Pondering the origins of my beautiful universe

The stars are speckled
swallowing sunshine
upon the dimpled cheeks of my lover

I reach for her face
covered in angst
a celestial chaos
among the cosmos

My fingers feel
across the folds
of wrinkled skin

The creases
around her sparkling eyes
orbit around her pupils
for the sake of pleasure

The universe in endless
or so they say
Rome wasn’t built
in the span a day

My love is as free
as the hopes of tomorrow
birthed today

The decades it takes
to build upon her beauty
can never be stolen
or truly taken away

Made vs. Designed: A brief history

If I walk under the whim of the weather
the cover of darkness
is no longer a guise for shelter or vibrant color
but simply a soulless shade
made from a uniform
unfitting to my character

Many times, I have seen
clothes “designed” in the West
and “made” in the developing world
in sweat shops
and factories
where people squeeze and trample
over one another
for the sake of food and shelter
and without anyone knowing
that this is all
for you

They receive no credit
no overtime
no insurance
simply a bed to sleep
and children to rear
for the sake of a family
and a piece
of something that vaguely resembles
what we call a life

We, as mammals, are made to eat, sleep, and reproduce
we, as people, are designed to believe
that we are not absolute
unless we suppress and surpass competition
with the depths of our intelligence
and the pieces of rectangular paper
that we know and accept
as money

But if you think money is only paper
you are a fool
If you worship money
…you are a bigger fool

Designer clothes are simply cotton
but name brand gear and stylish people
are not quickly forgotten

The followers on your social media
are simply inflated statistics
just like the billions of people in the third world
who do no bear your magnificent characteristics

If we turn a blind eye
we’ll never have to wonder
about the politics of wealth and world trade
but if we are curious by design
even if it’s only polyester and twine
we may someday learn how things are really made

Empty orchards

The green of her eyes
is unlike the apples
of orchards heavy
with ripened skin

The cold color
in simmering warmth
soothes me
but the flesh
that I cannot taste
sits heavy
inside the hollows of my heart

Without touch
a lifeless feel
without expression
my desires
are frozen cold
upon her gaze of steel

I simply stand
existing outside
until I am invited in
for the mirage of her meal

Tell me why
it is impossible
to eat from her hand
her disappearance
a further weight of reverence
for the heights
where she should stand

Within the emptiness
of infinite eyes
I now understand
the orchards are bare
torn and ill prepared
for the greed in my sight
for which there is nothing
but madness and despair

A broken land

I swallow mugs of mist
topped with hints of morning dew
inhale the intricacies of nature
while the branches grieve the passing
of their abandoned homeland

There is feast consuming the gift of foliage
once abundant upon the lips of animals
a famine cultivated by the hands of humanity
the delusion of gain and prosperity
warped like patterns of demise upon the heads of old tree stumps

The blades of blunted knives
once carving the initials of young lovers
upon blossoming bark
are now chainsaws and axes
professing a deep desire for agendas and quotas

We are the ailment of our stifled breath
disappearing with the fortunes of flora and fauna
subdued by machines of the future
in endless pursuit of innovation
no longer able to choose between creatures and creations

All the lovely children

When I was a child
I believed that babies were born
when two people loved each other
from the bottom of their heart

I did not understand
the meaning of this love
I did not comprehend
the particulars of touch and intimacy

I only learned
that this notion of love
created little children like me
all around the world

When I looked at girls
I did my best not to love them
fearing that a child may appear
simply from the burden of my gushing thoughts

When I grew older
I was relieved to discover
that the power of thought
was inconsequential to the creation of children

Now I am certain
that I understand how babies are created
but I am no longer convinced that I understand
what love truly is

To stop and smell the roses

When I look through reflections
I wonder if they’re always real
if people are replicas and creations
if life is a journey
or only a destination not yet fully revealed

I ponder if others are as insignificant
how return journeys are faster than the first
if significant others are simply a mirror
if first impressions are to be fully trusted
if I really know someone unless I’ve seen them at their worst

A burst of thoughts is usually a nuisance
peace of mind can often be a bore
I think life might be a dream to some
when my neighbors smile at me in the hallways
I wonder if they curse me for the violence of my nighttime snore

