There sits a man in the room below me
Strumming gently on his guitar.
He plays notes out of key sometimes,
And he doesn’t sing,
Simply hitting subtle rhythms,
Softly playing his chords.
This man though not knowing,
Has created a serene beauty
That only he and I
Will ever know.
I await his playing nightly
To help me sleep,
Imagining that he is playing for me,
His audience of one.
First published in Big Question Literary Arts Magazine, 2026, all rights reserved
I know it’s a shame but isn’t it clear
That I have no possibility
To change a thing in what’s going on here
Maybe others have that ability
So either they work it out fine
Or they’ve just given it up
Whatever happens I keep my line
Preferring to drink from my cup
The private life is by far the best
Invention of the Englishman
Stuck to your own, leave all the rest
To choose what is chosen for them
To hell with that new and old rubbish
My privacy sends me stuff
That I dare sometimes to publish
You’re entitled to cry or laugh..
Every day
you push
a pin through
my eye
I'm left sewing
my thoughts
back together
If I could
cut you out,
Id do it.
Hearing your voice
is like a drill in my ear
I count the days
till you're gone
Do me a favor
choke yourself
with my hand.
Not Every day is a box of
lucky charms.
I stitched my Wounds in borrowed Dark —
Where comment cannot pry —
The Noise of mouths was everywhere,
Yet Silence endured I —
From serious Pain — the Chronic kind
That teaches Breath to hide —
I fled the marketplace of words
Where weary meanings died —
The Chatter spent me poor of strength,
Each syllable a tax —
I learned to leave with empty hands
And fewer looking back —
Terrified of the self that feeds
On mirrors, not on Truth —
I guard the gates of my own Pulse
With almost holy Ruth —
So quick the Tongue is now to pause —
A practiced, sacred brake —
For speech once loosed cannot return
What careful quiets make —
My Ears remain — wide-open Fields —
My Eyes — an unslept Sea —
I watch the world without a claim
That it must answer me —
And privately, the Healing grows
Like roots that work at Night —
No witness but the tender Dark,
No proof — except the Light.
There shall be poems people may never see,
But someday: books they will come to be.
There are themes I cannot share here,
But I write them to show him a love so clear.
Abolished Private Life
“Where? Where is it?” Asked my Satan. Master Satan.
Hmm. It is a good question. I haven’t. It. A private life.
One's own life. I can’t close the door of my life. Broken.
“Broken.” Yes. “Broken?” Yes. “Why?” They broke in.
“Into. But who?” Psychologists. “English?” You know
The answer. You know. Yes. “You don’t need them?”
Never. Why? This is an ultra nazi psychology. No nature.
“Why?” No nature. Means. Not natural. “Not natural?” Yes.
“Then what?” No face. “No face?” They have a mask.
“They have a mask. What kind of?” Lamb. Inside evilish.
“Hmm.” Yes. This is the reality—workers of a power.
“What power?” It wants to bring the world under its rule.
“What do you mean exactly?” It wants to overwrite everything.
All the political, social, religious, and economic systems.
A universal psychology, which is complex to drive everything.
And this is a mind control system too. So dangerous. Harm.
Self-driving system later. Automatic.
And you have no life anymore. Own.
Yes, my dear Master Satan.
I lost my life. “No. You have.
Own. One's own. I keep it.”
“Enjoy.”
Thank you.
“Nice.”
A square. Right there.
It moves closer.
Wonderment:
Why square? Why there?
Why me?
Changing shape now.
Every second counts.
No one else will see.
Why me?
The square is lost —
not there,
but once it was:
a square,
drifting toward me.
Now only lines,
perhaps.
A square-cloud
visible only to me
dissolves into nothing.
Why me?
Languaging the place is happening
A voicestro of ideas
And involvement
Obstructing legislation
Command and finance
The handling of its own press
Pressing solutions
In the middle of a fraud
Yet in all time
A take part type of gal and guy
Suppose a person asked a city for funding around rent for themselves, an office, range of ten thousand a month
Today cresting 5 billion in debt of unauthorized hijacking of home development law
Well, it's inspection time again!
The Boys in the Barracks are wiping,
buffing, spit-polishing, belts and buckles...
Lest they feel the Wrath of their D.I.'s Knuckles!
Now, once they're all prepped and polished,
Some may soon find...their world demolished!
silence falls...Quick footsteps down the hall...
