Humanist Voices in Verse: David Gale Wright

We’re pleased to feature a new poet this week, David Gale Wright! David is an amateur poet living in Memphis, Tennessee. He is a member of the Neshoba Unitarian Universalist Church and the Neshoba Writer’s Group.

If you’d like to contribute original poetry to Humanist Voices in Verse, write to hnn@americanhumanist.org with “Poetry” in the subject line. Please send no more than three poems for consideration per week.

 

A Parallel Theology

The overarcing spark
of inspiration
is my god,
coming from nothing
and returning,
providing the thread
of meaning on which
the beads of experience
are strung.
I pray as expectantly
for her,
and stockpile words
as impatient as
the yearning lover
who knows no other day. 

The momentary, sidelong
glimpse of truth
is my salvation,
revealing a segment
of structure,
supplying the theme
that draws unity
from out of the flux.
I cry out as desperately
for it,
and search for words
that strike like
cool rain on
sunburnt skin. 

A settled and centered
contentment is my
special grace,
letting things be
as the are,
allowing beauty
to slowly emerge
from behind the dull.
I am as undeserving
of it,
and set in place words
as grounded as
the granite roots
of mountains. 

The chance to create
with words is my
redemption,
dwelling in the
house of Being,
clearing the vacuum
into which
meaning seeps.
I stand as heavily
upon the scales,
and toss weighty
stanzas across
the void, hoping to
tip the balance. 

Nova Regulus

I drift on that sea of no stars
Where gods can no longer guide us,
And circular currents now bar
Gifts once bestowed by Polaris. 

I fall from that sky of no stars
Where gravity alone holds sway,
Since thermals grow rarer by far
And cannot keep treetops at bay. 

I live in that land of no stars,
And yet, still I ever keep watch
For that pinpoint, as seen from afar,
That signals successful launch. 

Rust

It is not time
But sight that ages;
A corrosion of
understanding.
Vision projects rust
as an afterglow,
pulling all novelty
into antiquity,
Leading us into an
eternal present
as we discard
an emaciated frame. 

–David Gale Wright