Saturday, December 31, 2011

Friday, December 30, 2011

Thursday, December 29, 2011


This life is hard
sacrifice is needed
but the mystery of sacrifice
is that there's no sacrifice
at all.

I do not think 
God keeps debts--
though I don't understand
the currency exchange rate

Still, we get paid back
in ways we never
and sometimes
fail to notice
at all.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011

the miner's lament

Every day do I toil in the darkness of my deepest mine
hoping that the gold is hidden there, is there for me to find

And though I have made this digging my life's true focused work
sometimes in the dark I find that strange doubts inside me do lurk

Like what if never find the gold, this mine an empty dearth?
but what if when I find the gold, I find that the times weren't worth?

And after all this toil and trouble, what really is gold good for?
other than ornaments and investments, it's really a rather poor ore.

And yet I still stay down here, ever sifting through the muck
hoping for that ray of sunshine, that bit of good ol' luck.

Tuesday, December 27, 2011


A wise one once said
to be pleasing to God, be pleased with God
and content with His Will, instead

And if this is the lot, this is a lesson well taught
the best of all that I've writ, or read

For in all that I've fought, it was Him that I sought,
Him to whom my soul is Wed

So here I plead God, do that which You please, God
and to Thy purpose may I, please, be led.

Monday, December 26, 2011

not a sonnet, in the strictest sense, but perhaps extraordinarily so.

It was a cough that nearly killed me
tho' 'twere a mere sniffle to the snide
but 'twas enough to send me sulking
not from snot, but more from pride

so into my borrowed chamber did I clamber
downing the storm shutters to shade the light
and there a long while did I sweet slumber
from the pale morn to far beyond the night

and in my dreams I explored gas giants
seeing those worlds far beyond human sight
and with their smoky men I made alliance
using my weapons of love, laughter and light

when suddenly there came a knocking
upon the door of the cave where I did hide
it was like a rat-a-tat-a-tat rocking
that reminded me of life outside

the workman had come to fix your kitchen sink
and as I wiped my nose, and gathered my bonnet
the smell of sick stuffiness made me think
and so I sat down and composed this ill sonnet

How quickly I fall, far too far into dreams
I cannot take to them all, if I am to breathe
for within me lies an immensity of space
but without purpose, an ultimately selfish place.

Sunday, December 25, 2011


sometimes the smallest gifts mean the most
a kiss, a smile, when heart is kept close
but as the world celebrates this wintery season
know that I love you, beyond these small reasons.

Saturday, December 24, 2011


mine is a face that no man hath loved--
my eyes too narrow, the cheeks to flushed
and overall to sallow, behind the blush
and so the outside says I have no worth
that without attractions, I'm less than dirt
after all what is wo-man but a W-ant for man
with naught to rely on, but on man to depend?
but it does seem silly, this definition of worth
as with most genetics, almost all will get hurt
and in this world, which is so varied and wide
it seems so strange to be limited to desire
so why can't I be valued for my myriad intonations
like friendliness and hope, generosity and imagination?
and yet I am told that without that man's ring
there's no reason to hear this caged bird sing
and this is the cause of my blackest unhappiness
for with this weight of worth, I'll always be valueless.


There is beauty in everything--
why didn't they tell me so?
why didn't I listen
when they told?

Friday, December 23, 2011

Thursday, December 22, 2011


There's so much tunin'
before I play this song
There's so much prunin'
before trees reach the sun
And there's so much doin'
before our days are done
'cuz we can't reap 'fore sowin'
can't rest before we've run
For it's a life well workin'
'fore it's a life well won. 

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

fruit factory

I cannot afford this excess-ory
these iThings are far too sweet
for my buds
and in poverty 'tis enough to eat
and not shrivel in the sun.

Tho' sometimes I do desire a sumptuous feast
to spend and take,
all while living in fun
and I wonder about this cold hard seat
when, on heated cushions, I could be resting my buns
and every meal could be like some great treat
unworried about those -erers who know hung-.

