Sunday, July 31, 2011

Ode to a dead cockroach

There's a dead cockroach at the end of my stairwell.
A squashed sentinel standing guard over our entry.
A messy testimony that excess never ends well,
Whether its crumbs or crusades, pills or pageantry.
And there it lays, feet up right where it tragically fell,
With little decorum, and even less pleasantry,
One flagella quivering like it’s tolling a death knell.
After all, a staircase makes a poor insectary
And as we pass by its carcass with nary a farewell,
Praying that his will be a rather short tenancy,
I begin to wonder if it perhaps has something to tell,
If its residence is more than mere discrepancy.

Maybe it’s nothing that this blatella does bell,
Just a bit of bother or a big bunch of blathery.
But something suggests this peddler has more to sell,
If I were to listen, instead of tiptoeing with temerity.
Perhaps it says, my dear, don’t give to the gimme-cell.
Practice moderation in all, live a life complementary.
Then will this world change to heaven from far hell.
No more pests at the portal or plagues playing sentry

Saturday, July 30, 2011

Driving my life

Drove to a beautiful garden this morning,
Dreaming of summer, shade and sunshine.
But suddenly turned in the wrong direction,
Got lost- need another route to find.

Drove in a path with so many problems,
Avoiding the people, pests and parking signs.
And hopelessly mired in chaotic cross sections,
Got tossed- no way out of this bind.

Drove in a world so beyond controlling,
Despairing over nettles, needles and near-kind.
But slowly realized the only imperfection,
Was response- myself the only hold to find.

Drove into a universe of self-awakening,
Mastering my steering, speering, and sallow mind.
And finally focused my own perception,
And so it is- that I learned to drive.

And so it is- as it is in life.

Friday, July 29, 2011

Dreaming of a Lilac Mourning

Been praying for love to find me here,
To reveal beauty to my forlorn eyes.
Because I've been broken and full of fear
Waiting for that other, year after year.

Been dreaming of those fresh lilac mornings, 
Been aching for those sweet jasmine nights,
Been living a life of perpetual mourning,
Because that pictured love is not in sight.

But sometimes I do wonder, why it matters,
That I must walk alone in this lonely life.

Why do I need to see another, when I am blinded
To the real beauty in which this world is rife?
How can I hope to tie threads with that other,
When I have woven veils to true love that binds?

And isn't it unfair to expect love to save me
if despondency and despair is all I can return?
What happiness can be in a life together,
if in that together just one must burn?

It is clear that I must seek a love that is selfless,
One which does not hope for saved or savior,
But one in which each maintains the other,
Which keeps self, and builds something greater.

Thursday, July 28, 2011

An invisible cup

Sometimes I wonder whether my cup is a thimble
or whether a gallon measure is really my size
for if in either the life-water does dwindle
one will never even glimpse the true prize.

Our full capacity can never be comprehended
we must just strive to fill an invisible cup 
for if we decide to leave spirit unattended
we can never even hope to reach the up.

So develop a thirst that's never ending
drink your fill and search for ever more
then may your drop become oceans extending
of that immortal liquid, too much to pour.

 This poem about capacity is based on a quote by Baha'u'llah:
Show forbearance and benevolence and love to one another. Should any one among you be incapable of grasping a certain truth, or be striving to comprehend it, show forth, when conversing with him, a spirit of extreme kindliness and good-will. Help him to see and recognize the truth, without esteeming yourself to be, in the least, superior to him, or to be possessed of greater endowments.
The whole duty of man in this Day is to attain that share of the flood of grace which God poureth forth for him. Let none, therefore, consider the largeness or smallness of the receptacle. The portion of some might lie in the palm of a man’s hand, the portion of others might fill a cup, and of others even a gallon-measure.

Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Receiving More

We humans are so creative, 
like to draw little lines.
Define our homes by limitations,
decide what's yours and what's mine.

But in reality we own nothing, 
possession's only in mind.
There's space enough in this universe, 
more than we'd ever hope to find.
And if we learn to work together, 
we'll dig a neverending mine.

For, it doesn't matter who's exploring the exploring, 
as long as we all together do explore.
So don't worry about who's owning the owning,
give your all and all receive more.

Tuesday, July 26, 2011

To erase my face

I've deleted my facebook,
Accounted no further.
I'm freed of the waste hook,
My network's off server.

