Saturday, July 23, 2022

Musings - 2020


Musings - 2020 by David L White 

As I wonder whether to publish another print poetry book I am leaving these pieces here.  I did put together an ebook (.epub file). Twelve minutes after uploading it to a service, I get a rejection letter. Most of my pieces are already online. Somewhere. And we're not telling where.

I don't have interns. This blog post here, and here, will have to do for now.

Also, I have been moving away from calling my pieces poetry. By using musings, I mean to indicate that even though I appear to be talking to myself, I am not in it alone. The Muses might have indicated, to me, that I might feel better if I took notes.

Thanks for reading along.



Good, good night

the day was enough of a day 

nothing to pack or put away,

explain, define, approve, acquire,

nothing left to wonder till far 

tomorrow, seeming distant.

Slipping between the sheets, the 

temperature perfect, the humidity

A-okay, this old body feels - agreeable.

Stretching a bit to find a place,

every place better than fine, even

more than comfortable.

No aches, pains, worries, concerns,

the breathing ... breathing easily

Sweet dreams soon and …

good, good night

© 2020 David L White





Today I drove the head librarian 

for the seminary back to work. 

We took a slight detour through 

the Garden of Eden. I pointed out 

a few of the perfect trees to him. 

The weather was - you guessed it.

© 2020 David L White





I want to hold you long enough 

that the heat melts the moment

into my circuitboard, 

my firmware update.

I want this embedded in my DNA 

so that I may bring this feeling up

at will and any time I need another hug.

Thirty seconds might be good for starters. 

Or three long breaths in loving presence 

may be all it takes.

Humming into your heart mind now 

I wonder if we could ever 

be more present than this.

May 21, 2019 8:15 AM



Ghosts of unborn

Last Fathers Day

With cars lining my street,

The stench of grilled meat

fills the air with the fact that

that I’ve chosen a life with

so few family or friends 




Cloud Cover

My range reduces. 

I let parcels go.

The mountain horizon

begins to shimmer.

I need not ride out 

to the base of the butte 

to hear the river flow

and smell the breeze.

I have it in me already. 

Blood. Bone. Interstitial tissue.

The canyons howl and moan.

Moon flash. Trout splash.


September 29, 2020



Race Day

Adam and Eve are at the Garden Gift Shop 

autographing palm fronds and other merchandise.

God and the snake are juggling apples. 

They are up to five between them. 

Good and Evil are running around like 

make up artists for the Pit Crew at the Indy 500.

I’m sitting under the talking tree of knowledge 

and we’re just chilling. 

It’s race day. 

We’ve made it.


September 29, 2020



Me, too

Sunday morning sunshine

and steaming tea.

You still in your

Comfy robe, socks,

And sleep shirt

Reading a love poem

I wrote and shared.

Me, too.


October 4, 2020




And here in the 

scrapbook of my love, 

letters, and treasured 

memories, I hold dear

a snapshot of you, 

leaning in, listening,

paying attention to me. 

The look on our faces. 

Yours then.

Mine now.


© 2020 David L White

Poem for Amelia

October 4, 2020 



Elsewhere apparently

More frequently I find myself 

safe and sound 

with here and now

on purpose.

Look about.


Elsewhere apparently

Could have fooled me 

Resting and recuperating from 

excessive internal and external 

explanations, demanding descriptions, 

and definitions, of everything that is not 

here and now

Content, happy, and satisfied enough 

with this self life story, multi dimensional, 

eternal, ephemeral. 

Here again, 

here again, 

now, now, now.

Elsewhere apparently

Could have fooled me

and you? 

How I would love to sit near 

this portal to presence with you and 

to see your smiling eyes, go for the 

giggle and guffaw, 

you know how I do.

See your favorite color. 

Hear your middle name. 

Smell, touch, taste, the 

stories of your many 


people, places, things.

Elsewhere apparently

Could’ve fooled me

Cut to the chase

How I would love to sit with you, 

reduces upwards to 

I love you.

