song for my King

I am blond and he is handsome
May the kingdom of heaven be our gift;
Before he hailed me, my heart was broken
and loved by the Prince who died
on the cross for me;

Inside this White cloister and under
this patient space of ivory arches
where my novitiate’s hours are spent
here is where I weave my happiness
I say my prayers without sorrow

Under this closed sky of early winter.
I sleep a sleep that is attentive only
to God. Inside this alabaster cloister
I am a peace-filled and hopeless nun
traveling with God by desire, waiting
for angels to draw another chaste evening

I am blond and he is handsome
I dream of his whispers, greedy and
hear his soft humming against my flesh
Blue, dark, transparent, I am
caught inside the depths of greedy
whispers, and soon someday he will be
beside me, over me, inside me
his longing has no end, his mouth
speaks lover’s words, he has no
time for prayers or begging;

He will open a scar in me, a stigmata
I will be filled and full of miracles
blasting through the sharded skies
of his love, falling into the living water
of his kiss, I cry out for caresses that
satisfy every longing and blinding joy

©Ionwhite

Saint Elizabeth working for the poor, circa 1920 by Marianne Stokes :: The  Collection :: Art Gallery NSW

face to face

I was walking the road to destiny
I walked towards a flood of love
I was walking the path of healing;
I met my love as he waited in the
morning mist, Edelweiss bouquet
in hand, petals drying beneath the sun

I was walking the high road to him
the Angelus ringing out from the chapel
bell tower below, I was walking with
a light step, feverish dreams reaching
inside my aching heart as I walk
I am the rolling hull, I am the wild
oat in his field the perfect product
of his cultivating, I am a furtive joy
and a smile, my soul breaks through
all darkness, even the darkness of
his love’s great light, I am pale
sunset of sighs and hard memories,

I am his misty future and vain
repentance, his painful sunrise of
glorious love, of worry, of weariness
begging for leniency

He is an outlaw, his word is my beatitude,
inside his love I keep vigil, I am the high
beacon of shattered strength, I am his oar to
shore, I am sulky of his disdainful
desires, yet my kisses carry the bite
of utter submission, I am the ancient
rock, the spirit of reincarnated ancestors
I am the eyes of the life beyond, I am
faithful to his most absolute demand

©Ionwhite

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First time, first god

Forgetting that time ends
in all things, and even new
beginnings become stagnant,
she wished to see for the first
time the oceans inside his
eyes stop for a moment
in her waters..

there are virgins who must always
be near their god, and who when
crossing each of his thresholds,
make a wish instead of penance;

as love can come full season, she
lights candles to keep dead watch
over her wandering god and overcome
with emotion, she throws open the door
peering out to the distance, a new
god coming in on tonight’s storm
she guesses and hopes, lifting up her
arms, palms open to catch the
sunset songbird singing over every
wound on this earth.

©Ionwhite

…swastikas of peace

If anyone hears me, if
anyone is listening, my
tears have dried, if someone
accepts me as I am,
if there is any love left,
if our soldiers become
prayers, if the warring
trumpets fall silent, if your
tears for my king are
benediction..
if there is any love left,
if a single word were enough,
if my voice carries consolation,
if my love knew how to console
if our hands entwined lift up
bearing swastikas of peace,

if death were silent
and life sacred, I would
no longer be alone…

©Ionwhite

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