Monthly Archives: January 2018

Maybe

1. Three things I am grateful for: a) my breath b) cheap pens c) indifference 2. how he felt i did not know until his recollections of our first meeting unspooled like a film with so much texture and soft nuance 3. In a small trunk I keep a multitude of things: a broken compass, […]

Thing is

I like being lost That is where I make music Wilderness heals souls

The Reader

On the park bench is an absorbed reader He is bespectacled and lean, with a long floppy fringe The book is open on his lap, his eyes glide from side to side as he reads His back is lightly straight, lips vicariously curled into a soft smile

gap

so the little sparrow had come indoors hopping on the kitchen table near my weekend paper and tea then out again through the window into the open horizon of this one world that you and i are a part — a thought bringing you closer to me and made magic in my heart

practice

in Mistiness to make out the dawn in Eyelets to recognise purpose in Distance to gain perspective in Industry to seek an idle moment in Tumult to discover wisdom in Apathy to question and probe in Truculence to remember (self-)kindness in Inertia to create in Observation to be grateful in Non-observance to surrender

Something

There is a gap in my poem: I am grieving a missing word Like an empty chair

(Real) Estate

I sometimes go off to my country home, where the pace is slow and every moment deep. There, the world becomes small and vivid, in which one follows birds in their rustle or hears crickets list their griefs. Without looking, you could feel the sun slant upon your toes, or the air hold your face. […]

Arghh

Does anybody know if the sun cries Before setting? If it is his runaway tears That stain the skies? Does anybody know if Waves long for respite from their Endless rolling in and moving out? Does anybody know if the rain divulges Secrets of clouds when they fall to earth? If the air ever falls […]

sage

i walk out to the open country: the wind is fast on my face running on and beyond to whom i say i am stuck do things will they get better for me and the wind in her sprightly voice says if you don’t mind i have a life to live places to be

elam

1. the image of him surfaces again from the ripples of chords and notes; circles of calm, a desert spring and here it is: the country i’d exiled myself. amid the turbulence is his gaze his sensitivities and mind and cellphone screen spilling a little light on this room that i call my time — […]