that drive home

that sunday, long ago 
we were young and hopeful
we were friends, good friends 
on that edge, that border,
that wonderous crazy edge
of you know...

we were with a group
driving home
driving home from our
weekend of armenian
education and music
and dancing

six of us driving home
we were in the back seat
you in the middle and
i by the window

who else was in the car
it mattered not then
it matters less now
what mattered was you
and me sitting next to you
talking on that beautiful 
long drive home 

we talked about...
whatever we talked about
we talked and enjoyed
and tired, we fell asleep
drifted off...

i was asleep, blissful
until i felt you lean into me
your head on my shoulder
and then... i was 
blissfully awake

i felt special
the smell of you, your hair
your gentle breathing
for an hour

for that hour the world
my place in that world
was perfect
and all right and good
on that drive home

alternative explanations

two words on a white board
two words in black, all caps, 
underlined in emphasis 
and... nada, zip, bupkis, zilch
nothing underneath
    kinda existential, sophomoric,
    maybe even philosophical

ok, i might understand that
there just were no alternatives 
but...
    what was the question?
    what was the explanation for
    which there were no alternatives?
    was it deeper than deep?
    all about life, love, god, souls, 
    and what happens in death?
    consciousness and being? 
    hope and hopelessness?
    or something more mundane?

maybe, just maybe, 
it was just a joke
a clever academic joke
to taunt and tease with an
unanswerable questions
    the way that can be named
    or explained, is not the true way
    and there are...
    no alternatives 

этюд два

bundled, scarf swaddled,
gloved and coated heavy
trekking in the dark dawn
of these shorter days...
the crunch of snow and
ice underfoot the frost 
of breath in iced air

embracing a frozen poetic
yuri andreievichy kinda day
casting you as my reluctant
larrisa fyordorovna

 

from your 1-3-6

we do retreat, both of us
fold into ourselves
seek solitude and just
    'vant to be alone'
to escape, perhaps,
in small part but...
more for introspection
taking stock of life
actions taken, not taken,
slaloming over 
around and through
events that just
happenstanced

where are we?
        (as we take ask in
        a most royal tone) 
what happened?
what might have been?
what should have been?

and, oh my, don't,
please no, don't,
bring that up again...

our lives, briefly intertwined,
the unfinished warp and weft
of souls and hearts
longings and other...
'complications'

a divine gift
our lives as 
something holistic
is pure poetry

kisher pari

enough of the deep stuff
'tis the end of the day
time to write some whimsy 
some fluffy, airy, bit of
possible poesical pablum
amazingly alliterative 
a lexiconic litany 
of almost meaningless
meanderings from a mind
closer to slumber than
expressing anything near 
an insight...

and yet, it is,
delightfully and definitely
still about you...
kisher pari 

your white city

i came upon a city
in a dreamy sleep
an ancient town of 
of white homes
of fragrant gardens 
on a river that flowed
through the city and
into the city and homes
via ducts built to cool
in the hot summers

i came upon that city
that city of white
that city you loved 
and always spoke of 
the city where we
might have met and
talked on my exile 
on my trek to find... life
and hope and meaning
and purpose and...

i felt foreign and at
home in your white city.
i looked for you and looked
for the magic you were
just born into rooted
deeply in that white town
and found neither until...

i sat by the river and
let it all go in a moment
and finally found you all around
in every yogic breath
in every water babble
in the wind and sun
in the warble of birds 

i felt your wisdom 
beyond your years 
steeped in centuries of history
in that city named for you
 

olives and grapes

i. palestine
afraid?
afraid to go
afraid to go to the own trees

to?
to harvest
to harvest their olives
to harvest their olives... their livlihood

avoiding?
avoiding bullets
avoiding bullets and beatings

from?
from colonizers
from colonizers who believe
from colonizers who believe in a new form
from colonizers who believe in a new form of manifest destiny

unsettling?
unsettling indiginous people
unsettling indiginous people from their homes
unsettling indiginous people from their homes and lands

ii. artsakh
devastated?
devastated and exiled
devastated and exiled from their homes
devastated and exiled from their homes and lands?

their lands?
their lands where they lived for centuries

their lands?
enver tried to pan-turan away

their lands?
that stalin gave away 

their lands?
that the world believes is not theirs

their lands?
where they can no longer pick grapes
from what were their vines...

november 2025
Read this article on NPR before reading the poem

 

endings

i. an enlightened end
it just ended... quietly
not with a bang
nor a whimper
that i ever heard
just a fade awaying
a gentle unraveling
wisped gently to 
the entropics

ii. a bit grittier finish
our thirty seconds
of fame or love
or whatever the fuck it was
just done gone
like a shawshanked
fart in the wind

iii. dylanesque
the way of the world
the code of life 
"don't think twice, it's alright..."

Veteran's Day 2025
Broken Heart, Dakota Territory

 

Մախամ Չունիմ

if...
i could only imagine it
i can't even

an ideal, a concept,
a perfection i want
to improvise for you
better than any poem
better than any letter
better than any 
mere words or melody

a taksim, a chant,
an older than old school lament,
the good kind, that bring us to
a peace you so need and deserve

it's there, etched in our souls
coded in our dna
i am not good enough
or worthy enough, not able,
to extract it and even less able
to play it...

it is there, i feel it
it is sweet
    but not too sweet
it is sad
    but not too sad
it is joyful
    but not very happy

in a maqam no one
    has ever heard or played
but sounding so very
    familiar

so very familiar 

sitting

whattya write when
there's nothing to say
kinda like that fella 
sitting on the dock
of that famous bay

instead...
i am sitting near
the washing machine
watching the tide 
clean the clothes 
listenin'  to the 
swishy waves 
pulsing along 
humming to their
rhythm...

wastin' time? or just 
thinkin,' you know,
contemplatin' stuff,
stuff that have no 
answers...

i don't have to go
nowhere
to be far away

just a moment in time

walking slowly
more of an amble
on this october day
wanting to be more 
    autumnal
enjoying nature
the trees really wanting
and trying hard to
    change color 

walking along with a
persistent soundtrack
chakering in my head
and feeling you...
all around 
everywhere
in every leaf
in every bird
in the ghazel of the breeze
in every... fragrant breath

i felt your 
your serious look
    centering me
your playful glance
    a spring in my old gait
your dreamy gaze
    aerating my soul
your joyful laugh
    taking my heart to the sky
your vulnerable mien
    weighing it back down

shoulda left well enough alone

well... yeah...
this aluminium vessel
this rhetorical canoe
gitching the goomey
'surface of reality'
paddling up this stream
pooled by beavers
into a dam crafted of
chewed metaphors
to become this...

this whowatchadoozit
thingofabobamajig
poetic stain... 

october 2025 

nice day

in this shade of
being under an elder
crafting this wee bit
on this globally 
warm late september
still summer
oughta be autumn
alliterative kinda day
good enough
almost perfect...

 

drychotomies

the emptiness
it came in an arid wave
dampening my spirit
in a mirage

content one moment
lost and unfulfilled 
the next...

what the...
how the ...
does this even happen?

bad poems
sloppy music
wanabee writer's
blockhead pretense
dilettantish delusion
old fuck wheezer
not even a great pretender

then...
i sat in the sun
and globally warmed
i thought of you
listened to music 
sipped coffee

and...
fucking hell
felt better

a self-absorbed
mood swung
flip-flop ping...

what was it you said?
oh yeah, lose the ego

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 night 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