Beneath the boundless sapphire skies,
The endless desert in silence lies.
Golden sands stretch far and wide,
A tranquil realm where secrets hide.

The sagebrush sways in a gentle breeze,
Its earthly fragrance sure to please.
Canyons carved by time's patient hand,
Tell stories of this ancient land.

The sun dips low, with a fiery hue,
Painting shifting dunes in reds and blue.
Shadows dance on the cratered stone,
This masterpiece that nature honed.

Deep reveries in the dead of night
Rapid eye movement flickers like fireflies
Edge of slumber enters a lucid state
Alarm bell approaching like a dawn chorus
Morning light pierced the curtain veil
Suddenly, I awake to the sound of a baby.

Come on. wake up my lovely birds,
Let’s all together praise Allah
Come pray with me say these words,
May He answer — say Inshallah...

Please God bless our precious princess,
And her awesome, handsome groom;
To live forever an eternal happiness,
And let their path flourish and bloom.

And God, I know You’re generous enough
To pave with love their way ahead;
Make it green, with gentle stuff
Guided by joys, and safely led.

Amen.

whereat the subsequent lines
lack any relation to the title
but like most every poetic endeavor
immediately becomes tangential
re: irrelevant to main subject of discussion,
digressing to unrelated points
characteristic of my trademark
swiftly styled and harried tailored,
and failing to return to original idea
with embedded symbolic logic
to better confuse the unsuspecting reader
which remaining written material
best understood after quaffing inxs of xylite
a liquid hydrocarbon

Spewing vomit vitriol far and wide,
A tug of war on both sides.
Was not blood spilt enough?
They seek to push this hate fueled stuff.

He said she said, twisted words,
Pecking at life, like ravenous birds.
When will it end?
How far will it descend?

You spout patriotism, but show none,
By championing death by guns.
And you justify this violent hate,
By saying Charlie chose his fate.

I’ve got to go.
The air here is stagnant.
It smells of regret and apologies,
and I can’t open this damn door.

I’ve memorized the pattern of its grain.
I’ve been waiting for someone
to come along and unlock it—
a silent permission to leave.

Waiting—
rotting in my dissatisfaction,
just to please those
who never really cared.

Sick and impatient,
my feet roll like thunder
across the floorboards,
and I kick the door off its hinges.

(for those not dominant with right hand
also known as southpaw and lefty,
as well as the more formal terms
sinistral and sinistromanual and another term,
particularly in Australian English,
hashtagged as mollydooker)

Fair maiden, mother, dearest wife,
Who carefully plucked the chords of life.
Gliding and dancing, not skipping a beat,
No rhythm too great to admit defeat.

Even as jungle drums came her way,
No strings were broken, nor did they stray.
Instead as a concert, that's well rehearsed,
Her actions were like the sweetest verse.

Even a crashing cymbal couldn't scare,
Wouldn't stop her, wouldn't dare.
Instead as a nightingale sings her song,
Melodically speaking, of a life that's strong.

The heartache
The tears falls
Wandering around
Seeking for comfort
Untill the waters breath,
bloom, bloom, bloom.

Most often I spot them way off in the distance:
something in the gait and the weight of their symptoms
that’s bearing the stamp of repeat prescriptions.
Alarm bells ring, I turn on a sixpence
to cross roads inventing a previous engagement,
catch a flower arrangement, bend to tie laces,
bury my head in shop windows replete
with cheap trinkets. I tread light on my feet,
for dejected spirits make cock-crow visits
and patches of ice combine with the rain
to throw me off-balance; I clutch at displacement