But then I remember it's no small feat
to be content with not all, but just some
and tho' myThings are not iThings
and have no great beats
they suit my needs when they're done
and tho' my ride is but my own two feet
it's the same when I get where I've gone
so why should I feel shamed defeat
just because I can't afford new ones?

I don't need what they got
But that doesn't mean my life's crumbs

For my fruit may not come from some great factory
but really,
I'm so much more than those sums.

Tuesday, December 20, 2011


I was but a drop in the boundless seas
until the clouds came and vaporized me
and then I floated up above in the air
among shadows and sunshine, so white and so fair
until the changes and pressures started my fall
and I swift descended, an icicle ball
and through the play of cold and heat
my crystals were formed, a snowflake unique
and cast upon the earth, as my brothers' surround
soon we all melted, and life cycles around.

Monday, December 19, 2011


Each second was a day
Each day was a century
Each year was but a minute in time
and how swiftly passed away
the moments and the mystery
as we filed on to the end of our line
and we can only pray
that our hours have made history
that our lives will have left a little sign
for at the end of the day
we sought meaning in eternity--
how else can we our mortal stores, define?

Sunday, December 18, 2011

please do not feed the bloath

How many a man has writ of the fire of love,
with cadence no better than the heat of a stove,
for they speak of low passion, but neglect the above,
and with such trifles, I can so easily dispose,
for the higher spirit of man is a veritable trove,
and that from our knickers can be fed to the bloath,
so speak to me of flames that man doth not know,
or speak to me of nothing--
for the rest is no more than phoul phlem in one's throat.

Saturday, December 17, 2011

Haiku Friday: On a Saturday

Sometimes on a Saturday
we do Friday, too.


And Inspiration--
Sometimes on a Friday, our
Saturday comes through.

Friday, December 16, 2011


I am a murderer.
I have killed my selfish self.
And dying to that blackened botherer,
am reborn in greater health.

Thursday, December 15, 2011

thoughts on service

I sought no great glory
I had no great want
Just the happiness of all brothers
to drink from a ne'erending fount
and thus live for and love one another
with no great obstacles to surmount.
But then I was given the keys to God's kingdom
called to toil upon that holy mount
now tasked beyond my comprehension
to what worth will my work amount?

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

House of Blue

Will the right words lure you
out of your little house of blue
for that place where you're (un)living
just doesn't seem true
the walls are all paper
the floor's not of glue
so I don't know why you're stuck there
when you could easily break through
but instead of the sunshine
you stay in that dark room
scared of your own lifetime
reviewing all that you rue
and I wish I could snatch you
fox you out of the coup
'cuz here's what I'm saying
'tho the words may be few
you may think you're not worthy
but, my brother, we really all do miss you.

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Silly moth

Silly moth--
fell in love 
with a candlestick

tho' its troth
'tis for the flame
which above there sits

its wings of cloth
flittering too closely
were singed a bit

still it doth
burn to beauty
when you think of it

as the moth
for its beloved
will life submit

and we in sloth
will not even a moment
willingly split

and to such weak froth
our winged lover's
more worth the writ

for here's the soth--
even misguided devotion
eclipses a no-commit

Monday, December 12, 2011

Children of Rust

And so, my crystal-eyed child of dust
as we watch the moon swift fade to rust
do not be frightened, nor concerned
for all things alter, in their turn
and there is nothing that we can grasp
that won't be taken, that will ever last
for in this kingdom of castled sand
only change right reigns the land
even as man evolves, through science made
and our souls progress, not just blankly saved
our only hope is to from this life detach
and by letting go, the eternal, catch
and so, my child, as you peer into sky
to look beyond it, fix your eyes, and fly

Sunday, December 11, 2011

The plan of some Old Man

I will write a poem for the most scholared of man
That'll draw new 'nections deep within this land
And I will use such likeness few will understand
Bookish sorts will quote me upon their own demand
And maybe then you'll hear me, be my biggest fan
So here I go now traipsing, down this poesy plan...

