Paul Whiteman

Poet

not only, but also

Will every way be barred to the expression that comes to mind short of perception?

London far away from home
will you notice how I've grown
more travel weary and grey hair
but I have more time to stop and stare.

The missing recent lines reflect the motion of winter warming into summer, the clear days allow the wandering thoughts more room to soar and dive about the flat land of society.

London's winter ends in a new decade,
for me a new face, for another a new facade.
Meet again mid—winter on reversed earth's season.
Drive to high cloud table to see the new city home.
Ivy covered church of aged bored stones shadowed
by the watchdog of the dream who covered every breath.
Coloured stone fountain and winding drive,
packed city view and white foamed river
kaleidoscopes around the new face and new facade.
The next revolving weeks are skipped like the
painting of the Sistine to the night of the thunder
and the morning of refreshing rain.
The story that's told by a mother to a child
which then becomes an adult was washed of
all its descriptives.

The form of time will desolve the passing;
even asking the way will be a crime
against this city aspired by conspiracy.
The air of force reduces the breath to quick gasps
and the shortage of wind becomes a way of life
in the windy city.
Stability of mind and soul is shown in the
vacant looks of the corrupting voices shielding
the puppet mass with strings of muscle from
the few gentle immigrants.

The archway of stone invited us to wander,
its majesty commanding you to come alive.
On sea food aphrodisiac
I saw my life come rushing back
encaptured by green seas and eyes.
Our sleepy rocking pool lapped warmly
our warm sand and hot midday sun,
we played in the galleries of wind worn cliff
and cooled ourselves in sunken caves.
The gate had begun to open.

The truth will be found in the time when one day separated by days becomes days separated by never.

And so it is, all tomorrows;
seeing yesterday again
but only as the picture frame
to the portrait of my sorrows,
I begin to remember when
I died in that car ride
and since that day they brought me back
I've clutched at love and living;
so afraid that all's a dream and
everything I give today
will be the last of giving.
And so it is, all tomorrows;
when I lost my dream
I found your teardrop in the sand;
calling, I reached out my hand,
for you were there unseen.
I saw the light no more.
It seems that they are only dreams,
and since that day you brought me back
I've clutched at love and living,
I'm so afraid to love without you
and everything I give today
will be my last of giving.

The goal of the controllers is to allow
more freedom to the masses to be controlled.
The finer spirit of man is dusted and
hung away with the city's ever aging
collection of l7th Century Flemish/Italian paintings,
and the entrance fee for viewing is two dollars.
The law denies the freedom of man to ask for
its protection but once asked for, it
smothers forever, in precedence, favours,
brinkmanship, politics and financial support
of the largest charities in the world.
The city does not allow itself to step over the
dying body of its populace but ensures
there's an ordinance forbidding the
littering of the city afflicted by the
health of the healthy.

The fliers dream of soaring home to nest
with garnished hair, polished nails and
mauvely dressed;
meeting her long and gowned
hiding tension and the sound
of calling heart beat.
Of beauty there's no question;
there's no cause for definition.
I bear her trust and childlike love;
I'm filled with life and float above
the daily chore of living.
Present party wined and dined
I talk and see the future wind
three times and three times more
each dance with love I further soar
in love, dream love, evermore.
The sound I hear is "I will, I will, I will”
and now I say until you fill your will.
I'll love and see my tears spill.
The song and charm and sight of you
lifted me high that night of viewing
all that was bright and good in living.

City silver grey quilt the meadows into
ceaseless slumber.
Through the heatwave shimmer watch the distortion
show the familiar shape of freudian peopled
faces on slow peopled expressways in
conditioned peopled air.
The childrens aged games appear not to cool
in the summer heat.
The adults eat;
and sleep;
and sometimes even together.
It's too hot to breathe,
too hot to live,
unless you are a child.

Quiet and hold my hand,
think of things that we understand
with the rest of life held at arms length.
Picture the sun and the moon in a day
that starts with a prayer and ends with
us praying for it to never end.
And then hear the two of us laughing
and talking about all the wrong things that
we feel need righting.
And how we would move both heaven and earth
to make of our lives something that's worth
more than the hollow suspended lives
of the husbands who cheat on the very bored wives.
And so we together in a truth we can trust
wanting to stay yet journey we must
But unwinding ourselves with the key we call friends
We arrive at each other tieing two ends.
Don't say you're sorry, I tell you don't worry
Just think of the ring and what the words say
and you might find something
that will show you the way.
The depth of sound
mixing with the volume of sight.

Blue moon of very uncle way
to you I show my feelings;
those free things still locked away
Although I see the sun at night
it casts no shadow and in the sun
by day, I hide away.

To start a race again
under different rules;
is to play another game
with the bitter ending, cruel.
So use your thinking eyes
forget your crying heart
for it will have replies
to give a better start.

Present past to ask beyond the dream of time
which hour will get you back to home.
The rose gate of arbour den slowly turns
to green and ripple river cools the never burning rain.
Each drop is a promise made, each storm
is a promise broken, the cotton wool clouds
then soak away the tears.
Bright night of city people
behave before you're born:
of love and life be mystified
never tired or care worn.
See yourself as I see you
as young and gay and dream.
Today I say I love you
with a love never seen.
Calmer days and warmer nights
no fighting or struggle.
Clearer thoughts and closer friends,
no pin to burst my bubble.
Loving is an easy thing,
to live an art of grace.
To love and live no man will say;
It's thrown back in my face.

