The Right of Kings, Thumb Up, Thumb Down

Off with their Heads!

How often,

when talking, telling a tale

explaining a plan

shooting the breeze

have you suddenly seen

the listener’s eyes go blank

the spotlight turns round,

their mind racing off

accelerating, leaving you

in the dust,

of your speech

of your thought?
U = O

You’ve done the same, no?

The Red Queen

shouts “Off with their heads!”

We laugh at lackey cards

cheering Alice’s impertinent rightness.

How often have we seen, or read

(History rankles with examples)

or felt, the worthlessness

of being, in our own tiny ego

at the annihilation of people?

Humans think themselves such royalty

 bosses and captains,

lords and pastors,

 divinely created kings & queens

scions & dictators, generals

ceo, nco’s the latest, armored madmen

& presidents too

cops and criminals

proud bigly gods                                                                          (god/gods we invented)

The holy lords above us cry:

Shoot them!  Bomb them!

Send toy planes and stealth bombers!

Tanks and ships, men and guns!

Destroy their homes!

Flood the fields with devastation

Burn the towns and cities

Kill their children left and right

Leave them without home or hope

Off,  Off, Off with their heads!

Chanting, we humbly comply

All in a marching line

doing their bidding

saluting flags & pledging battle

Little gods ourselves

Forever repeating

“off with their heads”

“off with their heads”

Written after reflection, blanked when excitedly telling a story, my audience of one was elsewhere, my heroes left aimless, and my personal worth shattered before the period at the end of the sentence.  Self-inflicted doubt, but true,  flash back to being in the office,  for a moment the center of attention in the joint conversation, until the boss/king walked into the room, and all the ladies curtsied, the men bowed, closing involuntarily closing their eyes to prevent equality from leaking in.

And that is how it starts.

25 March 2018

Jmf-w

And a humbling humor deflecting the kowtowing to the boss, taking the light off moi:

The Passion of JS Bach

St. John Passion, Carrara marble, 1977, jmf-w

Knowing the Passion We know that Jesus Christ God the Father Mary the mother Mohammed the Prophet Buddha the man A multitude of saints,  martyrs Gods & Heroes Sacred spirits Exist only In and through Us We are them & All that have lived before I, You, We know their voice know the suffering through our own torments  and joys human & divine speak in our voice We taste the fruit sup on bread, wine, water for life We kiss the lips caress  lovers feel pain & pleasure know Lucy is our sister We stand in awe and fear of each other know our limits, push our limits Yet as we grow crops to live we farm  hopes and dreams our right and reason knowledge to make our  future define our  past no need to or be killed  by or for a god and heavenly treasure after we die All we are/need is someone to love them/us to care for a society kind and good giving/taking sharing fare fair loving,  nurturing children mother/father gods ourselves this is a prayer the prayer the prophecy the present the past the future Us Pray for us, as us, with us, be us Act Us ©james m. frase-white 1/22/18  - 3/6/18

This Morning I witness

Sunrise, 15 February 2018                                                          

This morning I witness

the sun pouring through my window,

the view across the mountains

of

Nouveau  lever du soleil,  jmf-w 1997, Private Collection

valleys, a dance of white/blue snow

hazy mists arising, as earth is waking up

bless the sun who wakes us

warms us, bless the earth

rotating in her seasons

the moon dancing in her phases

the universe of stars and planets

unhidden in the night

as long as we nurture

this grace

we have no

need of gods of myths

of magic, or of man

shades of self-important vanity

the stories poetry

as long as we nurture

this beautiful gift of life

of earth, sun, moon and stars

of plants, and animals

of creatures crawling, swimming

flying, walking grace

always the gift of moonshine

the sunbeam on our face

of rains, and winds and savage earth

we shall be granted grace

to live in peace and harmony

each one a giving god, in our rightful place

                                                                                                                ©Jmf-w today

Flaming Passions

The Patriarchy will Be Over                                            

Prayer Meeting on the Golf Course,
For New Freshmen, Asbury College, 1965
(Sketch, 2/3/2018 at 5 am)

                                                                                  

