Kyle White: Favorites

Nov 2015 Kyle White

hollowings

I originally wrote "its funny" as the first line
however I dont think
its funny
I started liking you far too long ago
and I got stuck on the Argo sailing
in sorrow under the statue of Rhodes.
I started writing a poem a day
just to impress you and I realized that
i only ever impressed myself

You like our car side conversations
maybe because I keep good company
or maybe because you were actually interested
in the hopelessness that
I am.
I start to make you a black hole
and I am past the event horizon.
Sunlight only escapes through my words.
My open lips meet your parted sentences
cut short by the warmth of human breath.

I made you into poetry
but I should have followed my sisters advice
and not smashed you into my poetry books
I should not have swirled the words of your
glassy blue eyes into golden threads
binding ancient books.
Thats where I went wrong.
I cared to much.
Our path wasnt a lambda where two paths meet to make one
we were an x
bold on the page but
only crossing for a mere moment.

I dont regret any of it. I just wish
you knew that I meant all of it.
Pretty poems
and movies on weeknights.

Masquerades hiding our feelings.
I never even asked where you stood.
What your mask meant.
What it was hiding.
I showed up to the ball dressed like art
and you were cinderella
waiting for her prince charming.
I shatter glass slippers.
and arrange the fresh fragments into
an ugly spectacle
of futility.

We are schrodingers cat
locked in a box.
Im just afraid that I am pandora
and that the hope of us died
when I observed the radioactivity within.
Cancer cells on skin
you called them cute moles.

I guess I kinda just wanted you to be mine,
and I always knew
that
Good guys
stay stuck at home
watching star wars box trilogies.
Dreaming of their Leia.
Id rather be George Lucas. I think.

This stopped making sense to me the moment
That I decided to make it about you
so Im going to end it

here.

SRS

#love

Nov 2015 Kyle White

I am mourning the sky, the rains are coming and I think she is weeping for me, too

Nov 2015 Kyle White

Georgia Marginson-Swart

I am mourning the sky, the rains are coming and I think she is weeping for me, too

The sky must be so lonely
that Sun, all he wants is something
that can burn as bright and brilliant
as him, without wasting away,
and being smothered by his flames,

Passion is a vicious killer

And that Moon, her gentle nature
eclipsed by a cold light, harsh and stark
in the inky dark of night
She wants an embrace that won't
freeze and fade and leave more craters,

Love can be a cruel and cold thing

Those stars, they will burn out someday
and in their bright and fleeting life
they ask for a lasting love,
and to be seen as more than just dust
Suspended by air and longing

To be so clustered yet still so alone, the pain of it

The sky is so vast and unending
We forget it can be seen
as empty, too

#love #sad #pain #sky #longing

Nov 2015 Kyle White

the start of the month

Nov 2015 Kyle White

Sea

the start of the month

October ends graceless,
blackout drunk,
singing goodbye in lucid tongues

the season Goddess
greets her favored
November
with a swift kiss

and the leaves begin to drop
to their knees
and beg and plead:
let November
bring us inner peace

Oct 2015 Kyle White

Barnacles and Rip Tides

Oct 2015 Kyle White

Denel Kessler

Barnacles and Rip Tides

Barnacles begin their lives as free-swimming larvae, ebbing and flowing with the tide.
Most are eaten, some wash ashore, a few survive long enough to attach
with freakishly strong glue their minute larvae heads to a final rock- strewn home.
There they spend the rest of their lives with feathery feet poking out of a hardened shell, filtering the sea for whatever happens to come within reach.

Why the barnacle starts out free
and ends up bonded to some god-forsaken rock
to alternately dry out and be fed at the whim of the tide
is just one of life's many small mysteries.

While barnacles are meant to lead a primarily static life
human beings are not.
We are meant to flow
to settle and ground, uproot and travel
to seek
to speak well and listen better
to find meaningful answers.

We always have the choice to let go
of whatever safe, high ground we're frantically clinging to
though it will mean not knowing where we'll ultimately wash ashore.

Letting go can feel like being caught in a rip current.
What I know about rip currents:
They pluck hapless beachgoers from shore and pull them out to the ocean deep.
If you're caught in one and try swimming back to blessed land
you won't make any headway.
Eventually you'll grow tired and drown.

The only way to survive is to stroke like mad
in a totally counterintuitive direction
parallel to the solid ground you desperately want to reach
until you're out of the narrow river ******* you out to sea.

I've decided to unglue my little larvae head
from its rocky, self-imposed, falsely-safe perch.
Let the current carry me where my feet no longer touch the known.

It's up to me to swim in the right direction until I'm free.

Not sure this is technically a poem. Spoken word?

#lettinggo #attachment

Oct 2015 Kyle White

The Civil War

Oct 2015 Kyle White

Anne Sexton

The Civil War

I am torn in two
but I will conquer myself.
I will dig up the pride.
I will take scissors
and cut out the beggar.
I will take a crowbar
and pry out the broken
pieces of God in me.
Just like a jigsaw puzzle,
I will put Him together again
with the patience of a chess player.

How many pieces?

It feels like thousands,
God dressed up like a *****
in a slime of green algae.
God dressed up like an old man
staggering out of His shoes.
God dressed up like a child,
all naked,
even without skin,
soft as an avocado when you peel it.
And others, others, others.

But I will conquer them all
and build a whole nation of God
in me - but united,
build a new soul,
dress it with skin
and then put on my shirt
and sing an anthem,
a song of myself.

Oct 2015 Kyle White

The Last Poem For You

Oct 2015 Kyle White

Maxwell

The Last Poem For You

From sleepless nights to blissful dreams,
A drastic change from chaos to peace.
From your departure, I was hurt,
But now from sadness, I divert.

Like a dart hits a bullseye's iris,
Your presence, that's how I miss.
With this paper and pen,
I admit, I think of you now and then.

But you are my life's fraudulent scheme,
Water rapidly flowing in the stream.
You've already passed and gone away
Like my love for you has died away.

A half-remembered dream,
It is you, as it may seem.
A dream as sublime as a flower garden,
But a dream that will soon be forgotten.

This is my last poem for you.

#love #dream #broken #sad #happy #hurt #thoughts #forget #you #bliss