Exhaling alchemy

I inflict Kindness
to punish each act
of violence

Pre dominanced

I infest Love
in each space
in and between

I inflict Life

There has to be
a way

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The nautic art of letting go

By the side of the Sea 
She gives me glimpses 

of distance lost 
Of figures dancing 
upon mirrors beyond time 

Through thought 
I am writing calligraphic lines 
that make the water glisten 
in orbits of reflection 

Two white swans answer 
swimming closer towards me 
At first glance they offer me 
their compassion 

One by one they lower 
their ivory necks 
One sips in fresh water 

The other curls up 
resting its head 
upon it`s featheredness 

From it`s crib 
the swan 
beholds me 

It sails like a small 
white boat 
behind the other 

This moment 
was meant 
that way 

Little Willy Green

Little Willy Green, a lone dandelion puff on the valley floor,

sat on a graying park bench, beneath a willow tree.

Though we’ve never met, I did consider him

as he sat no more than ten feet from me a few years ago.

There was something about him that tore my heart in two.

His eyes gave him away.


Looking at him, I knew

the boys taunted him and

the girls understood him. The dark circles under his red eyes told me he was

broken, a heart shattered, shrouded in shredded



As I gazed at him, I imagined him sitting with a companion
at a place — not here.

He had peace there — his mind was still.


I knew peace was rare for him, considering the storm cloud his mother must be,

absentee father (who I’m sure is absentee) and that motley mob
flanked by his math teacher and campus counselor, who I am sure
must chide him about his not knowing how to throw a football. 


He did not remember their slurs
which stabbed him like a whip of bronze nails,
choked him like a noose,
and cut him like a razor blade.


He forgot it all

at that moment—in that place—as he sat on the edge of a gray sofa,
his large hands holding a stitch in his thin side. His bluish-green eyes were

barely visible through his

brimming tears. I don’t think he had ever felt such freedom.


Someone understood, and so did he,

wiping his tear-streaked face with the back of his soiled, canary yellow sleeve.

He regained his composure while

his companion recalled the punch line to his next joke.

Of Dawn and Dusk

It’s getting late, she whispered,

as the still and quiet cold crept on toward morning,

growing ever later, yet earlier all at once.

A spark of wonder and confusion comes

at Irony’s secret wonders in paradox, 

working seamless and harmoniously entwined.


The ticking hands of time press on like locomotives,

never looking back, but knowing well from whence they came.

Simple, yellow lines guiding wheels away from home,

to wooded, winding paths and barren, burning plains, 

such that the hands of clocks work wonders in themselves.


A boy yearns to speed the present, yet a man to yield it,

a driver searches for the city, yet wants the road once idle.

Embrace the night, for there lies the miracle that all might have their hope.


The night, it grows later, yet the day begins anew again.

Moment of clarity

Reality pinpricks across the surface;

The dance of the narrow needle.

Everything’s illegal, so we end up selling parts of our own bodies,

We were running free, but somehow got lost in the underground,

So much sympathy for our demons,

Crying gasoline tears in the heat of summer’s tease.


An ocean washes up pebbles and bones,

Victims of discrimination, beaten and stoned.

Preservation burns when trapped in the hold,

In the mind of a stranger, struggling to be free,

Resisting all instinct that is explosive within.

Submitting to the charm and seduction of fate,

Though I’ll never forget who I was,

I’ve collided with the man I want to be.

Author's Notes/Comments: 

Everyone thinks they know everything about others from where they stand. I realise now very little look inside themselves with that same deconstructive approach. This does not make me better than the average man; I just believe as a man gets older he should redefine himself and improve upon himself, instead of looking at what he doesn't have or is missing.