Poetry
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Can You Lend Me an Attic?
Read more: Can You Lend Me an Attic?Can you lend me an attic someone? And in that attic I will see that girl again. The one with the blue frilled cotton frock. The one with the acne marked red cheeks. Playing with imaginary rabbits. And immersed in her story books. Can you lend me an attic someone? I will go there and…
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Oriental Lilies
Read more: Oriental LiliesThe fragrance, the colour and the perfection. The dazzle, the mystery, a wondrous collection. The stargazers looking up to absorb all. They among all other flowers stand tall. My mother was so much like Oriental lilies. The dazzle of her intellect and her sparkling words of ease. The mystery of her beautiful eyes and her…
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The Three Sparrows and Me
Read more: The Three Sparrows and MeI was walking on the soft green grass. The sunshine was glistening on the dewdrops. My feet was touching the earth. My heart was feeling the happiness. Three sparrows were there with me, Pecking away in the grass. They went on hopping from one place to another, Not scared when I went near them. I…
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Weeding
Read more: WeedingDandelions expire and their hoary seeds are gentle as they urge the Spirit into spheres of truisms and because they are so delicate and soft they do not inflict any pain at all except that I must pull them from the dirt of their mothering roots so that the garden might thrive, the blood and…
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Bruises Do Not Hurt the Skin
Read more: Bruises Do Not Hurt the SkinTonight, new moon rising like an absent ghost, I am the sentinel with her back poised upright against the wall, awaiting its drift of sleep, and as well the sleep of two children, their senses lost to world, and the world lost to their senses. I light a candle to find the light, and click…
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Prayer for Bathing
Read more: Prayer for BathingThe sunset resists itself and in its premature glow while I un-clock myself supine in the bathtub I converse with the trees that I can see through the half-lowered blinds on the window. And sometimes the trees are as ancient as a whisper of lives which exhale into other lives upon lives, and then sudden…
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Breathing Memories
Read more: Breathing MemoriesAn hour that goes by forms memories, even when life is busy collecting tomorrow’s worms, splendidly popping up like bubbles in still water. Some are tall, illuminated buildings like a bonfire sticking out its golden tongue, lapping the dark firmament— shifting like the ebb and flow. Others are perilously impartial— like fireworks they sparkle and…
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Midday Door
Read more: Midday DoorThe sand alley, a sign, entrance to the other time, inner courtyard, 1 person at the counter, the post office of Baghdad, almost a Far West or Ur Little Middle East, faded, left & lost, years ago the letter with postmarked stamps, on the way, still and just.
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Now
Read more: NowJust one cigareta – and we‘ll think up blissfull moments beside the water, on shores that become embers: in words, on sores, sometimes a wave; another toke – cos we glow out & into the distance of the doubled seasons: what once – when once, we now never say not. After all the voice sounds…
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![The Walking Stick [A concrete Poem]](https://www.haoajanscribes.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/07/The-Walking-Stick-A-concrete-Poem-feature-image.jpg)
The Walking Stick [A concrete Poem]
Read more: The Walking Stick [A concrete Poem]A soggy old man, groggy with sleep, heads towards his tumble- down cottage. His eyes looking around frantically for his lost calf; ‘ho! Ho! Ho!’ He bellows. Some vague impulses, some wayward fancies, some laughable absurdities, and recurrent revelries, whirl in the mind of this soggy, old shepherd. A twig between his chipped and discolored…