Poetry

I found my love for poetry just a couple years ago, with concepts for new poems striking at the most impossible moments. I’ve composed poems while walking, driving, and yes… even while sleeping. Then I sit at my computer and let them flow from my mind onto the page. A few examples…

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The Non-Culinary Uses of Tamarind
Into the Void

Her eyes were the brown
of ripe tamarind
a glossy shell, strong
and brittle, pulp
latent within
There were flecks there
of gilded innocence,
the silvered fibers
of curiosity, tendrils
sprouting and twining
Like tamarind
she flowered,
modestly concealed
beneath the pleats
of a faded school uniform
Like tamarind
she provided sustenance
for her family
when rice paddies alone
no longer could
Like tamarind
she was harvested, pod
pulled sharply from the stalk,
cracked open in Patpong
for consumption by eager mouths
Husk breached, discarded, pulp
exposed, pounded
to compliance, the value
of childhood, measured
in Baht
Her eyes were the brown
of ripe tamarind, titian
flecks, bittersweet,
gazing northeast, towards innocence
and home.

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Plaques and Tangles
Geneva Writers Group Offshoots 14, 2017

He refuses to let
go of my hand,
clinging, doubtful,
younger than he looks,
but older than you’d guess.

We remind him of his
strengths, ability,
invincibility,
but our words get lost,
like strangers in a
mystifying world.

Once upon a time
he displayed his plaques
proudly, golden
trophies lining
the wall, now hidden
deep within a crumbling shack.

These plaques make him stick,
stuck, blocked, beta-amyloid
surfaces barricading
him from us, us from him,
devouring what’s left
of a lifetime.

A world made of tangles
is what remains;
tangled words,
tangled thoughts,
tangled memories
of tangled relationships.

They twist and turn
and ravage and
annihilate
until there is nothing more
to retain and
everything is lost.

I refuse to let go
of his hand,
clinging, hopeful,
frailer than I look,
but stronger than you’d guess.

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