Had I known grief sooner,
recognized her and loved her
anyway
I would not have sent
her across the river, dressed
in rags and and filled with hunger,
no rice, nor love in her begging bowl...

Terrified,
growing old in the daylight like the
shadow of sorrow
all alone and
unwanted in the evening when
blind crickets play their wild harps and fireflies
punch tiny holes in the night
to reveal all that is dark-eyed.

Love,
sweet scented rock of life,
Untouched by death,
or dawns delight,
not of this world,
a flower that grows,
dimensions
angels blessed, adorned
Of battles lost,
and battles won.
Beneath its blooded flag -
succumb
Save only few
can justly say
good or bad,
they won’t betray.
Residing from the darkness lit
Desire forbid,
or - jealous spit.
That ranks of man
forsake the crown.
in chivalrous act’s
the noble found.
Where does it reside today

I like House most
the instant of hurt
when he realizes
his jokes are for kids
who can never see
the joke

ribbon lean
the rich niche
culpa means

the static threshold
of the edge beam
warmed by the
hints of brilliant
einai

slipstern
tensile shrouds
the cloth
the oath
held

page edge
turned
the arc
of between's

He quickly dressed in his best suit and cape, placed his black silk top hat
On his head at a jaunty angle. One last look in the mirror, and he ran down
the staircase and out the front door
The shiney black and gold coach was waiting. It was pulled by four large, sleek horses

Her eyes sparkle in the moonlight.
Her hair flows like a crystal stream.
And every time I see her face
Her smile radiates joy as it beams.

Her personality is unwavering.
Her friendship knows no ends.
Sometimes when we have a fight
she tries really hard to make amends.

Ever since I met her
my life has changed a lot.
Her kindness shows a kind of person,
the kindness I had always sought.

For some of us, life is but a garden of thorns
The agony is the sole sweetness to savour:

If this be a nightmare by your making, dream-maker
Into which I am trapped, I pray to wake from it now
Before reality tattoos me as an outcast
I can no longer linger here on this gray field
And listen to the weeping winds sing melancholy songs
To the lonely willows wallowing upon lonely hillocks
Heartbroken underneath the dull moonbeams

Reflecting pools of glistening memories,

there'll be a golden octave reaching down.

'Twill signal final end to all our quandaries,

so when the man they talk of comes around.

There’ll be a golden octave reaching down,

this universe of ashes will go Home,

soft liquid shimmers, silent lights resound,

as angels will affirm shalam shalom.

'Twill signal final end to all our quandaries

You scratch my back
and
I will yours
you continue to read me as
I always do yours
and
then why compose poetry
may I ask of you?
as not any,
if at all not many
read ……
why should I post one
for none to breed?
as I might as well write ........and compose
music it to my ears
ere I myself to the garbage bin
my bed
do dispassionately ...............dispose.

Picking up the telephone to hear your voice
always comes as a shock.
It's so familiar
and yet so different.
You sound the same
but your honey-sweet words
seem to wrap around my throat
and make it impossible for me to speak.
A strangled cry the only thing
to escape my lips.

And then there's silence on the other end
as you realize that these words
don't settle warmly throughout me
like they used to just a short time ago.