Tired

So much for sleep!
As I spend another night
Looking through books and thoughts,
Lost in the miles of my mental mazes,
Lips turned down, a small frown,
Yawn- browse the web,
Eyes sagging tired,
Drag to bed...
Sleep.

Monday Dream

In my dream

I saw my mom’s old Landlord,

A relic of younger days.

Memory furnished a lucid picture

Of His careworn face

And fatherly demeanor,

The towering height that

Only children see.

He shone with a splendid radiance

And I wanted both

To look away

And look forever.

He was crying
With His hands outstretched,

And looking down I saw

In my hands

An orb of blue and green.

“May I have it back?” He asked,

His voice silent yet intoned

In the reflections in His eyes

And in the recesses of my mind.

I looked at it and looked at Him

And looked away

And though I felt the orb

Lose weight

And harden against my hands,

I made up my mind

And I shook my head

And then I said:

“No.”

Sky

In the night sky,
a green tint to the stars
and their light
shines through the haze.
 
Spinning like a top,
the dizzy stars a spiral of movement
and they whirl,
so busy on their nowhere paths.
 
Whirl, whirl, whirl
and I fall down to watch them
and they don't mind
me watching.
 
A bright star-
my eyes entranced-
and it loops
across the sky,
different from the others
somehow.

Rainy Night

the rain falls in heavy sheets
and on the pavement beats and beats,
and soaks into my hair and clothes
until, weighed-down, I wander home,
where waiting for me is no fire
but only the incessant desire
to fly like rain out of the clouds 
and floating down, cover like a shroud
the city streets where raindrops run
until brought up by the midday sun.

Urban Winter

winter waits to show itself,
hiding in the city streets
and darting down alleys
to avoid a passing glance.
it tracks a paltry path of dropped-down leaves, 
yet in its haste to hide
allows others to dance 
hanging
from the stems of half-dormant trees,
and but for chilly nights
there is no hint
of winter here.

Ocean

bottle green, adorned with yellow foam,

ferociously kissing land

with weathered lips

chapped by decades of neglect.

an undulating bottle swallows sand;

water covers up

our heartbreak for its home.

a translucent bag floating in the corner

of the water underneath

a tourists’ dock.

people walk by.

they take their pictures,

smile,

and forget.

Felix Culpa

I am a hopelessly romantic realist;

a natural extremist

who makes moderation a habit;

a fool who finds wisdom

every once in a while.

I am a spineless supporter of the weak,

who veils weakness

with the valor of a nom de plume;

a stoic whose cold character collapses

every once in a while.

I am a modest braggart;

a fervent narcissist

who’s humble when he's right;

a righteous citizen who does wrong

every once in a while.

I am a perfect human. 

Elysium

what waits

in the subtle Silence

of a dreamless sleep?

the Phantom that haunts

the fantasies

of the waking?

is it not true that

only the sleeper knows

what the Silence means?

Façade

I walk alone

below a spotless sky,

against the tide

of the tremulous wind;

a lonely figure

in a living fresco,

enveloped by the backdrop

of a landscaped temple;

a simple shrine

concealing the complexity

of a single cell

on a lonesome leaf

of a solitary sliver

of sea green grass;

I walk alone

in an ocean of emerald,

forging a path

into the trees;

a small figure

in the forest framework

of towering giants

and thick brush;

a brushstroke on the globe

feigning immensity

and fooling imagination.

Well Spent

Waiting

for meaning

and gleaning

no meaning;

creating,

debating,

and hating:

Waiting

thinking and reading

and being misleading;

breeding,

receding

despite special pleading;

deflated,

sedated,

and hated:

Waited

The Psalm

gently tapping

a bewildering beat;

ancient rapping,

a sound so sweet;

reaching out

with worn-out words

of times before us;

history heard

in the ups and downs,

the slurred scales;

the new notes

in life’s long tale:

the Psalm of Rain.

Repose

a cool breeze 
under the deep black skies;
a million white pinpricks
reflected in my eyes;
drifting on a swing set
in a deserted playground,
a dog's distant barking,
a solitary sound;
the feeling of calm 
I can only find here,
when all life's troubles
seem no longer near

Summer

steady wind blows warm, 
poplars bend to its will;
a cloudless sky above,
an angry yellow blemish in the blue sea;
a humid pressure pushing down,
holding in the heat;
lazy boys by a stream, 
feet in the water,
souls free to float in the wind,
soaking in the summer