Chris Whitenack, Writer
chriswwriter:

whiteysplace:

Lumière du Matin
For every new beginning, there is an afterward
touch is no longer action but a place
safety now an afterthought, love more than a word
see, this is where we meet face to face.
.
Seeing the last of secrets passed, morning
light dispels mystery for the magik’s real
only to know doesn’t dispel belief, pouring
sunshine on what we really are, what we feel.
.
The morning after is when the journey really begins.

Chris Whitenack © 2014

chriswwriter:

whiteysplace:

Lumière du Matin

For every new beginning, there is an afterward

touch is no longer action but a place

safety now an afterthought, love more than a word

see, this is where we meet face to face.

.

Seeing the last of secrets passed, morning

light dispels mystery for the magik’s real

only to know doesn’t dispel belief, pouring

sunshine on what we really are, what we feel.

.

The morning after is when the journey really begins.

Chris Whitenack © 2014

Horrorscope

I have a little bit of a confession to make.

Not that it’s a really juicy confession, but being it’s one of my somewhat questionable indulgences, I think it qualifies as a confession. I am a horoscope addict. Let me make clear that what I am NOT saying is that I’m a horoscope junkie, no, I am particular about which horoscopes I read(yes, I did in fact use the plural) and absolutely will not read it in the bathroom, because that’s just creepy. The bathroom is an intimate place, and it would bother me greatly to have some less than legitimate horoscope trying to inform me of what lies in store for my “love life” in the can. Like I said, creepy.

You may have noticed my misspelling of my title, and I assure you that was completely, if not artistically intentional. See, the thing is this: My horoscope at my “go to” site was missing today. When I say missing, what I really mean is that today’s Sagittarius reading was not posted. Some editor somewhere blew it. As a matter of non-essential fact, my very words upon this disappointing discovery were “I predict somebodies job may or may not be at stake.” This is horoscope humor to balance out my actual disappointment, because as I stated, this is my “go to” site. This is important, because even though this is quite obviously a humor piece, what makes it truly funny is the amount of emotional content involved here. This particular site for this particular centaur has helped guide me through two breakups, a current relationship(thankfully she approves of my methods), a major career change and day to day things that are just as important as anything else in life I may encounter. So, now that I feel kind of silly stating as much, I shall continue to add to this sad truth about my need to look outside myself for personal growth and relational assistance, of which I require a considerable amount..

First, let me explain why it’s my “go to” site, this is relevant.

I am a man of habit. There are certain rituals my life contains that help keep me mentally balanced and emotionally stable. Think what you may about that last statement, but it is factual, if not actual fact. In the morning I stretch, I urinate, I coffee, I cigarette, and then I actually pray, and then read. Some of you may have rolled your eyes and thought “Well, of course he prays, the silly man reads his horoscope every day.” I have nothing more to say to that than right, exactly. My reading consists of email, tumblr messages, and my trusty horoscope. Well trusty until today. The point being it is consistently there, every morning of every day, and aside from the fact that it’s 90% accurate(do NOT ask me to qualify that statement) it is like any other habit I invite into my questionable array of habits; it is reliable. 

Not today.

Now, amongst the giggling and tittering I am sure some of you are enjoying, there may be a certain sense of unease. We all know that when something in our daily lives becomes out of place , we may become somewhat sideways. I assure you, I was startled, and definitely somewhat nonplussed, but nowhere even in the same county as sideways. Pinky promise. No, like I stated earlier, I made an editor joke and stared at the screen of my pad and rebooted the site a couple times. When I finally moved on into acceptance that it wasn’t there, and that that was okay because I had another site, though not as “accurate”(I put it in scare quotes this time that it my satisfy certain readers that I do understand that horoscope accuracy cannot, buy it’s un-scientific nature be quantified), it is always a good one to add to the variety of my day, being that so many astrological aspects can be at play for any myriad of reasons that I shall not bore you with. But I got to be honest here, it kind of bothered me. So I went back throughout my day and checked it, and nope, nothing, nada. Then I became haltingly aware that it bothered me it wasn’t there.

The laughter was a welcome release of stress, I tell you what.

