in. Then stand before the hearth sharing the same space as the writer. Both gazing into the Flame of Understanding. Touching.
BTW, When do we get to see some of your work? Soon hopefully. Thank you much & have a great weekend. Dobry.
one for you White Bear, love gail
Necessary Sacrifice
text of the unconscious
an obvious place to begin
silent place to which we have been assigned
again and again
ink eyes, delicate reaching heart
speaking another language
of surface and depth
the core of all that is enclosed
for us it was a necessary sacrifice
we give you this
nothing else is beautiful
meeting and parting
we have left our world
somewhere still celebrating sunlight
commencing the inevitable tansformative dance
someone is here
open your doors
Gail,
I read this again & again. I search the angles of each word. I (the reader) watch as you place a piece of your Soul on paper. Not as a 2 dimensional painting but a traveling gateway. A timeless gateway facing toward truth & desire. Plus the need, the Must Do, of extracting these fine filaments from within. Glowing with light.
I too have been forced awake at pen-point in the middle of the night to scribe directions to places no one can walk to. Thank you for the delight of your words. I will hang then in a place of Honor for all to see*.
Do you have more of these? Do you write often? You may add them here as much as you want. That’s fine by me! The question I have is, when will you create a blog to perfectly wrap these gifts? That way instead of your work being shuffled into the comment section* it is proudly displayed and easier to find. It would be great to see a “Alexander/dria the Poet” site or “Gail Force Winds” site. Whatever works for you works for us. And I’d like to blogroll you as soon as you start up. If you don’t mind.
Again, Thank you for sharing your words. They are always enjoyed here.
* - I am now placing yours & anyone else who “Posts” poetry, or whatever here in the Court, in a new page called “Guest Stenographers“. That way I can go to one spot to read as much as I want.
good god man…rushing out the door…will have to come back later to finish properly…wheeee! the line that contains “a travelling gateway” has done things inside of me i can’t explain just yet other than to say i am flying and the flight is not in my dreamworld…not to even begin to mention the rest…talk to you soon White Bear…
back this a.m.,your other line ” to scribe directions to places no one can walk to” leaves me wanting to write about this act and or this place…when i get a moment i will write…i do have lots more poems to share…i think a blog would be a nice idea, just need to do it…which i will soon…just crazy busy for the next threee weeks or so…thank you for your appreciation of the writing White Bear…
Dear White Bear, another for your enjoyment, love gail
Tell Her
put your hands over her eyes
and in the darkness she knows for sure
she wants it to be like that
the sudden flight
of a monument falling
in a soft rush
a whisper of grass
peace surrounds her
surely she is happy
hearing you beside her
lift up your head and tell her who you are
one last sharing White Bear and then i will drop back into the background for a while…
i truly believe in the power of self-expression as an in born healer of our Self and our community, to illustrate i will share two poems with you…the first was written during (one of) my dark night of the soul, the other was written not Too Many Years later…oh, and one just for the fun of it!
Survive
in at a door, snuffling
up stairs, pushing her slender
delicate nose into a bed
whimpering, howling
then the body recognizes itself
this was me
before i had breasts
unnatural, all silent like-you know
sculpting out of shadows
her own interior within
in the darkening room
she makes writing motions on my skin
and my friend, friend to friend
we whisper death sightings. Her
breast, your cervix, my throat
i wanted her head in my hands
her taken emptied mouth
whose hush we stood and watched
i said wolves
wolves i said
concentrate the mind
it’s something in the howl
Over The Roundness Of Her Shoulder
feeling tension begin to lift
a physical force through air
two bare strong arms raising the life she did not choose
you are my friend too
she would gulp
her fingers touching her face
oh, flower
but the ladies do, they know
why they cry, old flowers
wearing red hats
so resemble poppies, sacred
flower
a spectacle
they are eaten up by the ground
like petals
the girl
tastes their ashes
still
on her breath
This is quite an interesting page. Allowing your fans to see the evolution of your method in writing is a curious approach. Hmmmmm…
Gail,
I am posting my grateful response on the Guest Stenographers page where these two thought provoking pieces have been displayed. Thank you for them.
Hawk,
It’s an experiment. I do not know how this will be greeted. I have always been amazed by the changes that occur in a written piece before it is complete. I want to publicly track the changes from beginning to end. Kind of Connect-the-Dots poetry. I just thought it might be neat to do. This being my Court I will decide what stays in and what gets written out. Did you ever wonder what the notes to “Do not go gentle into that good night” look like. I do.
And the last two lines of Dylan Thomas or poem are
“…Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”
Yes, I do know what “they” look like - at least on some level!
I think it is a great idea.
BTW, I’m considering the idea of starting a private blog just for men. Topical areas would be “whatever” comes to mind for discussion. You interested?
I’ll send you a separate Email on this where everyone would be a contributor - posts, etc. Just a wild idea I’ve been toying with for a spell. Going to keep the group very small. What are your thoughts, if any.
Hawk,
yes I would be interested. Dobry.
Dear White Bear…was not planning to post you another poem so soon…and then i read your comment on how pain leaves slivers in our spine…very interesting visual on pain and also connected so deeply with a poem i felt compelled to share with you and then chose another instead…i am always blown away by instinct and the deep wisdom it holds…just wish i would listen and follow instructions more often! lol
On This Song Our Daughter
i let it spill from her, some giggle caught
from you, how her spine stoops and curls
sunlight washes over you, over us, okaa-san, nee-san
like the regions of the soul where sacredness
takes hold
sun streamed through
a dozen greenhouse panes
Dear White Bear…bloody hell…i can’t seem to stop sending you things…On This Song Our Daughter is supposed to be read after In Charcoal…so here is the first (sometimes i am convinced i am spritually dyslexic!)
In Charcoal
otoo-san and okaa-san
fall into each other’s frail limbs, listen
i made you suffer too much
little biscuit of flesh to nibble in the night
woman
girl
baby
one day all of this will return
etched in black
dark, delicate as ashes
always known it is coming
i will say it now
in that soft-silted carbon
the burnt flecks of bone no Nikkei can find
shameful riven bodies
or the wild searches afterwards for water
hear yourself quiver-cry
a wild cry, like
i cry out
inside me tonight
and she who reads this
and sleeps beside me
so much i owe you
so much left out….