…everyday life in the future

Deliverance is music and splendor
We go beyond the chaos
We open up to other innocences

Our desires live inside
inaccesible gardens where the trees
have no root, where the plants
sing of freedom and infinity fringes
the latticed flowers on the gate,
open to all pollen, bittersweet with
the flavors of distant fruits

we’ve circled one another for so long
hesitant, reticent, waiting for all
defenses to fall, the hunger in us
grows through tomorrow like a vine
strangling fear; we are for each other
no strangers to ritual; our candles
and memories are omens, our longing
becoming prayer…

we barely speak this language of love;
that improbable existence of luminous
joy is not for him, the philosopher, nor
for me, his poet, we offer to others what
we deny ourselves while dreaming
for too long, defenses one by one burning
from the center of Self reaching
for the horizon, our hearts embracing
before the suffering Light,
our hearts bathed and washed in
waters of love’s benediction; placed
along shores where the fires ravage
our fierce dreams, inaugerating that
which is not yet in us

©Ionwhite

odalisque

Groping, you chose me to be the statue of
all allegory, just by the habit of immersing
myself in your sea at the end of the world;
I lose my head beneath your bare stare and
with each step I become glass to be ground

By chance were I not your favorite lover,
the one who advances sans hesitation to
nestle inside the hatch of your hand just
as it snaps shut, were I not your favorite
lover who bites to sip the venom from
your wounded heart would your palm open?

Oh tie me down so that I do not go
away every time I hear your thieves song,
singing at the expense of day, I confuse sand
and snow, wolves and shadows, your hand
on my shoulder, and it’s too late to turn back
to set my hours by the sun, now you have
marked me with your secret alphabet, and
now I belong to the tribe of those who dwell
inside the radiant darkness of those who look
their best with eyes closed, lying alongside
the edges of all abyss, languid to watch
ravens fly away, never to return before the
Dove of the oblivious moon

©Ionwhite

Reproduction d'Art: Odilon Redon "La Naissance de Vénus" 30 x 70 ...

tsunami

As a Light that always goes
In front, if I take you by the
hand, will everything be suddenly
simpler? The people, nicer, their
wordy evils turned to hardened lava
under their tongues, yes, as everything
is done by the hand.. take my hand
under this lamplight of love,

as from the black clouds, rubies and gems
pour out , as from my eyes your bottomless
sorrows fall into me; without your face before
me, as beneath each darkness of my eyelashes,
gardens bloom from blood rains pouring
down around my booted soul,

my love, what does a bubble
in the ocean know about the sea?
what does a handful of sand know
about the desert? Books are destroyed,
statues pulled down, banned
poems break like glass ..what would
even a child learn from all of this desolation?

I just want to be as a child for you,
as a Light that always goes
in front, I will take you by the hand
until we are both transparently, light
as light as places that have no names
in being, as essence as far from evil
just so you can stop and wait for me.

©Ionwhite

radiant prisoner

I belong to the tribe of those
who dwell in radiant darklight dawn,
Nights and days with eyes open
under the unbearable blinking
of the sun, watching
for signals in the sky,

The shadows of a dozen
dazzling eclipses on the face of time,
the whitelit thunderings from God
raging against a painted planet’s eyelashes

I’m on fire, I am reduced to ashes
The blooded bird takes her flight
disappearing inside a skylit ring
worn on the hand that paints the soft
grains in between light and darkness:
I live inside the eyes of a world
the eyes of a world where a man
takes no prisoners when he dreams.

© Ionwhite

Her train of Stars

Jeanne D’Arc

The demon of mockery
dragged you into the dust
to defile the noblest
image of humanity.

The spirit of this world
is eternally at war with
all that is beautiful
all that is good and great:
it does not believe in God
or in celestial spirits,
it wants to steal from the
heart all its treasures,
as it destroys all beliefs
by attacking all illusions.

But poetry, of humble birth
like you, is also
a pious shepherdess;
She covers you with all
the privileges of her divinity,
she surrounds you with
a procession of stars, and
spreads her glory around you …

O you that God’s heart made
you will live immortal!

The world likes to obscure
everything that shines,
to cover everything
that rises with it’s mire.
But fear nothing!

