Category: Poetry
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A Calm and Strange Uneasiness
The darkness which surrounds us completely bares our soul. Paul Valéry I wasn’t yet born when Paul Valéry wrote about the effects of starlight on people, Yet I too, feel strangely simplified. Tonight, the few glints between cloud and shadow above the buildings and billboards on the outskirts of Bangkok make me homesick for…
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Mother May I
She stands at the edge of the universe of herself, royalty on permanent loan from the city of Frederick. She adjusts the church spires in her crown and we side-saddle along the sidewalk in front of the art gallery where she hangs. Mother, daughter, queen, where have you been all my lives, but here? An…
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Blue Eye Sky
Fragments of sand sift through calloused toes raw with wrinkled scraps of yellowed memory. Cerulean sun on cue spinning surrealism like some Tanguy canvas stretched across eternity like your eyes white with splinters of big bang residue collected in caverns of expanding light.
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(Hillsborough River, Tampa, Florida, a quarter-mile upstream from the Save A Lot overpass.)
I. To the Santerían Woman on the Dock Across from Mine a. The Goat The first time I saw a goat up close was when you draped its headless body atop the current. Its hooves grazed the buoy of my crab trap before catching on the line. Ankle deep in blood-steeped brackish, you looked at…
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These Straits
I say I want, and wonder what I mean. As if to speak my longing could summon what I seek. Foolish man; over-fond; much too frank. As if to say I love you were money in the bank. Presumption’s my secret sin; I say I want you and wonder where you’ve been. As if you wade, like me…
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Parable of the Absent Mother
“There was a man who had two sons . . “ Luke 15:11 Her not being there was in everything. It was in their dinners together and in their sitting alone. It was in each of their bed times and in their getting up again. The younger boy was rudderless; the older one angry, always…
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Prodigals
He came to himself Luke 15:17 Jesus understood how a boy can take leave of himself – the soul drifting, propelled darkly along a descending string of poor choices but there can also be a coming home, as abrupt as Dorothy clicking her heals. Like David the king, who heard the words, “You are the…
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Spark
I sip the teas of prose and guzzle electrolytes of poems. I proselytize by the Shamanism of my native tongue; my inner, transcendent, mystical language. The dancing wick is never doused, sickly as it shivers. Inspiration hides itself, imagination rebels, creativity is inured. Recurrent chapters of stimulative destitution trigger the hunt. I attempt to thwart,…
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Digging for Gold
A lot of my life’s been spent searching for buried treasure. What I could weigh and measure digging for Gold. A box of poems, Hold some gold. My brother’s rendition of Heart and soul. Relationships, home. Within my self – Digging for gold. Clients, hard work, and wealth. We’re all digging for Gold and something…
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Charlotte’s Web
This spider is moving again. Rebuilding my web. Rebuilding my web. It is the web that we weave. The very sacred thread of our humanity. The web that we weave. The very fabric that clothes our society. The web that we weave. The web that we weave. It is more than just destiny manifest. From…
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Home
Through pensive eyes gazing at the gaping horizon which sings, I permit the sovereignty of nostalgia to saturate. Contemplatively, I stroll a garden in which roses smile all around me, dripping their wet jewelry gifted by the morning. At the top of a mountain resides a remote monastery sat upon by the narcissistic Sun, depicting…
