The White Whisper

[William Garza]

Soon
The White Whisper will be heard on the Camino
Omicient and racial memory hidden in the deeps of DNA

the world will feel once again
Cold.

The cadence slows and the tree knows the suchness of life so dearly that leaves bloom of blood and sun and finally of earth.

They flee the wrath, those born of ancient beyond ancient...for they too remember cold and turn to warmer climes

Soon
The White Whisper will draw upon glass..the spread language of the old hand etching
Winds..soon retching forth horefrost, rhyme and ice

The trees scream out in ectacy and die the little death and only we know of their passing in long winter walks..and their fingers reach toward a cold heaven

Bones rattle in the wind
Remember me.....

Strangers music..flute,whistle and highland pipes are calling,strange to those who flee the poems.

Strangers huddle close over tiny fires against the continental cold-closer than friends and world weary
A thousands year stare between them

Love
Is painfull
Pain-filled
Its cold forbidding..forbidden and to be met with trepedation,sedation and innoculation
No warm whispers here between the lines
Its cold and travelers pay a heavy fine
Pierced in soul and sole
Stigmata to be bourne in silence

Love is pain and rain and indelible stain
Pilgrim drags his foot against the habit of warmth and light and hearthstone.

But he looks into the cold solace
West..

Is not south
It is west

The White Whispers and he listens to the poetry
A pocket full of rot in his head...it takes the leaves and earthen wet
And from cold fertility springs the step
A walk among the old things,primal things.

Winters Pilgrim
Whatever draws you to lonely road and uncertain rest
A certain flocking to the test

May you meet the rising road with joy and soulfull rest.

 

[Harington]

spellcheck, perhaps?

 

[t2andreo]

Dude! The book, the book... WHEN will be see the book?

 

[Former member 49149]

Soon
The White Whisper will be heard on the Camino
Omicient and racial memory hidden in the deeps of DNA

the world will feel once again
Cold.

The cadence slows and the tree knows the suchness of life so dearly that leaves bloom of blood and sun and finally of earth.

They flee the wrath, those born of ancient beyond ancient...for they too remember cold and turn to warmer climes

Soon
The White Whisper will draw upon glass..the spread language of the old hand etching
Winds..soon retching forth horefrost, rhyme and ice

The trees scream out in ectacy and die the little death and only we know of their passing in long winter walks..and their fingers reach toward a cold heaven

Bones rattle in the wind
Remember me.....

Strangers music..flute,whistle and highland pipes are calling,strange to those who flee the poems.

Strangers huddle close over tiny fires against the continental cold-closer than friends and world weary
A thousands year stare between them

Love
Is painfull
Pain-filled
Its cold forbidding..forbidden and to be met with trepedation,sedation and innoculation
No warm whispers here between the lines
Its cold and travelers pay a heavy fine
Pierced in soul and sole
Stigmata to be bourne in silence

Love is pain and rain and indelible stain
Pilgrim drags his foot against the habit of warmth and light and hearthstone.

But he looks into the cold solace
West..

Is not south
It is west

The White Whispers and he listens to the poetry
A pocket full of rot in his head...it takes the leaves and earthen wet
And from cold fertility springs the step
A walk among the old things,primal things.

Winters Pilgrim
Whatever draws you to lonely road and uncertain rest
A certain flocking to the test

May you meet the rising road with joy and soulfull rest.

Dear poet, thank you. Just plain thank you.

 

[William Garza]

spellcheck, perhaps?[/QUOTE
perhaps i should stop writing then.

 

[Former member 49149]

No! Please do not stop. When i was working with people in second chance learning they used to refer to collar and tie people as people who knew how to spell everything! i used to say: there is no spelling test for entrance into heaven... or wherever you fancy going yourself!

 

[SabsP]

No William please keep on posting! I for one like your entries very much.

 

[Peter Fransiscus]

spellcheck, perhaps?

Sorry , what you have to do is Wash your mouth .

 

[Peter Fransiscus]

Don't stop please , let @Harington be

 

[WalkingJane]

Soon
The White Whisper will be heard on the Camino
Omicient and racial memory hidden in the deeps of DNA

the world will feel once again
Cold.

