Hand Painted on a Cave Wall: S. J. White

It is the hand chosen
for its aim with spear
its skill with flint
its touch with feather
and said of the father
of all our fathers:
after our lost and gone
under an old moon
in a morrow's time
this will be our sign,
       and they
not seeing, not knowing
will say of us ... why?


S. J. White

from Oddities: A Swansong of Late Poetry, S. J. White, chapbook, 2014


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Hi Stan,
Many thanks for your ODDITIES collection. I retrieved it from under a stack
of unanswered letters & unpaid bills & took it with me to enjoy at ZenRiver
Gardens this aft. This is the 'shaman shack' test - and of course your poems
passed with flying colours. (The books which don't get flying colour status
go flying anyway -  into the middle of the Upper Moira River.)

I've found your poetry very reflexive, at least on my part. It sticks with
me for ages, until I finally get it & then I can't get the images out of my
head  ;  ) The several poems you wrote about visiting ZRG still resonate
with me, many years later. I'm sure these newer poems will do the same!

My favourites on this initial delving include "Local Mall", "A Girl Thing",
and "Hand, Painted on a Cave Wall".

Thanks again for sending this - many more enjoyable times with it
anticipated on the shaman shack deck this fall.

peace & poetry power!
Chris ... & Chase   Wrfffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff!

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Thanks for the many kind words, Chris. I am glad you are enjoying the book,
though had the poems not passed muster, I would have been happy at the
thought of them floating down the upper Moira river and clogging up water
systems...rare that poetry has a practical use.

Regards to Chase, stay well,

Stan.

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On 2014-09-08, at 9:29 AM, Don Gordon wrote:

You have caught our moment in time however elusive that is,
seasonal nostalgia, ghost of all our appearances on the autumn stage.
The hand most poignantly speaks to me of cave rock mysteries.

Katherine L. Gordon, in the Eramosa valley where spirits of first walkers
to this river remain



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