I proceeded to get philosophical about the thing, and this really is all I wanted to share with you, but you know, I’m a writer, I had to massage you, build you up to my wonderful discovery. When I looked at it for what it was, not what I hoped it would be, or what terrifying omen it may mean, I smiled really big and said it out loud. 

"Nothing. There is nothing there." Because I understand that even if something were there, really nothing was there. The blank space gave me something wonderful to think about, a nuance that is always there that we all take for granted in our daily lives. We simply forget that we can do whatever it is that we want with our day, our moods, the people in it. We need not limit our choices to  what a horoscope, or any other type of guidance we may choose to put in our lives. 

Self determination is a choice. Just like questionable habits.

Chris Whitenack © 2014

Dear Poetry Editor,
Thank you so much for the recognize on my last poem, I put a lot of effort into that one.
:-)
Chris
whiteysplace:

Lumière du Matin
For every new beginning, there is an afterward
touch is no longer action but a place
safety now an afterthought, love more than a word
see, this is where we meet face to face.
.
Seeing the last of secrets passed, morning
light dispels mystery for the magik’s real
only to know doesn’t dispel belief, pouring
sunshine on what we really are, what we feel.
.
The morning after is when the journey really begins.

Chris Whitenack © 2014

whiteysplace:

Lumière du Matin

For every new beginning, there is an afterward

touch is no longer action but a place

safety now an afterthought, love more than a word

see, this is where we meet face to face.

.

Seeing the last of secrets passed, morning

light dispels mystery for the magik’s real

only to know doesn’t dispel belief, pouring

sunshine on what we really are, what we feel.

.

The morning after is when the journey really begins.

Chris Whitenack © 2014

Morning Coffee With We

Pulling the ick out of me through the ground

replaces tingling, healing breath of this

relief and closeness and gladitude.

.

Morning rites we create to connect and unique

coffee kisses that blend well with

the sunshine of a new summer day.

.

Healing teeth and eyes pierced make for

clear vision and twice removed pains

progress is in our overcoming.

.

Leaving behind small minds and even smaller

hearts, we smile a lot. Strife is for those

less suited to enjoy life….

.

Ours, hand in hand joy that we choose.

On Canals, On Oceans

There was a time I lived on water. Living in a hotel on Miami Beach, hanging my legs off an eleventh story balcony through the rails that my face leaned on, drinking in the cool of the aluminum of which they were made. When water spouts cross the bow of a freighter, they drop from the sky, gallons and tons of water. It’s one of those beautiful things in nature that can terrify a young man on a skiff, a veteran sea captain not so much.But I can’t help but wonder if that grown, experienced sailor who has more than likely navigated far worse might have a moment of fear that stems from unforeseen events.

I got to watch that happen several times on that strange September in 1976. Then we moved to the projects out in Lauder Hill for nine months, but that’s another story for another time.

We moved into the house on the canal out by the Everglades in the summer of 1977. I’ve experienced thunder that shakes the very foundation of a cinder block home, I’ve watched floods pick up cars and hammocks and a whole village of plastic garbage cans and move them miles away from where they were supposed to be. You could say it was kind of wild out there. The alligators we shared the canal with were testament to that if you were to say it. I lived it. I prefer to swim in the ocean with black eyed sharks than in the canals with green eyed ‘gators because you can at least keep an eye on the sharks. That swamp smelling canal water was dark brown murk that contains things of just as much dire threat, but when you’re a 12 year old boy, it’s just plain fun. If you have a mental picture of me shrugging right now, you would be right. I come from a generation of people that didn’t put useless helmets on their kid’s heads to ride a bicycle or roller skate. 

I’m not here to give a safety speech to people whose greatest fear is loosing their internet connection, that’s useless and rather hypocritical since my livelihood depends upon it. No, I think I just wanted to come by and remind myself, if not you, there was and is life beyond the blue field. As poverty leaves me, I am looking at the options my life is offering, and a fond remembrance of adventures in and on water.

Hell, I’ve always thought it would be neat to live on a boat.

