yesteryearing
not for a lost homeland
a lifestyle never to be
relived by us
the offspring, the youngens
of the displaced survivors
now all gone
yesteryearing
not for the old west
but the masked hero
the trusted scout
william telling
for law and order
and justice always
in the purest truest
bestest propgandized
tv show could offer
a fifties kid that
stills lives within
hiyo silver... away
valentines day 2026
floating gracefully upon
the pluckish tendrilities
the babbling brookiness
the very armenian kanun
the effortless emanation
from marianna's heart and soul
i am there, in hayastan,
in amberd, at saghmosavank,
nowhere near yerevan
in the small villages
just imagining, channeling,
our tarn upon tarn
centuries older than old
sacred spirit vibrating
in our very genes
february 12, 2026
working
grading somethings and
listening, background
youtubing... you know
a few hours of shajarian
then randomly udi boghos
a fasil here or hüzzam
hrant, sayat, and tatyos
uşaklı, the kızzy one
neither tahir or there
and then...
it became poetic
something you sing
that you sing real good
and i just paused
as my soul drifted
in ethereal currents
headed in your
general direction
you texted a very
simple thought
"it's life you know"
i started to type
and backspace and
type and delete
again and once more
then...
i just stopped
just sat there
with nothing
nothing to say
nothing clever
no insight
no whimsy
certainly nothing
deep or profound
nothing at all
to convey
i just sat there
the sound of
one mind
doing nothing
idling, stalled
on the bay of
eerie tranquility
"it's life you know"
i guess i do
maybe the best
poem i ever read
maybe, probably,
no... for sure
this isn't the can
of slimy worms, nightmares,
dreamy dreams
snails, spiders, leeches
fluffy plush cumulus
lovey doveyness
stalking leopards, gazelles,
warlords, liberators
swords and plowshares
and any number of
scary primal
suppressed urges
that i want to open
a blurry of thoughts
while gently adrift in
the independent sway
of shallow emotions
lapping in counterpoint
to the tidal swell of this
the demotive sea
poeming while
vortexing in this
frozen suburban
misplaced tundra
can't help but feel
my inner zhivago
over and over again
in this bleak new age
more bleak and lonely
in this glorious cold
scribbling verses
well...
taping on a keyboard
trying real hard to
write something
profound, impactful
world changing
but no chance
of that today...