The cadence slows and the tree knows the suchness of life so dearly that leaves bloom of blood and sun and finally of earth.

They flee the wrath, those born of ancient beyond ancient...for they too remember cold and turn to warmer climes

Soon
The White Whisper will draw upon glass..the spread language of the old hand etching
Winds..soon retching forth horefrost, rhyme and ice

The trees scream out in ectacy and die the little death and only we know of their passing in long winter walks..and their fingers reach toward a cold heaven

Bones rattle in the wind
Remember me.....

Strangers music..flute,whistle and highland pipes are calling,strange to those who flee the poems.

Strangers huddle close over tiny fires against the continental cold-closer than friends and world weary
A thousands year stare between them

Love
Is painfull
Pain-filled
Its cold forbidding..forbidden and to be met with trepedation,sedation and innoculation
No warm whispers here between the lines
Its cold and travelers pay a heavy fine
Pierced in soul and sole
Stigmata to be bourne in silence

Love is pain and rain and indelible stain
Pilgrim drags his foot against the habit of warmth and light and hearthstone.

But he looks into the cold solace
West..

Is not south
It is west

The White Whispers and he listens to the poetry
A pocket full of rot in his head...it takes the leaves and earthen wet
And from cold fertility springs the step
A walk among the old things,primal things.

Winters Pilgrim
Whatever draws you to lonely road and uncertain rest
A certain flocking to the test

May you meet the rising road with joy and soulfull rest.

Thank you! No other words suffice.

 

[malingerer]

think this is a lovely piece of work. Perhaps its the Celt in me but it certainly resonates as if I knew the theme from some time ago. Thank you.

The malingerer

 

[William Garza]

I appreciate the feedback.
I dont believe Harington meant any harm.

My writing is far from conventional and i will mangle the syntax,punctuation and general rules with happy abandon as long as i can get the idea across,

Spellcheck...i dont use it because it will mess with my word flow as i write stream if concious.Apple is THE worst for this.
My muse works best when i am very tired and at the same time my eyes grow blurry..i too dislike mispelled words..i hate autospell stopping my flow worse,

No harm done and no offence taken over a gentle suggestion!

I will continue to mangle the spoken word for my ends!

I could not..should not stop writing...if 8 neglect a gift it will be taken ruthlessly away and never to return.

Its all music
Language
Poetry
Spoken words
Intrumental,..the lyrical inflections,declensions and other intonations

Poetry for me is putting what i see..expressing the totality of emotions and physicality into words

The best poetry is honest dialog between friends.

 

[Former member 49149]

I appreciate the feedback.
I dont believe Harington meant any harm.

My writing is far from conventional and i will mangle the syntax,punctuation and general rules with happy abandon as long as i can get the idea across,

Spellcheck...i dont use it because it will mess with my word flow as i write stream if concious.Apple is THE worst for this.
My muse works best when i am very tired and at the same time my eyes grow blurry..i too dislike mispelled words..i hate autospell stopping my flow worse,

No harm done and no offence taken over a gentle suggestion!

I will continue to mangle the spoken word for my ends!

I could not..should not stop writing...if 8 neglect a gift it will be taken ruthlessly away and never to return.

Its all music
Language
Poetry
Spoken words
Intrumental,..the lyrical inflections,declensions and other intonations

Poetry for me is putting what i see..expressing the totality of emotions and physicality into words

The best poetry is honest dialog between friends.

and the best line... the last one.

 

[William Garza]

think this is a lovely piece of work. Perhaps its the Celt in me but it certainly resonates as if I knew the theme from some time ago. Thank you.

The malingerer

My roads have always led to the high cold places..isolation and a certain quality...quantity of lonelyness.

Where the winds blow unimpeded by mans devizes
You can hear your heartbeat..when you sleep your body moves to it
Where i can see the milky way and know now if i lay my head in line it will land in Santiago.

Where bagpipes make sense of and the landscape..where the bhodhran plays
Where black sands saw voyagers go a Vik...