Chris Whitenack © 2014

Hungry, cloying desperation isn’t love, it’s want.
In and of itself selfish, and to some extent
we’re all selfish.
Love is making sure there is food on the table for
both of you. Dressing the kids so she can get
ready for work. Letting him use the shower first,
because he’s nervous about a meeting at work
and wants/needs to be there early to process.
And recognizing all of this is golden, especially
when either one of you forgets to kiss the other
on the way out the door.
But remembering two kisses when you get home.

If you love the right person for you, want isn’t an
issue, because it’s there even when you
are not.
Love is a choice, not a demand.
We have enough of those.

Chris Whitenack © 2014 (via whiteysplace)
Recognize

So, I have been busy. Writing, submitting, publishing, physical therapy, and all around enjoying my life away from the Tumblrverse more and more.
I know, startling, right?
Our very own Jen(jayarrarr) even wrote a clever piece about a guy that was so jacked up on Tumblr that directly after being run over, or some such, he was using his nose to key in his predicament on his phone to update, bleeding out on the pavement without use of his arms. You’ll have to ask Jen the name of it. Heh, you’re welcome Miss, I’m sure you have all the time in the world to answer those inquiries. :-) The point being is some of us have a life away from the blue field, and that’s a good thing.

But I digress.

It occurred to me, because it truly isn’t something I think to look for, to scroll through and see if I have received any blue tags in the last couple of months. Simply to see if I needed to give up a word of thanks and praise to any of our editors. Hey, they deserve the recognition even more than we do, as far as I’m concerned. They’re like grocery and restaurant people working on Christmas, only they do it 24/7. Perhaps not the best metaphor, but I think you get my point. If you don’t, then ask around and find out what they have to do to serve you, you’ll be quite surprised and hopefully lose expectation and gain some appreciation.
So, I noticed two way cool things. One of them was no, not a single tag since a prose tag I got a while back(which means a lot more to me than poetry tags, because so rare and my fiction is where my heart lay) and the large amount of work I’ve posted.
Both of these made me smile. Huge. Face breaking huge.
See, the thing is this. I have gotten to the place where I *know* my writing is good. The kind of knowing that breeds more than confidence, but a quiet self-assurance that I am good at what I do, and have something to offer. Please don’t get me wrong, those blue tags from those hardworking editors have saved my creative ass on more than one occasion. I remember four years ago what a nervous mess I was posting up my poems. So self critical, so worried that people would laugh, or worse, ignore what I do. Yeah, recognition is important to me. So when I got those tags that saved my ass, I mean I was ready to give up. And anyone that knows me, knows I don’t give up. Ergo, those tags were a bigger deal than anyone would have known.

And that is the beauty of what I noticed this morning. It made me way happy to know I can write the way I do, as much as I do, and finally receive the recognition that matters most to me.

My very own.

Thank you community, I have reached the other side. Peace.

Love Of Form

chriswwriter:

Wherein love fails
there is touch
Wherein touch fails
there is voice
Wherein voice fails
there is attention.
and
Wherein attention fails
there is quiet comfort in being each.

.

All are loves form, so love never fails.

.

See, wherein quiet comfort lasts
attention returns
Wherein attention lasts
voice returns
Wherein voice lasts
then touch returns
and we need not worry 
wherein touch lasts, for….

.

all are loves form, and love always lasts.

whiteysplace:

Parler à café
Days and nights have no meaning now;
we blend as do they, timeless yet…
Maintes et maintes fois.
.
Take my hand as we journey forth
from this lively little liason café,
car c’est ainsi que nous aimons.
.
This book we write, this movie we direct,
this dance we dance on lips soft
on a soif de l’autre.
.
And in the other we are solace. 
Je t’aime, Je t’aime, Je t’aime
A million more times, Je t’aime
.
One more espresso et crème, peut-être?

whiteysplace:

Parler à café

Days and nights have no meaning now;

we blend as do they, timeless yet…

Maintes et maintes fois.

.

Take my hand as we journey forth

from this lively little liason café,

car c’est ainsi que nous aimons.

.

This book we write, this movie we direct,

this dance we dance on lips soft

on a soif de l’autre.

.

And in the other we are solace. 

Je t’aime, Je t’aime, Je t’aime

A million more times, Je t’aime

.

One more espresso et crème, peut-être?