this song, garini şorer,
this sweetly ssa lilting
unforced migration of
those of the forced march
the appropriation
of land and song
this swaying dance
this dance of erzerum
hypnotic melody and
the mesmered of
enchanting women
in zephyred sway
dancing daredar...
all this, this song,
reminds me of you
from before we even met
before we were even born
before you distracted
me completely
with your own
graceful sway
november 2026
best read while listening to Էրզրումի Շորոր
a sweetly sad lament
resonating woody and full
a wee bit of rosiny grit
in each bowfull bari-tone
each sound, each note and phrase
in harmonized counterpoint
passionately reflected on
your beautiful armenian face
expressing the collective genetic
drone in our highland souls
echoing off mountains and dzors
in maqamed melodies that
perfectly defines us...
i was gonna write
a smallish slew of haikus
can a slew be two?
a haiku by brush
not this erasable pen
i kanji fathom
basking in the
warmth and glow
of the simple thought
of your soul and spirit
the only you i know
the construct of you
my construct
scaffolded in my
head and heart
may be just the
you i wish you were
or... the only you
you let me see
thus far...
in the shadows
the sun never cast
shadows we rarely
sense or see
we see many
exclaiming
holier than thou
in pious purity
yet living lurky
in the clarity
that's a misty
gray relativity
of a betwixt
that's neither this
nor purely that
and us?
we are moving
in opposite
directions...
on a line or
on a circle?
listening to only
your armenian
offerings
shivali over
and again
your govand
and daldala
our kiughagan bars
these natural airs
our highland ayres
and noble peasantry
centered, grounded,
and rooted in
an idyllic past
that only music
keeps best alive
and now...
your essence
your best
a soft and
soaring lament
a taksim
timeless in
timelessness
carrying us
to our lost lands
on your reedy breaths
almost covering
the holes
in our hearts
our livers and
our collective
souls
this day
a glorious day
the end of summer
the beginning of fall
a wonderful day
that that that feels
like a beginning
of something,,,
maybe an hour
a wee stay-cation
basking in the sun
music going
my own backyard
poetic thoughts
meandering about
the usual crevices
good places all
this glorious day
i wanted to write a poem
on this lovely summer eve
a cool clear night to dream
to muse, think, and reflect
i wanted to write a poem
not like this one, something
profound and long buried
deep inside my very being
inside all of us, everyone
something that came with
each of us to this incarnation
something... we long forgot
i wanted to write that poem
but the night is too clear
the air and aura too sweet
and the buzzing warble
of cicadas brought me
to this poem that i did write
september 9, 2026
a soft august twilight
cigar smoke and
fairuz swirling about
the air around me
a commuter train
and a jet droning
not quite in tune
slowly giving way
to the hum of cicadas
surveying the lush green
the quarter moon glowing
above the treeline
an aura of contentemplation
a peaceful moment
in my own garden
a moment of peace
that momentary
inflective peace
i wish could be
shared with
those
i love
august 17, 2026
living on this digital sea
with this analog mindset
holding a magnetic compass
and no gps or sextant
unnavigably drifting to
where the ether currents
you make it look so easy
gracefully swaying to your
own natural eloquent sashay
camouflaging your major fears
and deepset desires
it all sounds so improbable
bordering on the ludicrous
a complete mismatching
of what we each want
or think we want
that's how i see you
through my eyes
as if any other pair
or sensibility would do
could do any better
my best is not enough
i am afraid to share
what is in my heart
am i making things up?
am i exaggerating?
building up, making you
more than you are
placing you high and nigh
on that ornate pedestal
of legend and lore
i am afraid to share
what is in my heart
i believe no...
there is a strong core
a foundation of truth
i believe everyone sees it
but just can't say it
i try to say it
i try to express it
in writing, in music
whatever i do
is incomplete
i am afraid to share
what is in my heart
for cousin ani
where your village once lived
nothing, a field, empty, barren
a wisp of our people in the wind
and the chirp of birds that never left
the village silenced
a lifestyle destroyed
and no one is alive
that ever lived there
their grandchild born
in foreign lands
now in old age
there are but hints
books and old photos
mostly family lore
stories of life then
passed down, altered
by each embellished
telling and retelling
the crops and trades
the native clay
the pots they made
and the local glaze
that dull earthen red
romanticizing the good
conveying and never
forgetting the hatred
that killed almost all
you went there
half a world away
in that hard scrabble
in that armenian land
with no armenians
no hint of when
or if they will ever
return
you walked the land
in pained absence
teary wonderment and awe
in that summer wind
a pilgrimage to the past
and envisioning a present
that might or could have been
your searched for proof
were we ever there?
who but a dwindling few
even know or cares or
even dares to visit there
in sifting the dirt
you found that proof
that swelled your heart
made you cry in grief
made you cry with hope
for what was long ago
and what was destroyed
what lives only in our hearts
our armenian souls
you found a shard
of a shattered pot
glazed red and faded
that made you
made all of us
whole
this great lake, this michi-gami
misted on this rainy day
dull gray waters melting into
merging with the ashen sky
not like yesterday
sitting on the bluff
looking at the lake
reading and thinking
dreaming and centering
the rising sun creating
'a shimmering path'
on the watery canvas
read again what
was read in the sun
read it again
ponder it anew
in this glorious gloom
does it mean the same?
more or less?
i miss you differently
almost ominously today
feeling it more in the gut
than my ever aching heart
and why... i don't know
maybe it is guilt
that genetic thing
an old tiresome
companion
or just old age...
might be that wee
little bit of me
that is yet teenage
probably was
that last photo
the sideways looking
soft and vulnerable
dreamy gazey one
that caused all this
confusion, longing
love and wonder
july 2026
sometimes...
i just don't know what to do
or the right thing to say or play
when the sky is smokey gray
and you are down and blue
other than to simply pray
writing in the fog
this grayish haze
in these modern times
of forest fires blazing
hundreds of miles away
the clear sky clouded
in every breath
a smokey tinge
tearing the eyes
this is a new something
a new style of summer
more grumbling than outrage
and no real action
muddling along working
consuming and acting
oh well, the new norm
the smoggy smugness
of it all...
i.
writing this blind
more like blurry
notebook here
pen in hand
glasses at home
ii.
contemplating
taking in the whir
the leisurely bustle
and gold coasty buzz
of people living
urbane and urban
iii.
you should be here
beyond just
in my heart
and weaving
about my thoughts
there is a unique place
where heart and soul
spirit and prayer and
love in every form
and nuance intersect
this is where you live
in this world
my own creation
this is where you buzz
from flower to flower
queen beeing, pollinating
deep dreamy rich thoughts
and deeper beliefs
that delightfully disrupt
playfully disorient
that add meaning
and texture, coloring
the tapestry of my life
july 2026
you need it
i need it
you need it more
sometimes
might be a second
might be a minute
might be an hour
might be a day
a week, a month
ugh... a year or years
just to be alone
just to recharge
just to think
just to meditate
levitate if we could
from here to
who knows where
like superman
like his fortress of...
your fortress
is the sun and sky
the lake and trees
a gentle breeze
birds sitting or chirping
or in graceful flight
it is your recharging
rejuvenation
revival renewal
regeneration
almost a rebirth
it ends with a calm
a subtle change
in your gaze
more assured
more content
so subtle
just a few
very few
even
notice
july 2026
sometimes
sketching poems
by keyboard... works
othertimes
it's no better
than chiseling them...
in stone
this is when
i just gottta
scribble and scratch
erase or strike
make circles and
draw arrows
start and restart
write and overwrite
and edit and re-edit
work 'em like clay
'til they form and
breath on their own
july 2026