Not, One, Soul, Is, BREATHING...At ALL!
ATTEN-SHUN! BARRACKS READY FOR INSPECTION SIR!
AS YOU WERE CORPORAL! What Have We Got HERE?
You MAGGOTS! Look like something that...
Got PAID!, Got LAID!!, and then...Got...FRAPPE'D!!!
YOU...CALL...YOURSELVES...MARINES???
CUZ, I'VE GOT A BETTER DESCRIPTION!... LADIES!!!
PRIVATE KLUTZ!!!, STEP FORWARD!!!
THIS...is what the H, E, double Hockey Sticks...I MEAN!
What the HELL!...is that...GACK!!!...on your RACK???
It looks like...you Lost your PAY...Playing...POKER!!!
Couldn't AFFORD...to get...LAID!...
Couldn't AFFORD...to Get... FRAPPE'D!!!
Then YOU...told...ALL...The Others...YOUR BROTHERS!!!
YOUUU!...FELT SICK...BUT INSTEAD...WHIPPED YOUR WICK!!!
IF YOU PREFER TO BLOW...GUNK!!!...ON YOUR...BUNK!!!
THEN...SAVE YOUR GRAVY!!!...AND...JOIN...THE...NAVY!!!
AS YOU WERE...PRIVATE!!!
In the space a forgotten person is left to entertain
The remainder of civilization has been acquired
The unfinished civilized area per "your" affront, complaint, insult
Inflammatory remarks is creation of code
Creating colony
Demanding colonization by war
The financial crimes which capture attention are all in time.
Havings leavings
Feelings frustrated
Poor troddings while wasting into the poor shallows?
Allowed to do so.
Beneficial beginning from behind.
Avoid all affronts
Immediate rights?
Separation from extreme exposure
The writers block of monetary syndrome survivors
The elements for one
The news arriving on earth
In the way the news was arriving
No obstacles?
Really?
Greetings!
Thank you so much for submitting your letter to The Washington Post.
Portion control included, have fun?
History allows one the Japanese quartermaster position
The interior is a scary place
with hallways that seem
to go on forever and doors
behind which there are
darkened or half lit rooms
with nothing inside except
eyes that watch you
out of slits in face masks
hung upon the wall.
There are whispers creeping
along corridors and out
on the far edges of hearing,
the sound of someone
calling. This place has
no windows just thin,
clenched threads of light
hanging down from cracks
in the ceilings and a pale
glow crawling out from under
the bottom of a locked door.
There are no exits
in private museums.
Whirlwind
Of summer embers
Stirs up
From the un-mowed grass
Swept by the brooms of July 4th fireworks
Booming distant in the furled city
Up high
To the tree tops
The fire flies rise
To the hunger of bats that swoop as spoons
Banging the pan of moon
More than enough for all
The stars
Lightning bugs
Moonbeams and bean wings
Consciousness everywhere
Our heads tilt
On their cracked bodies
Statues
Still standing
For a longer whisper
In the ancient gallery of this summer
My wife her husband
Hands freed from our marble robes
We
Ignite and hold
The gold of a sparkler
Close to our faces.
Spring Hiku 14 _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ __ __ _
I ~~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I
I ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ I
spring red rose blossoms I ~ II~ ~ II~ I
I II II I
sprinkled in private garden I_ _ _ II_ __ __ _ _II_ _ __ _ I
scent on nuptial bed I~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~I
I . . . . . . . . I
I . . . . . . . . I
I ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~I
Do not go to that private school,
It will affect your mental health,
While the education is full of wealth,
Do not put yourself on that shelf,
That shelf is isolated and docile,
Alone despite being surrounded,
A dumb decision to make as a fool,
Used as a tool to start up something new,
Faced with issues many refuse to acknowledge,
So many times I wanted to fall in,
Fall in a pit where i could weep for hours,
Only to be woken by the same sound of laughter,
Laughter at things that make me cringe,
So many times i reached out and wanted to give in,
A school prized on being safe for all,
All who shared the same skin color had a ball,
Being the pepper in the salt I stood out like a sore thumb,
Many thought the world moved past this,
But some cling on
Private Life
Green room, open window, open air
Life, beach, mine, cool life
There is no ocean, but life is private
Hidden in life, there is no
Respection
Respected
Private life
Life
Killed
Dead
Dark room
Psychological
Well paid
Life
Is
Bussiness
Psychologists
Rich
Give up!
Your life!
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