I look through hundreds of faces everyday
only to open my eyes to find a select few
they say there are six degrees of separation between humans
I try not to look too closely
strangers are simply a mixture of me and you

If you think long enough
you’ll realize you’ve never stopped thinking
a mind in motion is an explosion of ideas
an endless moment on a spectrum
interrupted only by our need for incessant blinking

In a hundred years
you might be remembered by some
official records aren’t hard to efface
when it’s really said and done
in a thousand years you’ll be remembered by none

Positivity is always an asset
willpower is limited in its scope
don’t worry too much because life is a gift
no matter how lonely we get
we’re never fully alone in all of our dreams and hopes

Point Blank

I stabbed a blank page in my notebook
with the sharpest of ballpoints
the black pen against the white sheet
ripping through the unsuspecting paper
without hesitation or second thought

The pen worked furiously
ripping and cutting
with the little ball point
sufficiently sharp
to penetrate through the thin paper

Slicing and dicing
cutting and thrashing
the paper offered no resistance
the pen grandiose
in its vehement insistence

Calm and collected
looking at the sheet
I confirmed what I always knew
but refused to accept
about the nature of books

Paper is weak
for it can be touched
paper can be shredded
and can be burned
freely demolished at whim

without much effort
my pen was as mighty as the sword
the paper a docile subservient
hauled to the guillotine
for its final chapter

When I was satisfied
with what I had done
I carried the shards to the trash can
looking over to the notebook
realizing there was still much more I could do

The ways of man

There are many ways
to tell men apart

their hair, their size
words and eyes

their choice of curses
taste in food

if they relish silence
how they react to their mood

how they spend their dollars
if they want to impress others

if they’re kind to their lovers
how they treat their mothers

are they vulgar?
are they sincere?

what are a few things
that they hold dear?

are they lazy?
are they stressed?

do they hoot and holler
when they see women in a tight dress?

some are generous
some are austere

some are hostile
when others come near

I don’t know all
but I know a few

I know enough about men
as the priests on their pew

men are nasty
men are nice

but they’re just half the story
in the game of life

Simple Money

Simplicity in human form
comes in many shapes
of skin, flesh and bones

Brains and skin tones
are often not equal

we are all unique
in our ability  
to manipulate the world
for what we need

…but more importantly
for what we want to have
for things we have learned to want
from others

They say “Money doesn’t buy happiness”
it certainly buys everything else
they say money doesn’t grow on trees
what they mean
is that their money doesn’t grow on trees
paper, after all, is all one needs

If I had all the money in the world
I would be sure to share some
so that I don’t find myself
at the unfortunate end
of a stranger’s loaded gun

If I was the last man on the planet
money wouldn’t buy anything
If I was the only man on the planet
without money
well, that’s a whole other thing

There is nothing wrong with “greed”
isn’t that only the opinion of others?
it is human to give but mostly take
there is much about life still to discover

A few random thoughts


The positive have a way
of choking reality into silence
the passive and peaceful have a way
of provoking actions most violent

The smart ones are often silent
or maybe silence only signals mystery
the ones at the top are those who slept
through the most important lessons in history

A closed mouth doesn’t get fed
empty vessels make the most noise
the world loves the thought of new ideas
a new world churned out by old boys

There are those who love peace and quiet
others search endlessly for the storm
we are all born without words
but learn to mimic sound for pitch and form

There are those who take vows of silence
monks and criminals are not so far apart
all roads lead to Rome
to find meaning in silence is not for the faint of heart


No one got rich by being generous
a penny saved is a penny earned
experience will turn a warm heart cold
the pinch of poverty is a lesson learned

There is a great drive in some people
it is usually called “hard work” and “persistence”
the truth might be far less glamorous
for a piece of the pie at fame and money’s insistence

We love big packages
though the gift may be quite small
appearances are always important
to make a lasting impression above all


A picture is worth a thousand words
birds of a feather flock together
the Ugly Duckling was never a duck
reflections are the only chance to be seen for the better

Maybe we once came from the same people
it is still wise to be weary of strangers
somewhere along the way we fell apart
sometimes the ones we love are the biggest danger