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Unusual Host

This was written for my friend, Alan, in December of 2002. I’ve made a couple of minor revisions before adding it here as a backlogged post.

Unusual Host

For Alan Polson

Much like his awakened and spherical host,
He is often a poised and ethical host.

An ordained Buddhist monk turned registered nurse,
He is both a mystic and clinical host.

Tea, pastries and cakes greet a visiting guest;
This preparedness marks him one practical host.

Walls hidden behind a banquet of reading
Propose he must be a most lexical host.

Undaunted in candidly sharing his views,
Conversing reveals him a critical host.

Long since disillusioned with man’s morbid ways,
His outlook reveals him a cynical host.

Trailing to snores in the middle of speech—
Fatigued, he is rarely a vertical host.

He may start to dream amid conversation,
But awake he remains a stoical host.

Zahhar has known many a host in his time,
But never quite such an atypical host.

This is my 94th ghazal.

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Fettered

This one came out of nowhere. But, then, if you think about it, so did we. I mean, just where were we before “this” happened? Where were we before we were somehow caught and trapped by the dreamcatcher web of forming veins and arteries? This ghazal asks a lot of questions. In fact, each sher is its own question, and each question probably doesn’t have an answer—Certainly not an easy one.

Fettered

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 87th ghazal.

Publication History:

Candelabrum Poetry Magazine — Spring 2003

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Offering

There are many things driving me to study and write poetry, not the least of which is this sense or belief that I have something important and tangible to offer through the medium. I later rewrote this ghazal entirely under the revised title, “Offerings” (pluralized).

Offering

I trudge now back through this grime for you
Because it may ease the climb for you.

Because you just might learn from my pain,
I re-walk that bitter rime for you.

I’m told there are riches deep within,
So I search this fetid slime for you.

I seek rubies in the cave of loss,
Yet I’m glad to spend the time for you.

The earth and stars all could have been mine,
But I’ve passed these chances prime for you.

I’ll peel the rind and my soul expose,
Then wait as a silent mime for you.

Pearls were buried with my heart, you see,
So I dig back through the lime for you.

If in your depths these words resonate,
Zahhar is sounding a chime for you.

This is my 61st ghazal.

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Whispers

A truly random piece of writing, yet one that turned out surprisingly well.

Whispers

The silent moon grows strong, my friend,
And yet I hear her song, my friend.

Stars fall in glory through the dark,
Freed from the pressing throng, my friend.

The lightly scented night wind blows;
It heals the soul of wrong, my friend.

A gentle arc holds all our dreams
Bound in a stardust thong, my friend.

Soft feathered and unseen, one tolls
The heart of nature’s gong, my friend.

Can lone Zahhar, atop the hill,
Ever be there too long, my friend?

This is my 48th 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