Where raindrops green the grass
Fado
Saudade
Mangata we have seen as fellow pilgrims

Where we learn to be still.
Is there enlightenment there?
Go there then come back to answer me.
Peace

 

[Isca-camigo]

✓William Garza
X empty comment

 

[Deleted member 73526]

✓William Garza
X empty comment

I thought the empty comment showed promise. Please let's not discourage him.

 

[Jeff Crawley]

I appreciate the feedback.
I dont believe Harington meant any harm.

My writing is far from conventional and i will mangle the syntax,punctuation and general rules with happy abandon as long as i can get the idea across,

Spellcheck...i dont use it because it will mess with my word flow as i write stream if concious.Apple is THE worst for this.
My muse works best when i am very tired and at the same time my eyes grow blurry..i too dislike mispelled words..i hate autospell stopping my flow worse,

No harm done and no offence taken over a gentle suggestion!

I will continue to mangle the spoken word for my ends!

I could not..should not stop writing...if 8 neglect a gift it will be taken ruthlessly away and never to return.

Its all music
Language
Poetry
Spoken words
Intrumental,..the lyrical inflections,declensions and other intonations

Poetry for me is putting what i see..expressing the totality of emotions and physicality into words

The best poetry is honest dialog between friends.

I can understand your dislike of spellcheckers but correct punctuation and spaces are always worth consideration.

unless youre ee cummings of course

 

[Jeff Crawley]

Soon
The White Whisper will be heard on the Camino
Omicient and racial memory hidden in the deeps of DNA

the world will feel once again
Cold.

The cadence slows and the tree knows the suchness of life so dearly that leaves bloom of blood and sun and finally of earth.

They flee the wrath, those born of ancient beyond ancient...for they too remember cold and turn to warmer climes

Soon
The White Whisper will draw upon glass..the spread language of the old hand etching
Winds..soon retching forth horefrost, rhyme and ice

The trees scream out in ectacy and die the little death and only we know of their passing in long winter walks..and their fingers reach toward a cold heaven

Bones rattle in the wind
Remember me.....

Strangers music..flute,whistle and highland pipes are calling,strange to those who flee the poems.

Strangers huddle close over tiny fires against the continental cold-closer than friends and world weary
A thousands year stare between them

Love
Is painfull
Pain-filled
Its cold forbidding..forbidden and to be met with trepedation,sedation and innoculation
No warm whispers here between the lines
Its cold and travelers pay a heavy fine
Pierced in soul and sole
Stigmata to be bourne in silence

Love is pain and rain and indelible stain
Pilgrim drags his foot against the habit of warmth and light and hearthstone.

But he looks into the cold solace
West..

Is not south
It is west

The White Whispers and he listens to the poetry
A pocket full of rot in his head...it takes the leaves and earthen wet
And from cold fertility springs the step
A walk among the old things,primal things.

Winters Pilgrim
Whatever draws you to lonely road and uncertain rest
A certain flocking to the test

May you meet the rising road with joy and soulfull rest.

"Is not south
It is west "
Except, of course, when you are on the CP or VdlP in which case "It is north" but that's just me being pedantic.

 

[William Garza]

My mangling of the english language is purely and deidedly intentional..as are many punctuation"mistakes"
It is free form poetry...to be read as such and taken at face value.

Here in the states correcting others language and punctuation is considered bad form.

I think written language is an art form never to be limited nor constrained by mere formalities.

 

[Jeff Crawley]

My mangling of the english language is purely and deidedly intentional..as are many punctuation"mistakes"
It is free form poetry...to be read as such and taken at face value.

Here in the states correcting others language and punctuation is considered bad form.

I think written language is an art form never to be limited nor constrained by mere formalities.

Oh I see, having posted as I did I was then a little concerned in case you might be dyslexic (like my younger daughter).

 

[William Garza]

Nah, no harm done ")

 

[lindigo]

Keep it up William, it's lovely. Thanks.

 

[Kiwi-family]

@William Garza I like your poetry and admire your gracious humility even more

 

[William Garza]

If Ivar didnt have this forum? I wouldnt have an outlet for my wanderings and machinations for my imagination.
And
Your travels and adventures spark my memories of my own meanderings and feelings when out "there"

 

[yaying]

eh, stop what? even at its correct spelling they may have different meaning.

in philippines 'salvage' is totally brutal one