Tuesday, January 31, 2012

The Ruins of My Temple

Despite it's condition,
the ruins of my temple,
still sacred,
soul's trappings,
entangled in the brambles,
fixing my position,
grabbing hold,
thorns break the surface,
nuances change my trajectory,
growing out,
pulling in,
dragging down,
learning to adapt,
contort limbs,
ligature marks burned
across brittle wrists,
earthbound dwelling
fumbles against gravity,
as the soul
bears it's body.

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

By Sunday

By Sunday

By Sunday,
a thin veneer,
all that remains
of my shell
I built,
to protect myself
from the world.

By Sunday,
it has worn
membrane thin,
scraped away in layers
by life's daily upheaval,
dark forces
without and within.

By Sunday,
I feel bumped,
rushed, pushed,
pummeled, abraded,
discouraged, heavy,
I drag chains,
my hope wanes.

By Sunday,
I long to wander
deep in the woods,
get lost completely,
swallowed by the trees,
breathe pure,
be alone,
meditate, center,
rebuild my soul,
shore up walls,
that wear down,
membrane thin,
by Sunday.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012

The Gift My Friend Gave Me

The Gift My Friend Gave Me

In a cafe',
sipping coffee,
my friend would read to me,
Persian poetry, in Farsi,
his native tongue.
The paper he held,
covered in exotic symbols,
graceful curves and dots
on the blue-lined paper,
like notes of music,
played right to left.
As he read them,
my eyes would close,
to hear the poem breathing,
feel it's pulse,
lose myself in the caress of each
beautiful, melodic sound,
rolling into the wave of the next,
feeling each end rhyme.
It felt so familiar,
a primal recognition
of our ancient voice,
a soothing lullaby sung by a mother,
rocking vibrations felt
deeply in the body,
comforting the soul.
In an instant,
my mind fell wide open,
I understood, that poetry
transcends language,
it's meaning secondary,
to the repetition of sounds,
the meter and cadence,
the universal sound
of our own heartbeat,
our first inhale of breath
into newborn lungs.

Tuesday, January 3, 2012


at my feet,
fragments of gold,
delusions of grandeur?

to piece together
the puzzle.
Can I proclaim myself
or charlatan?
focus my energy
on a practical trade,
nine to five,
retirement plan.

the words
stubbornly silent,
gathered up,
in my pocket,
spoiled children,
constant attention.