David L White

August 30, 2020

Sunday forever poem



Willie and Pavarotti sing

Mama don’t let your 

babies grow up to be

Fígaro Fígaro Figaro 




for help in 

the self help 


will go easier

when using

the self

~ David L White



Magic Words

The gift that keeps on giving; 

a poem that may or may not 

be done. Add a word? 



David L White


October 01, 2020



Tuesday evening

First debate

Running from pause 

and DVR

Vanilla ice cream

Chocolate syrup

It’s 9:15 pm

Almost tomorrow

For a guy arising

At 4 or 5 am

Ice cream

At 9:15

We’re now out of

Syrup and the poem

Has ended


September 29, 2020




Whatever baggage the newcomer brought 

is compounded by the weight

of his new name.

The name I named him.


David L White poem 9/15/20



I haven’t found a single explanation 

to go with my outfit yet

It can’t upstage, yet blend in with glitter

Shopping and trying it all on, not one size 

fits all or anything goes 

Everything goes Exactly


September 14, 2020



I'm darting around behind commemorations 

hoping to not be seen.

My trumpet is in the shop getting tuned and buffed. 

I'm not feeling the tune.

A beautiful gray day.

What if nothing else ?

This. No more.

A song by Willie scrolls by. Something about the ease of older

age. Nothing matters. Except I cried.

Had enough.



Friday, September 11, 2020



Sunday Haiku

Skeleton wind chime 

on wire frame bird feeder 

skull full of suet

August 30, 2020

Sunday 7:40 am



If I’m careful (care full) I can pretend 

the traffic on Loomis

sounds like surf

Love the sun breeze … cue the salt spray

Already it’s departure time and ...

I don’t know what to do with the airport yet


August 21, 2020 Scout Lake Park



Black and white Bikini 

on a sun burned girl

Tan lines like ten or nine lions 

feasting on a former zebra

Black, White, Red All over.




Self Reflectiion

In the self-help section 

where is the self?


@ 2020 David L White 

Poem July 28, 2020 9:33 p.m.



Love Math Poem

With our division subtracted 

we can multiply and add up our love.

© 2020 David L White 

August 8, 2020 4:32 AM

P.S. Hasn’t someone already written this down?



A peepoo bird sings 

far off traffic everywhere 

in the peepoo breeze


© 2020 David L White 

Wilson Park Haiku Poem 

Sunday 7/26/20 11:22 AM



Inviting more mystery

It’s not really like I’m inviting 

the mysteries in to my dwelling.

It’s more like the old days that 

you might have lived or heard

about, at least … sitting on the 

porch kindly and the neighbors

walk by.

We all nod, smile and wave. 

There they go. They’re looking fine.

© 2020 David L White 

July 14 2020 poem



It’s 3:25 AM. Sunday morning newspaper arrives. I hear it slap the stoop. I get up and go to the door. The delivery fellow is

rearranging some things. His car is running at my curb. I’ve bend down like every other Sunday and pick up the plastic bag. All of a sudden my fingers scream. I need to wash my hands. Sometimes it seems too much. I hope it is enough.


Sunday Corona Poem



Chart: Me

I’m drawing fresh lines between the stars in my sky.

Shapes move as the planetarium glides through the night.

I’m whispering names as yet unheard.

Imagine what goes on in broad daylight all day long.


© 2020 David L White 

May 25, 2020 10:45 AM



Pinch Me (draft, rough)

So as not to fire wildly in the night 

I will not name on a list

for you the places I have been where I have collected a little bit

of sand from the beach or the river.

I don’t know why I collect sand. It’s probably like collecting

rocks. I was there. It was pretty. Now I have it.

There have been a few times in my life recently where I thought to

take the rocks out and set them free.

Meanwhile pinch me: ashes to ashes, dust to dust

Bring a little sand with you mix it in with the tip of your finger

take some home with you and spread it somewhere. It’ll be me and

this other thing like so many things are we are not individually


We have microbes and bacteria without which we I will not name or list for you the places I have been where I have collected a little bit of sand from the beach or the river.

I don’t know why I collect assigned. It’s probably like collecting

rocks I was there it was pretty now I have it.

There have been a few times in my life recently where I thought to take the rocks back (out) and set them free.

