Live Encounters Poetry & Writing May 2024.
A turkish coffee cup, poems by Ray Whitaker.
A turkish coffee cup
so many things rest in my working place
each having a special place
belied by the existence of mere shape
when the sense of switching on the Egyptian marble lamp
a sudden light. Illuminating what might be there
hidden in the darkness under the monitor
where these words appear chasing each other
down the white page finding a nested grouping in verses.
Behind me is a quilt on the wall
made by my departed wife
in careful stitching, radiating a rare talent
in color choices on a beige background
fingering a Distinguished Flying Cross laying there
earned in a war far away long ago
it’s presence sourcing courage despite dangers
the red white and blue stripes pushing determination.
All are strong stories now
a history fond, green memories of times gone by
cherished pinks and purples now yellowing in age
a wistful smile championed.
even as the sun rises each new day
those things there always have their say
as the keys modulate in the daily songs , nay
in these things mine, I do sway.
Words of the wolf
I run up the dry
red arroyo, moving up
towards the sky above,
with its scattered white clouds amongst the blue
the howls of my distant brothers
invade my ears like a amplified electric bass
yet it is a tenor and soprano voice all at once
the range of expression seeks occurrence to land
the howl-song seeks to celebrate
with an affectionate nosing from the wolf
pushing a difference in Love.
Pushing the chance, the happy incidence
of those that have opened their hearts
no matter whether too old for the younger
or little issue for those that are too young for the older
that their heart, throbbing with that particular joy
that having met and felt that someone,
that new somebody that has reached inside
to the wet arterial redness flowing
towards the gift, pushed from God
colliding, those humans press into a mesh
that knows no aged too old or younger too young
smoothing, a knowing from those too bound
by adult experience that perchance became an altercation
to that seventh sense of wonder
that of enrichments each having their own colors
spanning the rainbows after a gentle rain
when bare feet do not mind the wet.
Water music
Clear Creek flows cold
even in the summer sun
this, on a high bank beside
where my meditation is complete
and the connection is made
with the water’s energy
the sun warms as the music from the creek
jingles in eardrums, calling, inviting.
The water calls in inaudible words
notes, in harmonies, to immerse in it this July morning
stripping down, to wade in and bathe
a first few careful steps into fast moving rivulets
then, in deeper, and deeper still
until, at the waist, a noticeable connection
into a new appreciation of the cold
it’s unmistakable
total immersion now, head and hair wet
up now with water dripping off, then dipping head in again
nostrils flared with shock-cold,
those drips from the nose
that are never needing antihistamines
a flick of the wrist sends small, clear drops outwards
up on the bank in the sun now, a refuge into only air
sitting on a t-shirt, drying cross-legged in Father Sun,
reflecting that George Handel’s Water Music
had no context here on this sunny day in Colorado
where his composition for King George in 1717
played on the banks of the Thames didn’t include a bath.
© Ray Whitaker
Ray Whitaker was a Delegate to the Writer’s International 2024 Panorama Festival this past January. He participates regularly with several zoom poetic events worldwide. Among them, He has been spotlighted on a US National Poetry broadcast from Quintessential Listening Poetry Online Radio earlier this month of April ‘24; and also this April has an upcoming International Poetry Recital hosted by The Fertile Minds out of India. Ray has four books and two chapbooks published. Some of his work has been published in American, Irish, English, India, Belgium, Pakistani, Italy, Greece, Spain, and Bali Literary Journals.