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Reunion

In 1999 or so I had a vivid dream where I met my father briefly in the City of Necropolis. A few years have passed since then, but I still remember the dream vividly. Seemed like it was time to reflect that memory into a poem.

Reunion

i met him once
in another plane
beneath pale blue sky
surrounded
by cold grey towers
older than time

i remember
walking by myself
down archéd hallways
stretching long
sullen and dim
devoid of life

life lived not here
though it did pass through
in its erring quest
to fathom
what it all means
this strange journey

i met him here
where corridors crossed
through ages brooding
we alone
held in our gaze
one another

his face showed pain
fathomless concern
i saw not in life
but here now
in this city
Necropolis

we did not speak
though thoughts in balance
poised long on his lips
unable
to form one word
from his pained heart

not one thing moved
in this agéd place
where motion and time
stood frozen
as in silence
our gazes locked

i saw his pain
his longing to know
how i was doing
in absence
of his own life
he took from me

Publication History:

Blackmail Press (web-based) — Spring 2006

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God, May I See You?

This is a backlogged post, made on November 1, 2012. At the time I wrote this, I was still borderline Christian. This was ten years ago, and a lot has changed for me since then. However, you don’t have to be Christian, Muslim, Jewish, or any other particular religion to seek an audience with “god”.

We each understand this word and what it points to in our own way—This can’t be helped, as we are symbolically oriented, interpretive beings. And, throughout life, we each in our own way seek an audience with what this word represents to us, even if we’re not necessarily conscious of the fact.

God, May I See You?

“God, may I see you?”
A silence fills the air
Into the dark I stare with hopeful gaze

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
The room is cold and dark
And blank I stare into a blurring haze

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
A cold wind passes by
As long in vain I peer into the night

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
The desert stretches wide
Alone I scan horizon’s dismal blight

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
Soft the snowflakes fall
I try to see into the flurry’s drift

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
Pine needles seal the sky
I look into the forest’s closing wall

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
The ocean stretches broad
I dimly watch the great waves crash and roar

… … …

“God, may I see you?”
The moonless stars are bright
One parts and splits the heavy night in two

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These Aged Pines

I am posting this as a backlogged post to the day it was written. Presently it is November 2, 2012. It is very likely this poem was inspired by my early walks in Montgomery Woods, an old-growth coastal redwood preserve about 30 miles west of Ukiah, CA.

These Aged Pines

Amid a lush fern carpet stand perpending pillars;
Lost in the closing cover, rise impending pillars.

A constant calm hangs in the quiet shaded gloom
Beneath enshrouding shelter of attending pillars.

Ringlets firm encircle ancient seasoned hearts,
Shielded deep within the broad suspending pillars.

Silent witness to the flow of countless ages,
A subtle presence grows amid ascending pillars.

More than stately; more than magnificently made,
High up into the heavens reach transcending pillars.

Zahhar forgets a thousand woes among these giants,
A torn heart held uplifted by extending pillars.

This is my 19th ghazal.

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Etchings

Trees of all kinds will always inspire poems from me. This ghazal is one such creature. There is a cohesive pattern to the shadows as you read, starting with Winter and ending in Autumn.

Etchings

This poem has been published in my book an inkling hope: select poems, available in Kindle and paperback formats. Out of consideration for those who have purchased a copy, I have removed it from this post and online viewing in general.

This is my 18th ghazal, revised in January of 2013.

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Moonset

I have always felt a peculiar connection with the moon, like an enchantment. I suppose this is true for most people. She does, after all, tug at the very molecules from which we’re formed and influence the tidal flows of our chemistries.

Moonset

Upon a streaming cloudscape floats directive moon;
Like a feather falling drifts perfective moon.

Soundless autumn breezes rustle unseen leaves—
Silhouettes of trees beneath projective moon.

Moonlight flickers faintly, cast through broken shroud;
Gently in descent retreats respective moon.

Shifting slow and silent against the depths of night,
Radiant vapors phase below reflective moon.

Soundless on horizon, a cloud-like dragon flies,
Final hues reflecting from far prospective moon.

Still, serene, amazed, Zahhar observes alone,
Distant shimmering moods of our affective moon.

This is my 17th ghazal.

Publication History

The Ghazal Page (web-based) — August 2003

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winter trees

There can be something disturbingly organic about the appearance of winter trees beneath moonlit clouds. Thought the imagery deserved a tanka.

winter trees

capillaries form
in the softly moonlit clouds
and weave together
merged into the fibrous veins
that reach deep beneath the earth

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choose

This is an example of my early free verse. Most of my free verse found before this date will fit this category.

choose

make your choice
how will you live
with or without hope

will you shun your heart
will you deny you dream
will you extinguish
like a candle’s low lit flame
what hope you hold
will you allow it
your heart
to fall from you
cold to the ground
frozen from your chest
with all your dreams
to shatter before you
exploding in a fray
of frozen shards
into blood frost—

you will be dead
though you walk
interact
seeking blindly
to find a replacement
for your wasted heart
the heart you denied
and allowed to fall
from your being
a block of ice
the heart you left
in the vacuity
of indifference
anger
hate…
or dread—

you will be but a husk
a container
of emptiness

make your decision
live numb
and without hope
dreamless and lifeless
or accept the pain
that accompanies a living heart
full of hope
an occasional broken dream
but the joy
of dreams fulfilled
hopes realized

make your choice
live or die

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Narcolepsy

I have been narcoleptic most of my life—if not all of my life. For me, the most salient effect this condition has had on my experience of living is that of making it all seem like one very long dream. It is sometimes difficult for me to figure out if I’m really awake, or really asleep for that matter.

Narcolepsy

I live between two realms oppressively trapped,
By force unseen long held repressively trapped.

I never feel alive or fully present,
Halfway in Land of Nod recessively trapped.

Tethered to a plane I can’t escape,
My doom is to remain impressively trapped.

My struggle for coherent mind is constant,
Held by Morpheus’ hand depressively trapped.

I phase like a shade amid the moving world,
By underworld of dreams possessively trapped.

Sometimes seized by an invisible grip,
I fall to paralysis suppressively trapped.

I’m worn by this wrestle for consistency,
Forever snapping back successively trapped.

When will Zahhar rise forth into the light—
Or shall he timeless be regressively trapped?

This is my 16th ghazal.

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Road

The open road has played a significant role in my life. I ran away as a teenager and spent a few years wandering the narrow black lanes of America. As an adult I’ve explored most of the states west of the Mississippi by bus and by car. As the cost of gas rises, this has become less practical, but I’ll still take to the highways once in a while when I need time to think, meditate, and reflect.

Road

There spanned before me a long wending road,
Stretching aloft a life-mending road.

Expanses stirred in my spirit a goad,
Spurring adventures along trending road.

Drifting alone with a great mental load
I wandered far on the peace-lending road.

The changing lands were my phasing abode
Beneath the skies of an unending road.

Hope was reformed through steady erode
Of useless views on strength-spending road.

Amid moving seasons wandering strode
The dreamless Zahhar on soul-tending road.

This is my 12th ghazal.

Publication History:

LYNX (web-based) — October 2002

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moonbrush

I have blogged this as a backlogged post. It is presently November 2, 2012. Having stumbled upon this as I go through my old poetry, it seemed worth having here.

moonbrush

delicate moon beams
silken sift though elder pines
flickering pallid
owl feathers dancing gentle
float through trembling canopy

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twilight

Nature can never provide enough imagery for poetry. This particular expression of nature seemed to deserve a tanka.

twilight

a dismal expanse
trees fade into silhouette
life forgets to breathe

embraced by the fallen hush
an oak leaf lightly trembles