Meanwhile, pinch me - ashes to ashes dust to dust

Bring a little sand with you mix it in with the tip of your finger

take some home with you and spread it somewhere. It’ll be me and this other thing like so many things are we are not individually ourselves

We have microbes and bacteria without which we could not live

Or love

I would ask that you wash your sand before you mix it together

with other people sad. Just to keep your fingers clean. So later

when you touch your tearing eyes you won’t get great in them or

microbes and bacteria. Other people stuff. And animal stuff too

Stuffed animals

Who is so pride on ourselves individually but we are not

individual we are not solely or wholly individual

Holy Interesting


© 2020 David L White

Pinch Me Poem May 28, 2020



Cranial Observatory

Ten weeks into quarantine I look in the mirror. I look.

My hairdo does an Einstein thing.

I wonder, might I keep it?

My neck slowly swivels, prefrontal skull opens, 

and the universe appears.

Hola Alberto. Good looking.


© 2020 David L White
Poem May 24, 2020 10:02 AM



A Trifle Poetically

Tangible, tactile, tried and true, 

A trifle moment, forever to you

A whispered look, I brush on; bye, 

waltzing to love, joy, and heart

blue sky.


© 2020 David L White
Poem 1:29 pm May 14, 2020



Input output

Sometimes, for the sake of my illusion, 

not that I fully control my creative process, 

I can stand in the engine room, shovel coal, 

and feel the heat.


© 2020 David L White 

 April 30, 2020 9:25 PM



I bought a baseball cap in the gift shop 

at General Pickett’s Buffet in Gettysburg.

It’s royal blue with an American flag. 

And it looks old. Pre-abused.

A third of what seem to be 44 stars are also abused.

Right off the map of the cap, so to speak.

Later I bought a dollar poppy from a veteran 

and poked it through a grommet.

Yesterday someone thanked me for my service.

You’re welcome. I served as Bragadier General 

in the Air National Advance Squadron 

dropping poetry and other propaganda.


David L White 




I get up to write something down but 

by the time the lights are on,  I realize 

my mind is still lying down in the dark,

under the covers.




Errands look like make-work. 

Nothing due today soon.

Perhaps, if we get ambitious, 

a run to the post office and 

a bag of rock salt might just do.

Rest and reflection in the 

slow cooker all day low.






Starvation is abuse of its own. I’ve been 

malnourished for so long

it seems normal.

And then you came along with such heaping 

helpings of rape on my plate I could not chew 

and swallow.

Not exactly nourishing - all this bone and gristle. 

With all this spit I’ve worked up, it makes a fine stew. 

My stomach growls. I miss you.




Little Wing

Although some will tell you otherwise 

You don’t have to stop or start anything.

You could twiddle or tweak your trajectory, 

modulate the velocity, slow down. Speed up.

You could hummingbird, falcon, or mimic 

the murmuration of larks and barn swallows.

Sometimes we say “Either way” 

as if there were only two.

It’s what you choose. 

Fly on, little wing. .........

March 3, 2020



Piffle Poem

Fading away 

after forever

It’s beautiful and 

nothing for you to do

Well, argue, maybe 

Like every while

Even that 

No matter

Unless and when 

Insisting other wise

After forever 

Beginning again.


December 1, 2020



 Chasing Goose

Some times 

rolling over 

in bed 

at night 

the muse whispers 

something something goose

Chasing goose? 

Goose? Chase?

Sometimes I get up 

and find my pencil 

and begin to inventory 

the flock

Then … finishing… 

I get back to bed 

and find the muse 

sound asleep

Oh, that wild muse




Notes - Thanks for reading along.

alphabet zoupe metaphorical library

alphabet soup stock

form metaform metaformative transformative repository story

garden of ingredients breath, blood, and bone root and branch

caterpillar butterfly

toil trouble boil bubble

You take you body to the doctor and your car into the shop

whatever seeds you fertilize grows the body of your crop

analyze, examine and diagnose


David L White poem parts 4/20/20


Though you may pack it full of stories and heartfelt poems you

will not know the moon like you know your spoon. Stir it up.

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