time goes on,
but I might as well be
in a coma,
stuck
in the comma
of life's sentence

it is tragic
when a writer
is so blocked
she can't finish
her beloved
character's story

when sunrise
brings no new
inspiration,
sunset
no critical
resolution

how much more
lamentable,
a real life?

the reason why
writers write:

to help us
make the most
of time,

Autumn afresh comes
all love the beach
but now its cold
any day ‘twill snow
this by the met
all are told.

hope we are by then home
before the cloud does burst
all would love to quench their thirst

well what a beautiful season
now comes our lovely way
in Canada so forever
we all love to stay.

ah!just before the fall
that’s loved by us all

I knew that I must have read this autumnal
lovely one
and
did return to rethink
how the weather
now could be

I've done this forty - three times
and my eyes are still wet,
moist around the edges, really.
Really only moist around the edges.

I was told,
yesterday,
that I was a true gentleman
as some sort of consolation prize.

I was loved by a woman
then left by a woman
who preferred pigs.

And I wondered if there is room anymore
for gentlemen.
Maybe I'm not merely a relic,
but irrelevant.

The Autumnal fever

Wow,Autumn once again is here
what a lovely season
for all poets so dear

what a beautiful autumn
you relay
here it’s raining,
then a bit cloudy
sunnier later
during the day

the clouds show anger
but quietly pass away
wonderful trees
leaves,
so colorfully display
my! what hues
I wish I could show you

wait

I’ll fetch my camera
for you

There are moments
We seek and believe to be true.
Unlike our present,
They are fleeting; they bare no name.

Desire seeks them.

Questing for conquest
My heart follows,
In-tune with curiosity;
Yet, far removed from sanity.

These moments,
Escape Reality’s reach.

They are fiction, fairy-tales we speak of.

Imagination at its finest deceives me.
I am not ‘us.’
I am not ‘we.’
I am a bystander.

waking up at blush of dawn,
pacing in corridors of light,
I watch through windows of time
the world coming to life

in that momentous pause I see
past and present meet
as future waits on dotted lines
for destiny to come and sign

I sense the throbs & pulsations,
sounds, smells & emotions
consuming me in lavish colors
stunning my window frame

soon a welcome place I find
to hang a frame on the wall
where artists come and splash
colors and shades of their will

Imagine Palestine free!
Imagine its land's not defiled!
Imagine me breathing its sea!
Imagine Palestine free
And its children live cheerfully!
Imagine us never having been exiled!
Imagine Palestine free!
Imagine its land's not defiled!

Let this fog enfold me
like a well worn cloak
drifting and lifting
To a world where
voices cry out,they know my name
echoing through halls
of the insane

Trust us they say
for we would not lie
then show me what I can only see
but cannot touch

They that wait in shadows
are we not one and the same
then why should I fear
are heart and soul to bear
Turn not the raging tides
that crash upon this empty shell
that I should suffer
the fires of hell for act nor deed of thought

I've a young son
who digs into the pasta bin,
curiously grabbing the noodles
I've been drying all night.

I've a young cook
at work -
my right hand man
who doesn't yet know
the meaning of slow down.

My heart was broken
going too fast
in a world
and modern age
that moves too quickly.

So this is my protest,
my answer and rebellion
to those who tell me
"hurry up."

Awakened in a strange place.
A house not like any other.
Dark rooms, and foreign passages.
Doors shaking on their hinges.

The walls moaned and exhaled.
Flatten hands felt the still beating heart.
Stretching hallways warped, and twisted.
Screaming rooms glowed with red smoke.

Trapped inside this horror house.
There was no threshold,
Nor exit to be found.
Once inside nothing ever leaves the grounds.