Poet, Songwriter, Artist
Enough
Maybe this is all it'll take
for the wall between the words
and I to come crumbling down
to feel myself giving up ground
to the anxiety I naively
believed under control
I've nothing to sell you,
no body to help lure you in
I don't pander
All I have are these lines,
this nervous heart;
what I hope
is just enough
-Brandon White
Hello Friends,
I wanted to take a moment to talk about this book as I haven’t nearly enough.
As I wrote the poems that would become Real Big American Zen, I knew the book would be a tough sell. The idea for the cover featuring my masked face would rub some the wrong way; the title would cause some to assume (wrongly) that the writing would lean to one side of the political aisle or the other, and it would stand as a reminder of a year that most of us would rather forget.
I also felt in my bones that it would be, in some way, disingenuous for me to try and steer the work in a different direction; This was the world I was inhabiting; these were the decisions my family and I faced; this was the feeling of my country and the world teetering on the edge of the unknown and unthinkable.
Fast forward to May of this year, my publisher and I are putting the final product together; we’ve managed to incorporate some of my artwork and photography into the book, and though I’m thrilled with our work, I’d come to realize that significant change was needed in my personal life.
In the two years since my father had passed, I hadn’t been treating myself very well. My mental and physical health had gotten away from me, and I was relying heavily on alcohol to suppress the sadness and rage I felt inside. I knew that significant changes were needed, and there was no time to waste.
Now here we are in late September, and I’m proud to say that I feel I’ve regained some control. I feel happier and healthier than I have in years, and though I’m still learning how to steer my creativity with a clear mind, I know the next chapter will be an exciting one.
One of the casualties of these changes was the promotional efforts for Real Big American Zen. I’m going to attempt righting the ship and shining whatever light I can on this collection of poetry, of which I’m still so proud. In the coming days and weeks, I’ll be sharing pieces from the book, perhaps some readings, as well as my Recent Abstractions series.
If you haven’t purchased a copy, I hope you’ll consider doing so. If you’ve bought and read the book, I hope you’ll consider leaving reviews at Amazon and Goodreads or anywhere else you like.
-Brandon
At the End of the Day
It might be a heart attack
in the liquor store parking lot
because it feels like more
than anxiety this time
I downloaded an app
to test my heart rate
and it tells me
I'm in the green
What does it say about me
that I would allow my phone
to determine the seriousness
of this or any situation?
My job requires me
to face the world
so I chew little white footballs
to avoid coming apart
I don't write about
what I do for money,
because it has nothing
to do with anything
other than my heart
-Brandon White
The Hurt
If anyone asks,
It was cold turkey
I exorcised my pain,
spoke the words,
sent it into the world
and out of me
I haven't touched
the stuff since
I wanted to quit
hot turkey
but apparently
that's not a thing
The world is coming
into focus now
Color stops me
in my tracks
Steady rain
is overwhelming
I don't remember
how to do this,
how to get out
of the way
It all feels new
and terrifying
My inner critic
is louder than ever
I'm just trying to find
my footing again,
to get steady,
to remember
a version of myself
before the hurt
-Brandon White
Hello Friends,
It’s been a month since the release of Real Big American Zen, and I’ve done a terrible job of staying in touch as life and work have conspired to keep us apart.
The truth is my indecision in how to best spread the word about the book has left me at a stand-still, and some life changes have taken the rest of my mental energy. Whatever I have left at the end of the day belongs to these two future leaders of the world, and that’s non-negotiable.
I’ve managed to jot down a few new pieces in the last couple of weeks, and the third collection continues to progress. I’m hopeful that life will soon slow down enough that my spirit can catch up with the rest of me, and the path forward will reveal itself.
I miss hearing from you. I hope wherever you are; you’re happy, healthy, and hopeful.
If you’ve finished the new collection, please consider leaving an Amazon or Goodreads review (or both if feeling generous) as it’s a big help.
