m.t. whitington


A force majeure, female catalyst, futurist, polemicist, psychonaut, epistemologist. Ruminating between the lines with a clarion call and extreme unction.  A global writer with southern roots.


Worth Of Time

Worth Of Time

time is what we are

all under the same moon.

I create a circle of reading

and sit in the little joys,

chalking up the necessary,

marking it down

on the wisdom calendar;

only what helps me to be free.

questioning activism’s worth 

in the rising fevers of incels 

and the evils of rashism,

put down only to rise again

and again. wasting time

undoing divine feminism,

in patriarchal culture

wars weaponizing even our space,

our autonomy. balancing presence

is a constant that ticks

to the beat only I control.

it lingers in the kiss of a granddaughter.

it plays long in the song

of the evening birds

in a redwood grove.

in the greetings on the town green

and especially at lowtide on shell beach,

when the sands slip away.

under feet, this is the wilderness alone,

the auroras of the roots of creed.

feeling the infinite under the stars,

trying to gather all that is wasted

on the funky floor, 

shaking others to this reality,

praising grief that spurs me on,

I transform in the dance of holiness.

in the window beyond space 

reveling in gifts of delight,

its sustenance, the waters.

I am time.

the moon passes through 

the shadow of the earth,

what is the worth of time?

Eagle Man

Eagle Man

Palimpsest

Palimpsest