Open weak the sunlit day, bring morning slowly.
Ease the daylight through the dawn.
Choose each colour one by one and mix the new shade of today.
Drawn close and then we walk apart each return less certain.
Stay out of my head, stay out of my heart,
Stay out of my bed stray far far apart!
Each time I see you the day begins;
the dawn explosion thunders in my ears;
that thought just joined us.
The draught of time just trickles slowly away
Each month becomes a mountain less to
climb but a mountain more between us.
The cover of the lonely life was once a screen.
The way to seeking freedom was unseen.
The first and gentle touch of pleasant
rain will wash away the tears.
The pain then caused is worse than all your fears.
I am not sure our love will last one
day; there are too many things in common
to forget and too little time to find
others to replace them.
The blame we each hold ourselves to
will burn up all our love, all our trust, to friends again.

The bright look of eyes that I have seen
I saw that look of love before.
Do not drop in an open ocean.
Do not skate on melting ice.
But love, that life will give to use once more.
Snowy mountain, Peters shore, hear
the shingle, know for more.
Wandering people and shuttered shades,
hear no music in the everglades.
Beware the house that hangs no sign
Beware the one who plays for time.
The first hour she was here.
The second hour of today brought snow and rain.
The third hour of today brought sunshine on a cloudy day.
The fourth hour of today she has gone.
The day of telling fortunes before the wind of change,
precludes a need for motion to renew the living range.
Before the tide had turned, before the wind had stilled
the lesson you had learned would never be fulfilled.

Should I tell the story now
or wait a little longer.
Should I wait or tell her now
and make the ties still stronger.
Brief words of wisdom climb back
beyond the pale of day.
These seem too short to last in living memories way.
The long and sandy beach of mind
will cling to seas of green azur.
The look and thought and view of you
will last forever more.
The common touch of happiness will
climb over rainbow high,
for I am fixed beyond the way
that shows itself to share.
The peace of life and piece of mind
which wandered in past
has now held on to reality with
help from lovers past.
But past is time and not in thought
and I will win my way, for I'am sure
I dream no more, Seville will come my way.

Hansel and Gretel in the storybook still
we look in the valley from on top of the hill.
The pine cones are falling, the river runs fast
The river is unseen but we find it at last.
At Hansel and Gretel our storybook tale
will have no sad ending, the magic won't fail.
We find soon our river and travel away,
no reason to wander, all reasons to stay.

Whisper one word so that you've heard it over and over,
until the silence reigns above us guiding the mover
left or right, the blinkered eyes bat and ball.
But keep the crying and stop sighing it’s over, over.
Never will you ever will two hands to join together.
Just the touch, only that much, will you take her.

Champagne glasses, two in number
seal the dream awakened slumber.
Will you love me always love me
is the question that I see burning you and me.
I will, I will, I will is the answer heard
so now I write this single word remember.
Toast the hour, toast the day
awaken all to go away
to leave their homes, their hopes, their lives
and hope that I, the poet, survives.

There is a single shift of sentiment
which will hide the growing impediment
from all our visions,
our well made provisions
to live in love without crying.
Do we have to try
to learn not to cry
to live each day in seclusion
or can we reach down
and lift up life without a frown
with new thoughts without conclusion.
There is a way
for your stay
that we must find
or both stay blind
forever searching.

Make that laughter ripple after I sing
It's too late now, it's too late.
Three ringed circus story told
of sad faced clown who had to hold
his eyes away from the trapeze girl's
who like to play at swinging bar to bar to bar
and being caught by the one whose there,
And just to make the page complete
I'd like to state that if I meet
that crooked smile
I will not run a crooked mile;
but this time I will be no clown.
London Bridge is falling down.

Save those tears for years when younger
to cry of thirst or cry from hunger.
Smile quiet and cool, your laughing eyes;
and keep the laughs warm inside.
If I were a magician
I'd give you a charm
to ward off the spirits
which might do you harm
But to balance the charm
and make it quite fair
join with this thought
a promise we'll share.
If day follows night
and night follows day
the love which is yours
is the love that will stay.

As your eyes alight on mine
I drift into a depth of time
and space which fills my whole perception
with warmth and love and new direction.
Each thought begins and ends with you;
your voice quietens my mind, yet races my pulse,
fearing the words might say,
Good bye.
But good bye is too final.
I have much of you already to last a lifetime
I hope you find the right colours, they will
mix themselves when you do.
Send me the sign and I will be, as I am now,
beside you.

Early morning, dark and yawning,
lightly sleeping though not in keeping
with your racing mind.
Holding thoughts and fleeting images
disturb the peace that was the night.
Three halves trying to make the whole -
avoiding what is right.
Whispering sunrise asks the truth
you tell the lie - missing both.
Midday, midway.
At night, the flight to early morning,
dark and dawning.

Ecolected theories bound
on subjects everywhere around.
Peace is here and there or where
I do not see the world is round.
Each thought is pieced beyond
the dream of the selling priest
of works of art.
The cavity of which will show
the young but studied heart.
So only wives of fakirs
can remember ecolection;
and only when the skies roar
with clear and perfect diction.

The brief and testaments completed;
enter litigator and accused,
both believing each abused.
The prosecution begins the tale.
He's sure he's right and will not fail
The opening words are true and right.
He's bound to show his case is white.
The leader of the defence then starts,
finishing, the litigator smarts,
what can he say to answer back
knowing the other's case is black.
The justices are robed and seated,
all the evidence is completed.
The judgment is that right is right
and so the unicorn is white.