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Tropic Rose

Joy, my wife, had asked me a long time ago if I would write a poem for Rose, one of her closest friends from the Philippines, but at the time I didn’t feel ready or capable of fulfilling her request. This is partly to do with the fact that Rose is an extremely special person and so I would not want to just write some poem for her, but a poem that actually did some degree of justice to her spirit, heart, and life.

After completing “Desert Rose” at Joy’s request for a friend of hers here in Reno, I realized that I might at last be ready to fulfill her original request. In fact, that poem is partially inspired by Rose as well, hence the title. Now this one is for Rose herself.

Tropic Rose

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. However, the above player can still be used to listen to it.

I used the rosa grandiflora cultivar called “cherry parfait” as the model for this expanded metaphor. This is my 6th sonnet.

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Desert Rose

About a month ago, my wife asked me if I would write a poem for her friend, Jerome, titled “Rose of Reno”. She has a very close friend in the Philippines whose name is Rose, and she has come to think of Jerome as being her American counterpart. The reasons for this are of course many and personal, so I’ll leave them unsaid.

I agreed to write it, but changed the title to “Desert Rose” because I’m thinking I might write a sonnet for the “Tropic Rose” as well at some point—For balance. Actually I think Rose and Jerome would really like one another. They are both remarkable individuals who have endured much and found meaning and purpose under difficult circumstances.

Desert Rose

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.

I used the rosa floribunda cultivar called “ebb tide” as the model for this expanded metaphor. This is my 5th Shakespearean sonnet.

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Afterglow

On January 25, Antonio, a close friend of my wife, posted a very touching status update in memory of his mother—It was her birthday. I asked my wife about his mother after reading it and later resolved to write something myself at some point. So, inspired by the love, respect, and appreciation he expressed for his mother that day, this sonnet is also written in her memory.

Afterglow

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 4th Shakespearean sonnet.

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Tryst

Sometimes, when love is lost, it never comes again. Or perhaps more accurately, it never fades enough for another to take its place. So, my third Shakespearean sonnet.

Tryst

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. However, the above player can still be used to listen to it.
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Inheritance

My second Shakespearean sonnet. I often think about the effects of overpopulation, which is of course disastrous. Somehow it seemed a suitable subject of focus.

Inheritance

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.
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Default

This began as a pregnant note, jotted down in one of my composition books as I sat in a fast food joint reflecting on the pangs of a friend’s recent betrayal of my loyalty and trust. This note eventually became the second couplet. My friend of many years turned on me quite unexpectedly and I was left stunned, numb, and pensive. I didn’t know at the time that the two lines I jotted down would later expand out into a ghazal that explored a broader spectrum of circumstances involving trust and betrayal.

Default

A field of dreams was sown by the hand of a spoken promise,
but they withered, for your words were merely a token promise.

The light outside is the veil of my great uncertainty;
inside, alone in the dark, I dream of your broken promise.

Your words were fuel for a blaze that warded off the darkness,
but soon the night fell back on embers of smoking promise.

Conviction was a spring that vanished as I neared it;
I was a fool, allured by hints of unspoken promise.

A single hope became the wellspring of all deception,
seeping a saccharine poison, its scent evoking promise.

For years the dreamer wandered through realms of loss and fortune;
adrift on phasing currents, he never woke in promise.

Delusion is a bright-eyed mistress assuring passion,
but time reveals her treacherous ways, revoking promise.

Potential rises like a fog, illumed by a half-moon,
and leaves the unsteady path before us cloaked in promise.

This is my 133rd ghazal.

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I’ll find you

I suddenly realized there was an entry in my large journal that hadn’t yet been transcribed to ASCII. When I read it over, I realized it might be worth turning into an actual poem.

I’ll find you

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.

The “you” in focus here is the creative self.

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Compression

Every year I try to write something on my birthday, even if I haven’t gotten around to writing anything new for awhile. I’ve just recently read some articles pertaining to the phenomenon of black holes. A lot has been learned about them since I last checked in on the subject, and they are a fantastic source of metaphor.

Compression

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. However, the above player can still be used to listen to it.
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Frostlight

Sometimes when critiquing a poem, I’ll try to exemplify what I mean by using unique imagery to replace a more common exposition. I’m not religious person, but what I’ve attempted to depict here is the common idea of “a delight in and a desire for the divine”, which has been stated a couple trillion times by a couple billion individuals throughout history. So, what could such a thought look if it were purely depictive?

Frostlight

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.
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The Distant Self

Lately I have been pondering the nature of death, what it really is. Is it closing your eyes one last time never to wake up? Or is it something more subtle, more unnerving—something much closer to home? When I look back through time to the teenager I once was, that person is not here. He is dead, and he has been dead for a very long time. But because I am still strong and somewhat clear of mind, I can forget that death and focus on the present life as if it now unfolds. But the reality is, there are moments, days, circumstances that I would hold onto for eons if it were possible—but they have long since passed and are dead.

The Distant Self

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.

Perhaps the movement between carnal death and birth is much the same. Even after that point of presence jumps from our last breath to some unfathomable new context, there is a recognition somewhere in our newly manifest being that something has been lost—a past and fully developed identity. Perhaps this death occurs on a lesser scale over and over throughout the experience of living. And those who see this most clearly are those who still live after everything else has been lost, and all they have left is to struggle for moments of clarity while wasting away in a nursing home.

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Companion

Maybe Time is more of a companion than she is—as many people feel—a tyrant. She is always with us, never leaves our side for a moment, and forever offers at least one consolation—that whatever our woes, these too will pass, one way or the other. This consolation has been perhaps the prime influence on my will to survive long, hard, bitter years in the face of an ever uncertain future.

Companion

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.