Want to be personally likeable,
not vicariously known;
To offer notions more sizeable,
not precariously thrown.

I'll seek productions more productive,
Whether tangible or no.
I'll find connections more conductive,
Sparks firing, heart aglow. 

So I'm erasing the facing,
Wishing the under will show.
I'm closing and opening,
Willing pure thought to flow.

Monday, July 25, 2011

the ordinary life

a job.
a car.
a boyfriend.
a house.
a bill.
a workweek.
a cubicle.
a payroll.
a television.
a network.
a cellphone.
a life ordinary.
a life alone.

my service.
my search.
my heart.
my sacrifice.
my home.
my worship.
my freedom.
my exultation.
my creation.
my connection.
my soul.
my life extraordinary.
my desire for something more.

Sunday, July 24, 2011

The raisins of my discontent

It's raining on the fire of my rashness;
my irresponsibility now used and torn;
for where I used to meet wounds with lashes;
on new horizons does dawn my morn'.

The grapes of my discontent now shriveled;
they're raisins razed by the sunshine;
for though I donned a shroud so wrinkled;
in new livery will I, my life define. 

and I will feast on a new perspective;
fruit of the freshest taste of hope;
and leave the sour to those invective;
no longer trapped in a never-slope.

Saturday, July 23, 2011


I wish to speak of friendship,
that undefinable and undeniable essence,
that builds and binds
creating new life wherever it is sown.

And I wish to speak of hatred,
that insensible and indescribeable emptiness,
that devours and destroys
bringing death wherever it is known.

But perhaps the both I wish to speak of,
are in reality only one,
the latter the absence of the former
or perhaps flip-sides of the coin.

We create because we were created,
We deny this when we destroy
And we must come to the realization
That as to that nothing, 
Something is worth more.

And I guess my only point is,
that we just cannot be content 
with nothing 

Friday, July 22, 2011

Jewels of the Ocean

Sometimes I bathe in the oceans deep
The rhythmic waters lull me into sleep

And as I dream of the depths unknown
precious jewels of merit there are shown

Diving down with my hands outspread
I grasp and grind them into my head

For gems have value only if they're shared
Their beauty given, not hidden, scared

Or even better, for art and science used
the advancement of mankind is what we choose

Only then will we know the ocean's worth
delving down, exploring the murky surf.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

I desire a mind full of sunshine

I desire a mind full of sunshine;
a smile at every turn;
in fresh gardens will I bide my time;
a sweetness to discern;

For thoughts are true reality;
not this material, soon outworn;
when you make light your actuality;
robes of joy will you adorn.

So I will turn my back to the darkness;
And see in everything the fire that burns;
Only then will I turn towards happiness;
Delight that I do not feign, but earn.

A poem a day

A poem a day
For the next two hundred
A promise to myself
To you, as well
An experiment:
What dreams will come
From constant expression?

Will the well of my creative existence
Run dry, too overdrawn?
Or will it be never ending
Filled continually from some unseen source
Springing more to life
As soon as the water's gone?
And will my art become perfected
Through daily effort and exertion?
Or will my language devolve
Like unto grunts and whistles,
Broken down under the weight
Of my arrogant ambition?
Or will I burst the cage asunder
Like some glorious birdsong?

Only time, 
(And persistence) 
will tell.

Saturday, July 2, 2011


The following poem "Elephant" is about Joseph Merrick, and the beauty that lies within all of us; our merit perhaps unseen:

I know a man who makes cathedrals
with empty arches and a paper spine,
and in the night he dreams of sleeping
like Moses in the Cradle.
He dreams
of Carrion flowers and Spider lilys
eating at his flesh and weaving him once again.
But with a face that knows not smiles just weeping
he watches a world of women
who scream with horror
when they see his Fatfoot and Saddle leaf hands.
And given a Devil’s backbone but an Angel’s wing,
He loves them all.
This embodiment of loneliness,
This Wizard hunched over the unholy,
This Giant Toad,
this boy,
a figure for the Peruvian old man to laugh and point at for a penny or two,
who thought happiness was to creep into the dark and hide,
and viewed the world from the peephole of a vampire’s cart,
meets Queen Alexandra tomorrow,
not knowing what it is like
to be like other people.