There are still good hearts
which quiver with sublime
and generous actions;
Momus delights the multitude,
a noble spirit cherishes
only noble things.

©Ionwhite

 

We Are All Made of Stars

My heart was tired of finding no one,
My eyes were tired of being disappointed.

One night, I wandered, thoughtful and dreaming
through sleeping plains; in the distance, snowfalling
on red horizons before the growing dawn,

In the shadows, I was slowly stripping away
memories of my loves, and when I was done,
I looked behind at what remained when
suddenly, I saw Him, calmly and serenely
walking slowly, weariness enveloping Him

I saw Him.. He came to me.. reaching out
His arms, hugging me; His eyes closed as if
to see further than reality, He spoke to beg me
“Let me see your blue eyes in the night”

Silver stars rose from the earth …
They say there are skies under which no
man can live, but I never saw them when
He smiled, He loved the azure of my eyes,
and nothing in the world was ever more
intense than this.

©Ionwhite

the mother of lost souls

Dead wings, dead wings, to fall
is to be reborn out of bright
solitude and dropped into the sea
The memory of the earth is a weight
of waves and islands; in my blood and
in my bones, the weight of my
incarnations is stronger than my will
to be unique, it breaks me, destroys me
reminding me always of my place.

I am the mother of lost souls and
prisoner to my faults, my beauty and
to my will; transparently walled, my
cells of life delivered by innocent death
spoiled by joy before the open grave
of the earth, the sea and the air and
so docile, docile like a stone, an angel
or a even a star; to fall is to be reborn
drawn into the deepest of deaths
into birth and to life, it is all the same
sleep, a unique grace which bends the
paths of heaven to the curve of the earth;
Even my highest desire is subservient
to the peace of love which governs
storms, wars and the birth of wings

©Ionwhite

Image result for mikhail vrubel madonna

shadowlands

Since we are already on our way
…traipsing to the shadowlands
marching to the rising flames,
our feet crumbling the gravel;

Since we have set off to fight,
our hearts coaxing The Light
to fill our baskets full of words
carrying the nudity of our souls;
awakening just before daybreak’s
sweet blue hour, we write our
testaments, storing them with
greatest care, these are memories
not of accomplishment but of
our broken promises, our wounded hearts

©Ionwhite

Image result for ethereal aesthetic

Bride to Your Light

In my vision, I saw Nature again, my Lord
I saw Nature at her beginning singing her
song opening up my ears with the sounds
of branches, waters, breezes and bees
And Life everywhere springing from this
brown and green, lush and harsh earth

Nature, I know her eternal trap:
Strong by beauty, humble by silence, She
waits for us to start again and again in
our immense obeying to Your universal goal.

Your indiscernible Love makes a furtive call
“I am Here” and suddenly I’m rounded
by the swarming scent of sweet boxwood and .
everything swells and cracks with a slight noise,
Resin in the sun; The wind, at the top of the trees,
All Nature is of Himself, You, the God, myself the
slight Bride to Your Light, Your hands steady on my
shoulders, this healthy and chaste passion,
My body and soul, a nest to carry the living
Among this whirlwind of seeds and swarms,
Nature need not allow charnel, straying evil
Yet You, great King, add the mixture of acrid
acid lustings among the spring leaven;
the desire for a more divine love
than human delusion can repair

©Ionwhite

Image result for mystical bride of light

Our primitive hours.

Who could decipher this silent night?
her numbered stars brilliant and secret
the monotonous sweetness, her unique color
the vast, absolute borderless hieroglyphical
glow of her, an eternal and mystical monument,

Peaceful night always caught between air and death.
Peaceful night, energy torrents of light flowing
over rocks emanating her cold and sad perfumes
of existence and, us, in our cellared earth, parting
pale and grave, souls of days and their spirits

Our primitive hours serving as distant reminders
to our worried desires so defiant in daylight;
In the day we are pensive even solemn, but it’s
grave and glorious night where the scented spaces
swirl around us, and I want to trace my name
on your white stele and meditate upon you
inside the frozen heart of night.

©Ionwhite

Image result for belle epoque art movement