Truth

I see an image
made of dust.
This is something
I cannot trust.
But what of broadswords
that are thrust?
Soon their valor
turns to rust.

I see an image
made of dust.
This is something
I cannot trust.
But what of broadswords
that are thrust?
Soon their valor
turns to rust.
Written in 1984, this is another expression of my grief of losing my grandmother. Loss. A missing piece of the puzzle. A knot in the throat. A Demon in the gut. An unfulfilled need. A missing. A not there. A silent scream. Anger. Grief. Deprivement. A barrier to cross some day Yet crossed by another…
I first learned about Haiku — a Japanese form of poetry — when I was in the second grade. I remember being fascinated by the rigid structure — three lines, 5-7-5 syllables — and simple structure. As a part of that class work, I wrote the following: Swaying blooming rose Red rose sways blooms wind…
Here’s a limerick I wrote during the 1984/1985 school year that was inspired by a pen. The pen is a remarkable thing, you know. It writes with such an easy flow. The colours it comes in are endless. The things you can do, tremendous. There are even pens that glow, ya’ know.
Written in 1983. Cobwebs hang from the drawers. The empty seat covered with dust sits abandoned by the desk. Death now sits here looking at thirty desks aligned in six rows. No more do children laugh in this place. No more does teacher teach the students. The Apple perfectly red sits untouched by dust or…
Written Feb. 27, 1992. You looked at me as if I was a person as if I was beautiful as if I mattered You, who were to hold my first born and smile but were torn too soon away from life You, who in my mourning were a bright star and a friend now so…
Fly toward the light on wings of hope and despair your strength takes you there To enter the January 2008 Art Inspired Contest, just post your entry in a comment. Originally posted on 52 Haiku