WonderWhen the parade arrives he is entranced, a child,fearless, with light shining in his eyes. At first,I am skeptical—embarrassed at the offbeatclapping, uneven dancing—but rhythmaside, his wonder comes alive, a smile brightafter being buried under pursed lips for fartoo long a time. Hardly fearless, I dance too,starting uneven until I wonder why I worriedto the point of wandering from happiness.
a trip to disneylandpushing upstreamagainst the currentof peoplespring afternoonspent fishingfor complimentswaterfallon my shoulderspilled drinkdrowningat the water fountainto save moneyanticipationwaiting 90 minutesfor the ride to breakshimmering birdtakes flight—a child's balloonbiathlon:long-distance walkto drive home
CleaningFocusing on the big picture isnot one of my strengths, at least notat first. Everything is covered in dust.Dusting can't be done until surfacesare cleared. Surfaces can't be cleareduntil things get put away. Things can'tget put away until older things arethrown out. Et cetera. Untilthere is a floor, there is no floor. Withno floor, there is no room. No roommeans no guests. Et cetera.The first step to cleaning is acceptingthat the first step will almost alwaysfeel like the wrong step. The roomwill get more dirty before it gets clean,life will get more complicated beforethings get simple, the world will goon spinning even when you feelyou are at a standstill. Et cetera.
.after the dam breaksthe roaming riverreflects sunlighta spring smileas it embraces freedom
nighta love songto the neighborhoodevening breezetwo dogsawake at nightfallvideo callingcrows lurkon the power linesgossipingtwo cats skulkamong shadowswaiting for sunriseso they can slumbertogether
Crow CallingCold nights are experienced through the ears,the constant cricket chirping ceaselesslyover rolling rumbles from rushing airplanesoverhead, and the mirrored inhale, exhaleof a car rolling up, and past. For suburbs,it's something resembling serene, silence—or as close to it as cities get—sitting softon slanted shingles. When some solemnevening gets pierced by crow's calls, the coldsinks deep into the cracks of the night'sfoundation, a caterwauling that caststhe night into cauterized stillness. Comemorning, will the crows still call?
SlothI work from my bed; that's nota metaphor. I have a desk andno drive to sit at it. Movementis impacted by various factors, not leastbeing the comfort of you. Why shouldI work at a wooden desk whenI can work from your warmth instead?
canyon rengatwo leaveson the waterslow dancingthrough the canyonthe river runshomecoyote creepin the canyon at nightbefore going home.like them, I returnto you
Echoic MemoryIt's a coat with many pockets, eachfilled with a different time and place. It'sstanding outside the Lincoln Centerrealizing your parents won't make itto the concert you flew cross-countryto perform in. It's going on stage and singingto them anyway. It's standing in a church,shivers running up your spine becausefor the first time you've created music,real music. It's crossing a two-lane streetin a suit and tie after packing half a decadeof a life into the family van. It's wakingat nearly thirty years old to find yourselfcarrying the joy of a discovery madeat sixteen years old. It's sticking your handsinto these pockets as you slip on the coat,and finding a decade-old smile on your face.
Leaving the Day Behindleave the day behindto a night of peaceful sleepstars will bless your dreams
Haiku Collection 07 - Thematicsore from shouting,wrap frustrations, calmly,around a cigarettea funeral of earsmarks empathy's death.this suffering is yours.sobering skiesbring the recognition thatshe is beyond rosesloud music only prolongseventual reckoningof lossit was windyat the burialweather hasn't much changed.our relationshipis polluted with mistakesand apologiesI cradle thisguitar body as ifit were a mothercapo on third fretnooses are purchasedat package storessaddenedthatI love youI wonder,are you feigning regret,or powerless?her strength in doubtingmanifestations of loveare a threatit is painfulto know that you will diefeeling unneededChrist, I want thisto be different.Christ?our worlds are distinct.I envision your skiesempty of birds.this branch holds much weight.more than should be overlookedby a swinging child.
Generic HaikuPoetry is gayAnyone can make some wordsProse requires skill
Diwalifestival of lighta time for peace, hope and joydiwali magic©Phatpuppyart.com
Frozen StarlightSolid starlight beam,Precarious illusion,Photon Congo line.Each born of fusion,To squirm through desolate space,Die in my retina.
When Dreams Aren't Enoughwind and falling leaveslike whispered words that redeemme and soothe my soul
Hakuna Matatano cares in this worldsing hakuna matataand just fly away
July Haikuthonsmall white gypsy mothsscattered across dark curtainscreate their own light gardens of seaweedfloating under indigobloom into turquoisea necklace of shellslost among the grains of sandtreasure for mermaidsfireflies in jarssitting on the window silllanterns in a rowcalliope nightswhen we both run in bare feetand dream of childhoodred bobbing sailboatsorbiting the horizonecho into blueyour sun kissed shoulderveiled under the moon and starsmakes me yearn for nightthe sun is settingin a symphony of goldand notes of amberstrong winds from the eastbatter like a hurricaneand blow the man downwhen the moon slips lowand glistens the night silveri dream of your eyesa slow hazy skyburnished like a dark rubybreaks the calm of junechildren's sandcastlesclimbing up toward the white cloudsvanish in the tideunder the old pierwe drank elderflower wineand made sand angelssand between my toesdisappears in the puddlesleft by sudden raini watch th
r.s.v.p.what I'd really likeis someone who won't make mefeel ashamed to feel
spring moonunder a spring moonlovers experiencefireworks