Stanza 1
Lost in a loop again,
Where assurances polished,
But actions stay missing.
Stanza 2
Lost in a loop again,
Hearing lips craft carefully
Sentences,
That collapse once the room
ejects.
Stanza 3
Lost in a loop again,
Where apologies come
Pre-packaged,
But accountability never
Conveys.
Stanza 4
Lost in a loop again,
Listening to voices rehearse
Integrity,
Like a script they never intend to perform.
Stanza 5
Lost in a loop again,
Caught between what they
Say
And what they refuse to do.
Stanza 6
Lost in a loop again,
And the echo becomes a
Warning,
That lip service is just
Another silence.
There is a particular kind of hunger
That learns to live without being fed.
And perhaps the cruelest mercy:
Even the compass bends towards the star it cannot touch,
And mine has never learned another north.
So I let the longing stay,
Knowing I was never meant to find my way out
From wandering beneath the same unreachable sky,
For I feared
That home, once found would wrench the way to you.
Perception
lives within itself
with no start or end
Reflection
puts the moment straight
when confusion bends
Prescience
is tomorrow calling
to damn or save
Conscience
the only thing you’ll carry
— beyond the grave
(Dreamsleep: August, 2026)
We live in offices and homes
as, more and more, we're set apart
from where wild nature grows and roams.
Tucked away, we forget to see
we belong and we are a part
of Mother Nature's family.
Paintings hang dead upon our walls
while live floral and faunal art
to every hungry soul, now calls.
It's time for everyone to see
just how creative and how smart
our own natural world can be.
Not unlike a poem or song,
it soothes and moves our soul and heart.
It is the place where we belong.
Pantoum Part 1
A stranger calls me everyday,
Makes me nervous to get the phone.
She keeps on calling anyways
When I am---or I am not---at home.
Makes me nervous to get the phone.
At times, he or she's a robot.
Calling me when I'm all alone.
And I've told them they must not.
At times, he or she's a robot.
And I do not say a word.
But they want me to sign the dot.
Saying yes to contracts unheard of.
And I do not say a word.
To them when I haven't much to say.
Giving them money is absurd.
These strangers call me everyday.
Rhyme Part 2
Spamela is her name.
With me she plays a game.
Morning, noon, and night.
Any hour is alright.
Her voice is very sweet.
'Cause she's a goal to meet.
She needs to hear me say yes.
To verbal contracts and the rest.
She sells electricity.
And phone plans for liberty.
She will sell me gas.
With friendly sales math.
And seek to earn my cash!
Without her, my day would be lonely.
She's my one and only!
My love on the telephone line.
Spamela uses mobile data all the time!
cloudy
Easter morning
owl hoots, greets hidden sun
while all the humans softly sleep
doves coo
Your mind
won’t understand it
but your feelings will
In touch
with the magic
— forever instilled
(Dreamsleep: March, 2026)
When we store memories we store emotions we felt that time
My belly does this weird flip flip whenever he's close
He's like siren
Luring me to a depth that already has me making mistakes
That part of me clinging to the spindly branches of a long dead tree instead of embracing the seeds of a new beginning
Ljubicasti zumbuli u rukama
99 ruža u mislima
[Purple Hyacinth in my hand
99 roses in my mind]
It’s no fun when the rabbit has the gun
Cat calling by women frowned upon
Looked at as desperate or even masculine
But when guys do it they’re just being men
I think I'm in Love
Because these days, she's the first person on my mind
I wake up thinking about her
No wonder
You stop thinking straight when you are in love, people say
And maybe that is true...
Because even when they try to warn me
I don't pay attention nor lend them my ear
Cause I only listen when its her voice
Wait, i think am in love
she calls me Sweetboy
And the way she says it, wow
It really does something to me,
It makes me feel seen, wanted
and soft in a best way
I think am in love
Maybe I'm blind
Maybe I don’t listen....
Maybe I am rushing into something I can't explain
But if it is what being foolish looks like,
Then let me be foolish in her name
I think am in love
She is turning ordinary into something i crave
Because everyday
I find a new way
To fall deep into Hendrinae
And every time She calls me Sweetboy
I believe a little more
That my heart has already chosen her
When I call,
Try pick up;
Hear me out.
Just don't know,
Why you won't
Pick my calls?
You got heart,
but for who
If not me?
No one says ‘ugly’
Who uses ‘fat’
We’re all way more sophisticated
than that
But a little kid doesn’t mind
if you weigh too much
or you appear strange
calling you ‘a fat pig’ or some such
The colors dance in the sun light
reflections of the sky, the sun, the air, the night
cool chills frosting every breath in flight
taking in the scene
of all the summer left dreams.
Pale greens, yellowing in the grassy flows
amber oaks, hay straw stuffed scarecrows,
crisp leaf foggy maple cider cloves,
wood smoked clay in autumn dusk idle slash,
gold corn flowered pumpkin hash;
every color of a scenic palette wall
painted in the ominous winter sky fall
misted wine in spicy chai tea
fragrant petrichor from the forest seas,
burnt umber leaves turn crimson garnet scenes freed;
mulberry cinnamon flame reds
cranberry chestnut butterscotch breads
scent the kitchens of fall harvest
brown sweater strudel coffee nourishing
bless this seasonal fluttering currency.
November calls, I hear the rings
It must be you, this late at night
Descend down here on the wings
Just like I thought you might
I feel rejected by your glance
When we get out of touch
While hoping for another chance
I dream of it too much
This puts reality away
Like in John Lennon’s song
Imagine us alive today
Too soon that dream was gone
November calls, and I’m aware
It must be you, who else
Would ring this time out of nowhere
No matter the expense.
Fry eggs and grok
Shell shock food
Rush toilets and dustbins
Only douchebags
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