Monday, September 12, 2016


Sometimes you must
feel nothing.
No touch.
No sight.
No voice. 
No sound.  
You must sit
still and quiet
and feel 
yourself existing.
Just being alive.
And with it feel the
pain and remorse,
joy and elation,
love and anger,
fear and boredom,
ambition and emptiness.
You must feel
yourself breathing.
A speck, insignificant,
in this universe.
And yet, a universe
unto itself. 


The lamb sits snug
on this winter day,
your strong arms
wrapped warm and
gentle around him.
And if you could,
you'd wrap them
around your
beloved hills too,
wouldn't you?
But just as the wrinkles
form wise creases on
your weather-beaten face
so do the roads now furrow.
Grey through the green.

Inspired from a photograph by Nasar Husami

Sunday, September 11, 2016


We escape to
new lands and oceans.
From the mangled, 
broken children of 
our childhoods, we escape.
We escape into books,
philosophy, songs, poems. 
Into beguiling bodies, 
we escape.
We escape into stupors 
and we escape into hazes;
God found and lost.
All the while we run, we run
from the deep set gazes, 
of the children from our past.