Category: Poetry

Poem: Grandma’s Buddhas

Grandpa gave me Grandma’s three Buddhas Because she is no longer here to want this Trinity of not trivial treasures she bought when she Took her family to Nepal, so restless was her Heart that my father had traveled around…

IF. . .

Some days, this poem is essential as the air I breath. Today is one of those days:   IF . . . by Rudyard Kippling   IF you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming…

In Video Games

She mastered the art of reckless endeavoring, always plunging Forward outnumbered on unknown paths In a world just purchased for $10 from the Haitian vender who works on the street with a guilty grimace and anxious attitudes again just a misunderstanding away from life…

However

We hold ourselves away from the cold winds away from the darkness like moths addicted to the light like we are adoring of life.   We still find ourselves alone in the dark flying upside down the fireflies flash giving us unlasting…

Anticipation

Lives inside my cellphone when its darkened face has more patience than my fidgeting hands massaging everything they touch working out the stiffness of tonight robbing reality of its dull sensitivity clumsily holding a hundred howevers.   ← Previous  Next→

Steve Jobs Juggling Apples

I am writing this post on an Apple Macbook. A Galileo has died. But he showed us Applo before departing. This poem should have been commissioned as his death poem. It should be. It still could be.   Play A.R. Ammons Nothing’s…