Saturday, December 10, 2011

ready the horizon

Walking down the staircase
of my heart and mind
Thought I heard the winds blowin'
within my hollow mine
A place where hope has shriveled
longing for sunshine
And a land where love was lost
buried in the slide
But before I reached the bottom
I came to realize
That I cannot let the light in   
if I close my eyes
And I will not see the beauty
blossom in my life
if I do not make a space for
happiness in my skies
So I must ready my horizon
for the stars to shine
Step each step with confirmation
joy is on the rise

Friday, December 9, 2011

Thursday, December 8, 2011


Upon a pillar of salt, 
I cut the palm of my hand
its blackest crystals, 
as rough as sand
and as that spice worked within me,
flavoring all my plans
I remembered how sweetly did taste me
until I gave into its commands
and missing all those opportunities
that buzz within honeyed land
I sought to expel the salt within me
to wash the sins' demands
But then I found that callous covered me
sealed the wound with its strands--
and that is why you see me culling me,
digging out, sifting out 
the scabs upon my hand; 
the salt within my sand.

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Love blinded love

Love fell into the well of Love's deep brown eye
Love blinded Love, and Love gave Love sight
Love without reason is Love led aright
For Love may dumb you, but too make you wise
So Love when Love loathes you, that is the light.

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

What dreams we dream

What dreams we dream
What things we think
What risks we take
What hearts we break
What fires we foment
What seeds we grow
What gifts we open
What doors we close
What times we've wasted
What wonders we show
What hopes we've holden
What chances we throw
What words we've spoken
What truths we know 
What harm's in living
With this in tow?

Monday, December 5, 2011

Ghazal "for the vortex of lost socks"

today, I mourn the loss of my two socks
for even though I have sock, I have not socks. 

as from each pair, it seems that one's been hocked 
so I don't got the s's that would make socks.

'haps I should keep my dresser under lock 
'cuz the foot elves snook in and stole my socks. 

or maybe the dryer took half my stock 
the lint trap a wasteland of eaten socks.

or spun through the vortex of a strange clock, 
and now they're inter-dimensional socks. 

or they're banned by committee, formed ad hoc, 
concerned by the ethics of excess of socks. 

but whatever happened, 'tis toes in shock, 
for this shivering Soha wants both socks.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

the songbird

It seems he wandered blindly
an eternity in the desert heat
his tunic torn, his blistered feet,
lost in a sandy sea.

And when the rays cast upon him,
made his limbs to sink,
that moment death found him,
a new life was brought to brink.

Looking to the heavens he glimpsed
a falcon soaring above--
he saw how quick it descended
upon a lonesome smudge.

And when those talons found their mark
that speck of life did fall 
and hit the ground swift and stark
a broken feathered ball.

It was a bird, so small but sweet,
that laid upon the sand,
and as she bled, he did weep, 
for she cooed to the dead man.

And as the dead came closer, 
he saw the world within her eyes,
he heard her sorrowed song,
and was reawakened by her sighs.

And though he had nothing left there
and had nothing left to try
he took pity on the poor creature
and so brought her to his side.

They walked there far together,
she, cradled within his hand,
and before they traveled further
they were saved from that dying land.

They were brought from the wasted
to an oasis, streamed with palms 
and there they drank and feasted
grateful for the gifts above.

And as he cleaned her feathers
from the filth and from the blood,
she was washed into another,
through his sacrifice of love.

For in that precious water,
in that hope and loss,
the songbird was made woman--
was cleaned of earthly dross.

And nevermore did he wander,
neither was alone
for in her songbird song, 
the homeless found his home.

Saturday, December 3, 2011

an average apartment on reasonable terms

when heaven is an average apartment
that's let on reasonable terms
and what was once your wild hope compartment
is filled with fodder for worms
maybe it's because your dream department
is busy with other concerns
and, at least
now you know what "down to earth" meant-
to take all things in turn.

Friday, December 2, 2011

Thursday, December 1, 2011

on confidence

Who do you think you are
saying what you can and can't do
who are you to say how far
or even when you are through
like the sun gauging itself on the stars
there is more in you than you knew
so no need to wage in this self-war
when you don't even know you