Category Deep Poems
in a boiling sea.
Moments
of a coiling me.
Roots finding no soil
A mind lingers in turmoil
An endless journey
Unable to flee
His name is Bisan but they call him Dan
All alone in this world
His house for freedom he sold
But the key in his hand he still holds
Without saying good-bye.
My passport photos are my proof.
My precious ally has found a new face
Not touched by grief, lack of sleep
And broken dreams.
You seemed never to fit in
You’ve searched your soul
looking for a reason within
but there was nothing you could do
because the problem was never you
You were simply not on the same page
could not connect with children of your own age
I’m not the medicine that you long for;
I’m not a lifeline, I’m not the boat,
I’m just the salt that’ll keep you afloat.
I stare at the noise, drawn to the void,
Conversations that I’ll craftily avoid;
I’ll walk off the earth, dying since my birth,
Keep running till my bones hit the dirt.
Under the shower, let the hotness devour,
And the water sink into my eyes like a rotten flower;
I’ve got the deadest face, I’m just a waste of space,
I’ll let my heart run free as my soul loses grace.
The summer breeze a sigh
I met a girl out walking too
And as I passed her by,
I noticed on her t-shirt
In letters of black and red
‘I want to know the details of real love’
And so I stopped and said —
You want to know the details of real love?
Then let me tell you this —
Real love begins with a kiss
A touch
A word
A glance
A dance.
Real love begins with a text
A call
But that’s not all,
It’s reaching out
And falling into
if money like apples could grow on a tree.
Each morning as money would ripen and drop
you’d go to the tree and harvest the crop.
All of that money would come to you free,
providing of course that you owned the tree.
The tree would be yours if you planted the seed
and nurtured and cared for its every need.
You’d be rewarded with bushels of cash,
and cash in this world is surely not trash.
The problems it solves are more than a few,
and money can buy many extras for you.
You’d shop for a car with a bushel of “ones.”
For a house you could spend “ones” by the tons.
Like a king in his castle you’d have command
of all you surveyed all over the land.
While you imagine (what would be the harm?)
instead of one tree, have a money tree farm?
Since each piece of money is denominated,
grow what you want of what’s circulated.
Then harvest your “ones” from a Washington plant,
“tens” from a Hamilton and “fifties” from a Grant.
A Franklin would grow “hundreds” for you.
What more could you want your trees to do?
But money from trees, whatever the gender,
nowhere in this world, could be legal tender.
In the struggle for power or the scramble for pelf,
for success in this world, rely on yourself.
Love is
sight where obscurity lays
parallel to luminous visually blinding curiosity
perceiving light’s blinking eye to warm a shaken path
of dark and damp coldness until tipping toes can
walk firmly on unyielding solid ground…
Love is
monochromatic rainbows in shades of you;
pale tones of expectations with no expectations
interrupted by kaleidoscopic flushings
at that chanced, precise moment
when shades of you casts hues of you
as the sun reflects its orange moon…
That a combat zone is a bastard of a place
And it really doesn’t matter which side you’re on
Because whatever your belief, war is just wrong
Why is it so hard to live with each other
We are all one, you’re my sister, my brother
When did we become so expendable and cheap
Why is life too hard to cherish and keep
too small.
sometimes, it seems, there is
nowhere to hide when
what’s inside presides,
pervades,
prevails;
when the storm
shreds the sails
leaving no safe harbour.
soon,
there will be
no trees to breathe
no rivers to cry –
and the oceans will be salt
flat graveyards
for my whale brothers
and sisters to die (in).
