your mujadara

it's called 'everyman's dish'
a simple steaming pot of three
or maybe ten ingredients
lentils sorted to remove the wee stones
the cracked wheat of the bulgars 
onions chopped and caramelized
some kind of stocky brothy 
almond milk bullionaire chicken 
or beef or just plain old water
spices and garnishes steeped
with love and tradition of the
very region you are named for

i have never tasted yours...
they say is the best ever, here
or there, in this hemisphere
or that, heck, maybe the planet

but i have been nourished, often,
by the mujadara of your soul 
by the mujadara of your heart
the mujadara of your very being
with every little look you give 
every little thing you say...

every beautiful note you sing
laden, dripping, with joy or pathos
even better when it is
    both at the same time

 

etude...

some nigbt before
we ever met, unaware
of the life changing
mind boggling heart 
melting soul soaring
wing dingy thingy 
thing that was about to 
happen

some night before
thinking... that next
day was to be
supposed to be
some hum drummy 
normalistic whatever I was
thinking about not 
thinking about kind of
tomorrow

unaware
you'd walk in
under the radar
right up to me
giving me just a
little coy glimpse
of that glowing 
pure radiance full
of grace smile

everything changed
but i didn't know it
yet...
 

golden rays of autumn sunshine

a warm fall day, pure
blue skies and the sun,
as only seen this time of year

the world is on the edge 
of harvest gold, basked in
sunlight of the same tone
illuminating heart and soul
in a momentary bliss 
knowing all is...
as meant to be

this feeling, this contentment
is no different than
when i see or think of you
the daughter of autumn light

it is in your corporal grace
the harvest golden glowing
aura of your very being

shine on...

 

just pawns

the world in disarray
forces moving us pawns
to think we think
believe we really believe
the group think 
algorithmed into
the media pablum
we feast on

'they' numb us then
shuffling us through
well-worn fenced paths
to the temple
the gilded palace
of consumerism
to buy and purchase
buy again and purchase
more and more of... 'stuff'
stuff 'they' make us
think we need 

September 2025
The Institute of It Ain't as Dire as it Sounds 

complacent emptiness

feeling empty, not a bad empty
a just washed coffee cup kinda empty
kinda content with it all 
not wanting anything at all
knowing that can change with 
with wind and whim and happenstance
and be fully filled again with
angst or bliss or something
in between

at this present right now
of this very moment
empty works just fine...

September 2025
The Society for Esoteric Concerns 

impromptu

on this blank page
this electronic easel
pulsating empty, white, pixels
there is potential for me
to almost write a reddish sun
like you painted on your wall
a redder son rising, or setting,
photoed over this blue salty sea
a brownish muddy river
or our unsalted lake

but...
i could write and write
and never match 
your singing while 
driving us to... 
i can't remember where

it never mattered after
hearing your song
the sun of your heart and soul
warming the whole world

september 2025 

 

andon's peşrev

huseyni haunting and 
huseyni uplifting 
so beautifully focusing
the mysteries of life
the dichotomies
the very complications
that forge joy and sorrow
into this thing, this life,
we are, each one of us,
trying to navigate and 
make whatever sense of
we can

this thing
this music
this peşrev
this enchanting peşrev
from the root of your being
from your byzantine dna
whispers loudly
to my soul

august 22, 2025
best read to this sound track 

it's complicated

it's complicated
you said and sighed.

you're telling me
i thought and sighed 

it's life though
the complexities
the divine comedy
of navigating
the hormonal seas
and synaptic byways
foraging for tender moments
enchanted by the
attractive  promise
of swelling hope 
and yet, in the end,
mystified by...

well, most of it. 

the fine art of missing you

i missed you
before we ever met
and then somehow
i missed you even more
not worse, not more intense
not even unbearable
if it ever was

missing you in some  
"we may not see each other..."
again ever 
or maybe just today
but always in our dreams 

'tis but a leftover longing
from another eonic,
we just started walking 
on two legs, place 
totally on some other plane
some age old genetic rooted pang
of a deep connection and bond
in another consciousness
threaded across
many lifetimes 

Lyrics 3

disappear my love...
go on your travels

see the world
you are ever with me

you are the cooling 
moist breeze refreshing 
my arid soul 

 

my heart is constantly
breaking and healing

when i think of you and...

i think of you always

 

august 2025 

confluence

aspirations and dreams
desires, wants, and needs
what we think we want
what we yearn for 

sometimes...
based on what we do
with feverish intent
or by miraculous chance
we get what we want

dreams come true
kinda...

as morphed dreams
lesser than visions
and plan b-ish versions

unlike the movies
not an ansel adams
but more a good sketch
evident of some divine hand
revealing...
deeper life lessons
forever forging a path
of some unmapped road
a progression to
what...