When I see

The nuns throwing off their habits

The Priests breaking crosiers over their knees

The Imam forced from the pulpit

Women ripping off veils, and headscarves

Women storming the pulpits

And pulling evangelists from their accusatory thrones

Beating their bibles into the story books they are

The tales the tales so grimly told

And preachers with tails between their legs

Kings uncrowned

And dictators laughed off stage

Politicians listening to all people

Joining their humanity

Schooling together

Teaching the history of progress

Not of killing and wars

No joy in found in killing

The stranger we do not know

But knowing the stranger

So we are no more

living

in the victory of kindness

Soldiers throw down their guns

And refuse to kill

The fearful unafraid

Weapons melted into plows

Trombones and trumpets

The planes employed for cargoes of good

And the view the splendor of the earth we love

And care for

And each person

Happy to be who they are

The color they are

The background they have

But one, one, one

Holding hands, and laughing

Singing Freedom, freedom, free   

You, whoever you are,

And me  

Holiday Wishes 2017, Ground Hog Day 2018

©James M. Frase-White 2018             

Flush

Elizabeth, let me count

Because you make me laugh

a humor that comes from your full self

the belly rings, the mind dizzles

the heart sing a—ling-a-lings

Because once you held me in your arms

when I was troubled, sorrow

ripping my heart

my friend had jumped off the edge of the earth

trapeezed to the arms of death

your comfort

nestled me into the warm arms of life

Because you have known me all my life

and I have never been afraid of you

love your force your wit, your directness

which scares other people away

attuned to convention

the absurd, the obvious

I love you for your reverence

no, not just for your lord, but for what goes

beyond the imaginary and touches

the heart of the real

I love you for I have known you

Since your birth, even when no more than

a few, non-essential sentences have

passed our lips, caressing each other

with the familiarity of blood, of kin

you did not hate me when others did

struggling with the battle of self

How many ways?

So numerous, so many

so many people

for whom I count for

the salvation  of libing

who bring succor to quench

How we love some folk

we do not know

because their music

their voice

their actions, their words

touch the fiber of existence

who farm the fertile soil

of our lives

 I love you thee for substance

for food grew made bought

draughts of sweet tea

champagne, to celebrate

the beauty of life

the passing of life

the honor of being

among the living, the giving

(not the taking)

Of life

How, o, how, sweet Elizabeth

We love thee                         

n  22 January 2018    j.m. frase-white

Thank you E.B. Browning and Parker Stone for interrupting my teenage life, taking me to Wimpole Street

in a strange little town , on the banks of the Choptank, meeting a dog named Flush

[and a special dedication to Sondra Layton, (now Leinweber),  Elizabeth to my Robert]
Note:  the photograph is from Metro-Golden Mayer's film, starring Jennifer Jones as Elizabeth in "The Barretts of Wimpole Street", and an unnamed springer spaniel as Flush

Sunday

Four AM

Across the river, over the village

Clouds have drawn a blanket

Silencing starlight

So quiet, pockets of white snow

tented under street lights, porch lights

(children flashlight reading undercovers)

Silent night

Even the occasional vehicle

Soundless fireflies

Disappearing into the black

The world, capable, every night

Of peace

around this great globe

Somewhere it is noon, evening

4 in the afternoon

Somewhere someone is going

Echoing or going beyond/beneath my knowledge

I recall those years

The clock roostering the 4 o’clock morn

Aroused readying for work

To break the night’s fast

For a town by the sea

Or the long drive

To study the thoughts of children

Other nights to caress with eyes

your lover’s prone figure

Asleep, comforted by

the warmth of that body near

that being that loves you

In another room, so quiet

The soft breath of your loved ones

Or the purr, or sniffle, the snore of a furry beast

And in the warm months, the exotic

Always exotic melody of birdsong

Or the howl or scream

Of night creatures

The erotic coyote

The victorious fox

The hoot of the owl

The snore of the neighbor

In the apartment next door

How precious is life at 4 am

Our blessings to count

When not cowered in fear

The shiver of a muted jet

The silence of a drone

true threat, or pious paranoia

The night knows that

As the world can slumber together

And go about the produce of the day

To plant, to grow

To bake and cook

To sip and laugh

At 4 am we are whole

United by the nation of sleep

4:32 am January 21, 2018

Witness Forty

Bright Blue of Young Stars, Watercolor, 1979 or 1980 (Pittsburgh, PA) 

I witness, outside myself

 You laughing

the room lighting up

the moment I first saw you

across the room

Sporting in Boston

lifting a glass

your hair African wild

I witnessed a beauty

desire, in April

In a summer outdoor cafe

sitting w/my poet friend

you walked by laughing with your friends

I witnessed myself, out of my body

walking too, knowing I wanted

to walk with you the rest of my life

On Christmas night

I witnessed a miracle

you, walking into playland bar

under a garland of white starry lights

surprised, recalling your name

a walking gift, under the ribbons

of light on the boston common

you came home with me

40 years ago it was

now, home in our Vermont

I am witness to a happy life

always surprised that it is mine

bearing witness to the love

 that is You. 

                                                                                     

Happy Anniversary, my Chuck 2018

Lotus of Compassion, a  gift window for Chuck, 2018