Garden of Curious Fates

Faith, Poetry

Garden of Curious Fates

Do bones chuckle at their own mortality?
Do they find comedy in the way God calls
them to the dust? Eternity speaks bitter
truths in riddles tucked between lines of, text like:
“The First will be last; the Last will be first”
Age cackles like a grey jackal in the bush
while life is a flame pursued by time’s winds
whose immortal gusts smite it on and on.

In the dying light of cemetery strolls
I hear old bones speak from coffins far below
like stand-up acts, they joke how they had to go:
One slipped on soap; another fell off his chair;
a third failed to see a bus veering his way
Their words make life seem so painfully feeble
like a vase distorted from its first accident
while laughter still dissipates from ash headstones
I walk through this garden of curious fates
indifferent to my own; still listening
to these loud relics as night’s curtain falls again.


Drive by

Poetry, Uncategorized

Drive by

Candles on

urban street corner

Youth, age––?



Between an end and beginning



Between an end and beginning

I’m sure he lies there resting

coiled tight within the rock.


It is Saturday, when one week dies

another comes to life.


I’m sure he lies there thinking

recounting Friday’s traumatic trial.


It is a reflective time of grace,

mercy and a time of sacrifice.


I’m sure he lies there listening

as authorities rejoice his brutal failure.


Outside the law stands firm

expecting no miracles.


I’m sure he lies there waiting,

anticipating Sunday’s redemptive sunrise.




Requiem for Commercialism

Poetry, Uncategorized

In light of the usual chaos of Black Friday(Possibly the most stupidest day of the year) This poem addresses the worship of commercialism and materialism that surrounds it.

Requiem for Commercialism

Commercialism is dead, and we have killed him.

Our thanksgiving, generosity and material contentment

has shut off its resuscitator, ending any last will it has to live.

The failure of unrestrained capitalistic and free-market

attitudes has breached the corporate granite guard,

striking vulnerable nerves that make Commercialism’s

might seemingly untouchable, uncovering the unsustainable

idea that one’s wealth is measured by how much he or she buys.

Yes, Commercialism is dead, and we the consumer have killed him.

Media Immunity

Poetry, Uncategorized


Media Immunity

Our hearts and minds have synthesized

from concern to in-difference.

Briefly, the red-stained headlines invoke

spontaneous outrage, briefly…

Only before the turning page

followed by the next day’s live events.

Few are chilled by the stunning stats,

shattered limbs in black body-bags,

scintillating, debris-strewn streets,

this death,

that disaster,

this —

that —

And in other news this fine day…