the next transition

july 18, 2025
The Center for Reincarnation Studies

smooth morning

easing into a 
lovely summer day
madzun and berries
and old style reading 
an actual newspaper 
actually reading
leisurely turning pages
folding and unfolding
in july sunlight
espresso demitassed
totally mused by 
a gracious wish for a...
     smooth morning

πλατωνική αγάπη ή φιλία?

something special
even more fragile than
the, so called, true love
they mostly write about

maybe not fragile
just harder to keep 
the borders, clean, and clear

a deep and abiding 
tightrope, both so taut 
and hard to traverse
harder to reverse 
or advance

on that beautiful edge 
in-between several states
of consciousness and being

or just simply, trying, to be
learning how to better
marvel the unknown in 
which are lucky to have
touched souls without 
mating on this plane
or in this lifetime 

july 6, 2025
the acropolis of a dream
 

MEME Lyrics - Attempt 2

Stop making wars
Killing and oppressing
And all for what
And all for what

Chorus:
Leave us all be
Let us all live free
To work and raise families
And pray as we please
Leave us all be
Let us live free 

Shed your egos and 
Always wanting more
Power and money
Power and money

Look at us performing
All different but united
In love and music
In love and peace 

Almost a Fantasy

Verses

It was a glance

Just a glance

Our hearts melted

A soft jasmine breeze

 

You heard me sing with

The first notes of your nay

Song bird (albilbil) amongst the reeds
Our eyes turned brown to blue

 

We talked and sang old songs

We sipped tea, ate oranges

And talked and longed (ached) for

What could never be

 

Verse in other maqam and rhythm

Tea and oranges

Old and young

This tribe or that

This and that

Do they matter

Why? Why?

 

Chorus

Never to be

Just a dream

Almost a fantasy

For you and me

 

June 2025
A first attempt at writing lyrics
with a nod to Um Khalsoum and Leonard Cohen

so beautiful

simply... so beautiful
a smile brighter than 
the golden sun in fall
that colored your hair 
and forged your eyes
sometimes hazel
sometimes ice-blue

but that beauty pales,
is out shone, by your
truer golden glow,
and a peaceful warmth,
all from the more genuine
beauty that radiates from 
your pure and passionate
heart and soul... 

Almost

a poet that never penned a song...
    almost 
a love that might have been...
    almost
a problem never solved...
    eulerian 

a road not taken? 
    just stop now

all the opportunities missed
shots not taken
investments not made
all the wouldas and shouldas
and missed kudos
    water over the bridge
    wind in the dust storm

almost... almost 

flatulating bull speaks

writing a second poem today 
whilst watching westerns, alliteratively,
bat tombstone wyatt palladin and 
a maverick ranger but no zorro
no pecos anyone wild, bill, or other

nothing deep or existential 
no awe, angst, or wonderment 
no depth, no passion, no insights
no worries...

what is this poem doing here?
(well... it is lame)

deadrock reservation
june 2025

this cannot possibly help

the lifelong longing
for some elusive else or more
is it a greener grass thing?
a spiritual emptimess?
plain old materialism?
a wee bit coveting?
or just too much tv?

i am not alone
we all are not alone
yet... too many of 
the billions of us feel so...
in this teeming petri

too much time to what?
think? dream? ponder? 
fighting to survive...
oh, that the fighting 
was muscle and brawn
sweat and sinew
sword and shield
(the word drone perfectly misfits)

no that side of the fence
is hard scrabble where
too many die too young

this side is all steel, glass,
and concrete thoreauly 
in self-help desperation

somewhere under the rainbow
june 2025 

i sip your name

i sip your name
every sabah, dawning moment
i sip your name
etched in the rich woody
berry peaty bitter chocolatey
steaming swirls of brown and
beiged brewed complexities

i sip your name
jezvehed and poured into
maroon ornate demitassed cups
i sip your name, once more
it opens my soul
making me, oh, so happy
and oh so sad

i sip your name

uninspired

yeah...
another attempt at
attempting and tempting
where tempering
rather than this moronic
play on words is the
only prescription

it was clear, quite clear
before the ellipses
this weren't to be
no how, no way
the illiadic start of
my very own oddyssey

first poem of term II

the waterman flows
a sludgy river, oozing,
its way in slimy grace
pudding along to
some polluted sea

words splat on this page
a would be virtuoso expiring
on a shakespearean stage
some avante garde production
of a play no one likes

the sun... sets hopelessy
whilst dawning indifferntly
in someone else's tomorrow
where they will bake, globally warm,
this new existentialism

city of broad shoulders
ides of may