Monthly Archives: May 2016

Bird, bees, flowers, trees

The bird that spreads it’s wings to fly
aloft in winds and lullabyes
will often finds a hiding place
with little bustle, subtle grace.

The bee at work, no time to spare-
buzzing, fluttering, from here to there
to stigmas moist with other fare
but not a sound to make aware-

The flower blossomed, spread in view
with pink and yellow, vibrant hues –
and undulating sun and dew
confessed in morning light, anew.

And ever green, the pine tree stands
accepting flight with steady hands.
Each bough abets, make no mistake
and comforts those who stay awake.


Encompassed by her stare
as she reveals a confident esprit,
and wanders in my mind to be omniscient,
salient for me.

Deluged by her rhapsodic reign
and drenched in love time and again,
a dousing seems a welcomed bane
upon my weary soul and stain.

Subject to her word and tome
complete and perfect, craved and honed,
every act a sin – atoned
and riddled cunning, bone-to-bone.

in a room with over-sized books

In a room with over-sized books
and a dungy wing-back chair,
I am invited to sit
and look at maps of Belize
and Montenegro, tables espousing
cotton production
in the deep south, where is the world’s leading
smelter of tin,
or diagrams of different zoological
Garden paths of azaleas
in a gulf between tall oaks,
Photographs of Lennon on holiday
and Lenin in state,
and the virtues of handmade linen,
all woven and attentive
to my browsing.
Bindings jut and overhang
from the shelves,
like spanish moss speaking,
knowing that I choose the ones
who pronounce themselves
and embrace my turn
of the page.

I was spending time in a library this week, when I happened on
the oversized book collection in a quiet room with
a single chair. So much about this collection and this
environment spoke to me.


I am not feeling some in-vivo
loss of love.

I just don’t see how it comes,
to me.
Out of nothingness
-a sudden embrace of pleasure
swathed in joy-
being in your arms.

held in the dark
with warm superlatives
and I am afraid to open
my eyes

Or even in light
where moving sideways
affords discovery –
and yet things are unfazed by my presence.

sometimes, it wells up inside me
that I am lonely,
and the crest that falls
obliges me to ride a flux

to moments like this, when someone
reads what I have felt
and created to make it so.

This is an odd collection of thoughts that I wrote in my writing journal throughout this past week. I’ve assembled it as a poem on loneliness (I think). I’m not sure it is fully coherent as a poem yet, but it is something that I want to leave here for comment.