The Show Must Go On…

There was this note,

For the empty good cheer –

The same at the last rehearsal.

Perhaps too hard or too soft.

It was nothing.

Time and renewed familiarity.


(From Yann Martel’s Beatrice and Virgil)

Words for My Younger Doubtful Self

At five years of age,

You knew to speak with your heart and soul

And declare most proudly,

Your life’s goal.


At seven years of age,

You were told there was no money,

In the direction you were taking,

But you answered like your mama: “That’s not a problem”.


At twelve years of age,

You made your teacher cry, tears of laughter,

With a tale you hoped would be comedic,

But wrote with some sense of defeat.


At fifteen,

You were told you had talent,

But you’d heard that before –

Mama had been saying it all along.


At twenty-two,

A great professor called you to her office,

To tell you she saw your potential.

You were smart enough to believe her.


You were not born perfect,

But you were born with the perfect drive,

And the strongest desire

To do better, once more.


You were blessed with all these gifts,

And with the woman who birthed you,

And raised you,

And propelled you into the world with the deepest trust.


You have,

Felt fear as vast as the ocean,

Felt despair as large as the tallest mountains,

And pushed forward with the burning anger of the sun.


But there is no doubt,

That once the storms settle down,

You will grow with grace,

Work with wisdom and succeed with stories to tell.


Continue as you are,

Continue as you have –

You have already drawn your journey,

With expert precision.

Silent Bliss on A Stormy Night

Midnight moonbeams pierced through tall firs,

And wind broke through the hush of a spring night,

Storms or fog – weathermen were never right.

But she was tranquil, like a cat’s purrs;

Blessed in her coffee’s aromatic lures.

But from the shelf and beyond dock – a sight,

That confirmed tomorrow would be a plight.

Her garden would be gone – that which was hers.


His world would remain undisturbed and bleak:

His toys, and tools, and his damn strong concrete.

His full canteen was what made him so weak.

And from his deepest woes she’d grown as meak.

Silently cutting through her dinner’s meat,

She’ll be glad to survive another week.

The Ocean at The End of The Lane

The sun had yet fully risen from its slumber,

When we were awake and ready for some adventure;

Grandma’s morning cooking could not be expected,

But there was nothing some bread and cheese could not compensate.


It was soon a brilliant and hot morning,

And we were ten in a car, dozing until after noon.

When we stopped, it was but to stretch our limbs,

But there, at the end of the narrow road,

The sky and the ocean reached the horizon.


We were meant to be well on our way,

But none could argue when the children pleaded to stay,

At least a little while longer,

To stroll along by the ocean,

At the end of the lane.

Some Day

For you I’d hold a million secrets;

I’d spend my days and nights dwelling in our dreams,

Or I’d move through space to meet you there.


I could not hold onto hope without you;

I could not be so blind to remain in waiting for you,

So I will request of you more than that –


Once I have had the pleasure of making your acquaintance.

Foreign Sounds

I have not been there…

What a foreign sound.


I gladly partake in this journey with you,

And you have led me to this fine discovery;

For music knows no borders,

And my ears are pleased with the solace of this gentle guitar.

Music is a language of its own,

And I thank you for your welcome.

As a proper guest,

I come bearing a gift of my own –

A sound –

From where I have been.


Listen here:

Stepping Out

Alone now,

Sweet Sorrow,

With no “how?!”

To borrow.


You’ll find yet

Point to stay,

Though please let

Your voice pray!


For new nights

Without fear,

Of cruel “Go!”


For bright lights

And loud cheer,

Saluting your courageous “no.”

He Was There

Just like that, he appeared.

His face brought me warmth,

As the sun brings out the shy bud.

“But what did he say?”

I do not remember.

Recollections are fraught with imperfections.

The sensations, though, were adamant to be felt,

So their fragments remain loosely lodged,

Into my self’s deepest layers.

Redacted for simplicity,

Retracted from their complex tapestry,

And re-purposed, for my quietest need,

Of feeling such warmth again.


“But what did he say?”

It does not matter.

Frailty is no cousin to absence.


There is nothing here,

For that is how you wanted it to be.

You have taken away my compass,

And deprived me of my sail.

And so here I am,



I am alone in an ocean of uncertainty,

But you would have me believe it was my fault.

Yet you claimed yourself Captain! Not long ago at all…


How easy you have found it,

To abandon ship,

And leave me with a broken wheel,

Right as we neared an unforgiving waterfall.


And so here I am –



And wherever you are,

You too,

Are stranded.


Stranded but surrounded,

By the source of life,

We were unable to harness for our own survival.

Dreams from The Suburban Sidewalk

There’s nothing to smell,

There aren’t many textures to feel as I walk on the pavement.

But there are things to see:

Beautiful houses,

With well-groomed front lawns,

Clean appearances,

And grandiose postures.


There is cement nearly everywhere,

Grey pavement with no design,

But with easy utility as inspiration.

Then there is a log,

A large tree log, in the middle of a park.

The only large greenery one may see within the neighborhood.

The kids play on this log, and they play in the park,

With their fathers and their mothers.


It is a sight that used to feel familiar.

It is a picture I used to be a part of.

But I’m too big to play in a park now.

Not with my dad anyways.


There are kids learning to shoot basket balls –

Something I could never really get a handle on.

“My hands are too small”,

Was what I told myself when I decided to give up.


There is a small hill,

Left alone on this sunny morning,

So today I am not walking along the pavement.

I am walking through the park,

Towards that hill.


Even if for just a moment,

I want to be Queen of the hill.

I want to play,

Even if all alone.