Love,
Brandon
Reassurance
Oh this,
the blessing
of little bodies
that beg to be held
of little hands
that reach
in the night
for reassurance
Oh this,
our legs
entwined beneath
blankets and stress
our heads
resting
on opposite ends
of the couch
Oh this,
the twitching of toes
says I'm needed,
and you don't know
how dark it gets
in this living room
when you go to bed early
and it's just me
and that little voice
that turns every
shadow into a
noose
-Brandon White
Hello Friends,
It’s 10:10 pm as I begin to write this. It was a busy day, my usual responsibilities dragging me away from the page, the words, the work I prefer.
The day was as I expected – heavy.
Today marks three years since the passing of Anthony Bourdain, who I (like so many) considered a personal hero. The day still reverberates from the quaking of so many diaphragms, bodies physically rejecting the shocking and painful news that a man of such an enviable life had decided he’d had enough.
Anthony was a rebel chef, a silver-tongued bad boy with a checkered past that spent years living on the fringe before slowing down long enough to show the rest of us what an amazing world we inhabit and just how little there is that separates us all. A recovering addict, a father, and a true citizen of the world.
I’m not sure what I’m trying to say here. Perhaps I just wanted to say something to mark the day. Maybe that’s enough? The idea that a person I never met had such a profound impact on me by doing nothing more than sharing their spirit in the name of bringing us closer together.
Thank you, Tony, wherever you are.
Hello Friends,
As I turn the page on the release week of Real Big American Zen, I’m reflecting on a time of high, swinging emotion that I’m glad to put behind me. I’m incredibly proud of the new collection, the poetry, being able to include a few visual pieces that complimented the written works, the presentation as a whole exceeded my expectations.
Unfortunately, the release has not been without a few hiccups. There have been issues with the availability of the paperback edition through Amazon that’s responsible for a growing number of headaches. My publisher and I continue to monitor the situation and are hopeful for a resolution. I just checked a moment ago, and the paperback version is again available, so don’t wait!
I feel a bit directionless at the moment, which isn’t unusual. There’s a kind of grief that has accompanied the completion and release of each project. The definitive ending of a chapter. A jarring realization of time passing.
I read a piece recently that said writing a poem and hoping to change the world is like dropping rose petals into a well and waiting for a splash. I have no such expectations for my work. I’m driven only by the need to create, to connect. Hoping these words of mine resonate and find a home beyond the one beating in my chest.
There’s work to be done. Talk soon.
Hello Friends,
Today marks the release of my second collection of poetry, Real Big American Zen, and I wanted to share some thoughts and this sweet picture of my beautiful girls captured by their Momma, Kenzie White.
Sending this collection into the world feels almost cathartic. When I reflect on the impossibly long year that inspired the pieces, my mind immediately snaps back to the uncertainty, the empty store shelves, how my children kept me anchored and focused.
I never set out to write a collection of poems about the headlines of 2020. Still, I was interested in capturing a snapshot of being a parent, a partner, a citizen hoping that the chance of a peaceful life had not vanished.
I hope these pages, these poems, serve you in whatever capacity you need. They’re yours now. Pain, humor, reflection, uncertainty, it’s all there – patting the empty seat and looking at you.
Love,
Brandon
Hello Friends,
As I lie in this dark room, listening to the soft breathing of my children as they drift to sleep, staring at an endless swirl of red and white stars on the ceiling above, I feel in my bones that it would be a shame to allow this day to pass without a few words for Mr. Bob Dylan on this his 80th birthday.
To myself and so many others, Dylan represents a level of artistry and mystery that feels beyond the reach of mere mortals. A shapeshifting prophet. A boxcar hopping troubadour and supercharged rock ‘n roll icon. Perhaps most importantly, for myself at least, a poet.
Dylan made the language I’d spoken my entire life feel brand new and dangerous. He permitted young writers to create wild impressionistic tapestries with their lines and, by doing so, set free the minds and souls of so many.
Somewhere in the world, someone is doing a much better job than I of paying tribute to the man that so many of us owe so much, so I won’t ramble. Happy Birthday, Bob.
And thanks for everything.
-Brandon White
Brandon White 