Poetry Digest: #1

From time to time, I hope to publish a collection of a few of my recent poems. I will refer to this series of posts as my "Poetry Digest". This is Poetry Digest #1.


half court scheme


real life has no rhyme scheme
it's not a sport or a team
there's no buzzer at the end
just space-time to bend
flying towards the rim
there's no box score to skim
no assist to parents for creating me
no rebound to friends for sympathy
everyone fouls out
nowadays the game is about
a bit more long
the players are a bit more strong
I don't need a post game report
if I send a prayer from half court
even if no one will watch such
pithiness in the clutch
I still have a double-double in infinity
even while alone in serendipity
I don't regret losing my innocence
let my questions be incense
a desperate heave as the clock winds down
let words and feelings be my crown

lifting off


My glasses escape the pull of my face
I stare into a blur of fuzzy flashes
There are swirls of darkness
There are smudges of light

There is no one left to race
These solitary dashes
Atone for my lateness
Which is a blight

A disgrace
Each delay clashes
With the precision of greatness
And the countdown of a mind in flight

I'm leaving space
If everything crashes
While I'm weightless
I won't regret this sight

I will singe this place
With the signature of my ashes
A trail of fiery brightness
Breaking the barrier of the night

Sabotage


I'm pulling apart the strings
Where my thoughts attach
I hear my recollections ring:
It's the final dispatch

I'm tearing all the wires
I've buried in the ground
Then I'm setting fires
To burn records of the sound

I'm prying up the track
I'd rather travel another way
I'll trade the pieces I crack
For the strength of another day

I will never charge a fare
No passengers will pay a fee
Because no one needs to go there
Least of all, me

not even trying


anything can be a poem
even this
somebody hates it? blow 'em
I persist

poets self-indulge
no one wants to read verse
that makes the pride of a writer bulge
and the apathetic reader curse

writing about writing
should be banned
there is nothing less exciting -
even I know it's canned

I'm tired of being a smartass
(and self-referential) -
I wish my poems were as good as
their potential

21st and Winter 


give me paper and a pen
I can write as well as any citizen
remember when I said that our bus intersection
(and transportation selection)
reminds me of a Simon & Garfunkel song?
so let's once again amble along
to tales of 21st and Winter

"when I left to visit her
I had to catch a train
and a bus - John Coltrane
and Paul Simon:
who would I rather lead me on
to the city of brotherly love?"

"the one clue I'm thinking of
informs my knowledge of deduction
BBC series have excellent production
but I don't have to be Sherlock
to write something silly you can mock
while we're sitting on the bus"

"when it was the two of us
standing on a street corner
at 21st and Winter
I told you I would write this song
aren't you glad you brought me along
to the corner of 21st and Winter?"