Like a Pool Frog
at a dry river bed.
Like the flow
of a water garden
in the dry season.
I am stilled.
I am struck dumb.
I am Walpoled.

Eat when you are hungry
and when you’re tired sleep
Stop all the questioning
Life isn’t all that deep

a poet's heart
is a thing of ink

pigmented with equal parts
hubris and anxiety
rage and hope
passion
and tears

narcissists filled with self loathing

composed of shouts inarticulate
and whispers of intricate craft

our thoughts and words rushing
through us
barely legible

defining our days
with explosions of fathomless obscurity
or flashes of visceral clarity

our nights consumed
in communion with paradise
while teasing secrets from the abyss

couplets and quatrains
providing us the space
to live
or to die

running breathless in free verse
we grasp at perpetuity
yet find ourselves doomed
to ephemeron

like the sky
we are rewritten each day

yet as the sky remains the sky
so do we remain
what we are

pages
in a book we can barely read

remaking and trimming

editing ourselves

to fit within the margins
of our paper souls

And they called her "SELFISH"
For suddenly...!
Refusing ,
Not to live

Dark matter aids with the construction of collectives
While dark energy pushes them apart
Well that's what they reckon
They don't really know
It's the point
Where science becomes art.

Let the light in, don’t get burned.
Willows will cry, but no longer you.
And may May last just a bit longer.
Seeds grow in darkness, and you can too.

The poet not in love
Is the violin never heard
The sunrise never seen
And the water never felt.
The fires never lit
The birds never in flight
The lips never touched
The meaning never found.

The poet not in love is
The journey never taken
The path never walked
The guitar with no strings
And the painter with no canvas.
The parent to no child
The treasure never discovered
The book with no beginning
The story with no reason.

The poet not in love is silent
And what a useless thing to be
As a poet.

I crave for their affection
I crave for their love
I crave for their appreciation
I crave for them to love me back
I crave for them to be there for me
I crave for there to notice me
I crave for them to listen to me
I crave for their time
I crave for them to stop comparing me with my brother
I crave for the things i know I'll never get
To atleast be happy with me
But it's not gonna happen
I know it won't

we cant sit
and stare at our wounds
forever
we need to heal,
it starts somewhere
it takes a toll on you
but
we need to heal.

i spend so many sleepless nights
thinking of you
never dreaming
a dream is more tangible a thing
than thought
and in a dream everything is real
even if it's just for a little while

Low horizon sun
Slips across a polished floor
February sky

My yeti is eating spaghetti
Does he like the noodles
Does he like the sauce
If not,
I'll show him who's boss

When I write
it's just a poem
but what I feel it is in my spirit
words are a tool
to poke and ****
feel our way around like wanderers in the dark
most wander by
sometimes all do
but sometimes we find each other
then what I wrote
is not just a poem
but the vehicle of connection between you and I

Dead of night
doubt wraps me tight—
like damp clothes on skin,
taking the air
leaving me shrunk
beneath the weight.

Fell into a tunnel
with no sign of light
I keep walking,
chasing my way out.
Every cut swears to
stir the results

A little boy, deeply wounded
Scars hidden inside the moon
His love for his parents left so soon

A man, deeply sick
Saw his rescue lying
His mind forever dark and dying

A little girl, deeply sad
Sat down to understand
Why her dad didn’t hold her hand.

A teenage girl, deeply hurt,
Knows the secrets of the moon
And longs for light to break the gloom

to lie on the warm sand at twilight
ripples of fleeting light
across a calm sea.

if i die young, know i died unhappy and life’s unfair,
if i grow old and die traditionally,
know i died unhappy and life was a misery

i’d tell you a tale
of all of my life’s history
but it would all be derailed and all sound pale
in the words of my mouths contradictory
so i’ll leave you with my frail words for the cemetery;

if i die young, know i died unhappy and life’s unfair,
if i grow old and die traditionally,
know i died unhappy and life was a misery

when i’ll die, i’ll die artistically
candle lights, speaking words lyrically
and if youll ask me if i could go back and do it all again, if i’d make a change,
i’d say in a heartbeat
and if i did, i wouldn’t have to repeat

if i die young, know i died unhappy and life’s unfair,
if i grow old and die traditionally,
know i died unhappy and life was a misery

for i didn’t do it my way,
i did it life’s way
if a decision could have swayed
me in another direction,
i would be happier, in the life of my correction,
that got lost and died with life
while i waited to come back to mine

so if i die young, know i died unhappy and life’s unfair,
if i grow old and die traditionally,
know i died unhappy and life was a misery

and to my life, i miss you
and to my cat-child, i miss you
and to my moms eyes, i miss you
and to my sister-child, i miss you
and to what was once mine, i miss you

I don’t know,
is not a very good answer
when someone asks
“who are you?”

it is the one thing I do not know
the one thing I could bear,
simply being told

someone to dig into the very rotten core of me
hands bleeding as they cup my face
and say,
“there you are, I’ve been looking for you”

it does not have to be

a blind recital
of words

or memorized notes
of music

it does not have to be

water stepping
over stones

wind weaving
through the trees

or snow collecting silence
in the fields

it does not have to be

any of these things
just as long as it comes

from that part of you
that understands

your tiny place
in the beautiful infinite

Red-brown pine trunk,
With severed branches,
Greedily soaks up the streams
Heavenly waters.