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Trying Silence Again

The opposite of solitude
Is disturbance

Like the burly moose
Who found me
Alone in the deep woods
And scared me
Half to death

We don’t always mean
To disturb
(But we definitely do)

And even when we try
To get away
Our pesky thoughts
Follow us
Like beasts
We cannot really trust

We must learn
To quiet our hearts

Escape the presence
Of the things we fear
The most

Take another trip
To the forest
A long drive in the car


Sometimes, father's house is not home,
When children lose their joy
Trying to dodge pestles
Thrown at each other by their parents.

The incessant fight had become customary,
Everything in our house
seemed to flare up violence,
From house rents to food money.

With a mother never working,
Even passer-by mosquitoes irritate my parents,
And the air could flare them up.

Personal Poetic Preference:

A poem …

is not bad prose that provokes an onslaught
is not profane, but projects the humane
is composed purposely to promote thought
is not meant to offend, but to transcend

provides freedom to express the mundane
poignantly paints events of History
creates a space to explore the arcane
inspires visions of human victory

Bare Feet Walk

walking bare feet
they start talking
it's all live footage
of sensory images
screened over
flint, limestone, moss
laughter, grief, silence
of those who walked bare before
in darkness and light

thorn in the sole
becomes a memoir

Some Days

some days,
like a blank slate
awaiting a big bang,
I slip comfortably into nothingness
and lounge around
in complete aquiescence

not much I can say about it
(being totally blank at the time)
but eventually
thoughts of a basic nature
start ping-ponging
vague glimpses
of useless stuff

...why do I have a red car
...did Michaelangelo have a last name long have I had these slippers

Oh Little Dipper

Little Dipper
Above the children’s houses,
Are you gonna
Scoop out the dreams
From their little heads
And share them
With God?

Are you gonna pour in
Patience and passion
So they can pursue them
From start
To glorious finish?

Oh Little Dipper,
Are you gonna dip yourself
In the lake nearby —
Fill the clouds
With nourishing rain,
So the children can see flowers
bloom and leaves appear,

silliest humour

When I was in school years ago
my school girl Captain
a very smart and sweet gal was she
said hello you
come see
i c u r more
HOLY than Righteous

I learned two words

I was woefully poor
wore a green sweater
with a million holes

That's how my old sweater story goes
You said on such incidents
I must poetry compose

here is my first silly dose
The gal
was a

Mood Swing

tumultuous waves writhe
sweeping away garbage to sea shores
for life within to sustain in the mother liquor

sun eases her womb bursting with fresh brine
letting out steam to soothe her turmoil
turning buoyant crimson clouds grey

stolen of moonwalk they let loose their temper
reigning havoc with thunderous livid bolts
cool winds rush to ease burden of their anguish


Once I cut my finger on a growing fish's jade scales

It bled in the hibiscus tea we shared, in the belladonna

making the mystic skylights revolve above us. I thought

the dream fabric would braid your hair like seaweed,

and the mall's footlights (which I still wake up hanging

from, my second face lamplit as a geisha's corpse)

would transform you: strolling with an orchid head,

with Magritte lips and your moonlight musk. A cotillion

of myrrh hookahs tied to one another, I would think:

The Wonder of God's Whim

If you didn’t see
The brilliant flash
You heard
The low, guttural rumble

Like a thunderstorm
Life is a full on
Sensory experience

The kiss of rain
The music of the sky
The torrent of so much love

A drastic change
In the weather

That makes you
Pull over
In awe
On the side
Of life’s road

Cancel your carefully laid plans
To make new

So much power
It can short circuit
Our limited


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