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...
 

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 

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 

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
we are lucky to have
touched souls without 
mating on this plane
or in this lifetime 

july 6, 2025
the acropolis of a dream
 

number eighty

staring at a blank notebook page
this blank screen glowing back at me
processing it all with this fallow mind
this dormant marooned soul
waiting...

moist ideas evaporate in a mist
might have caught just a glimpse
might have jotted something down
that might have become a poem or three
maybe...

the world turned cold finally
the globally warm kind that won't last
while wars stay unfairly hot and afar
and social media plods confusingly along
this strange new normal...

nothing at all to preach or rant on
nothing - the difference it would make
nothing almost any of us could do
but for some fleeting reveries or dreams
nothing...

War of Words

displaced...
displaced population
what refugees, exiles,
people, families, young
or old, driven from their homes
to wherever just not
where they were
for years or ages
you know, displaced

so clean, so pure,
so displaced like
almost misplaced like
car keys, sunglasses, like
it was a wee error,
almost innocent,
you know, misplaced
the poor displaced

juneteenth 2024
nngi and rafah and...

Poetic Exile

the coming armies
ever closer and closer
security and peace eroding faster
with each approaching artillic boom
disintegrating faster
than we can pack some
few precious memories

we go...
toward some border
between this life
and tomorrow
the unknown whatever

this random shock
further droughting
my arid soul

June 18, 2024
Some fictitious Elba

Powering Up a New Fountain Pen

a new pen unsheathed
flowing across seas, deserts,
amber waves of tundra,
rain forests, and obsidian slopes
of mountainous memories
crafting this bit of sentiment

open source reflection

reading not nearly enough,
the same for the hole righting thing
though doing more arthymetic lounging
perhaps just another word for anemic longing

the gloom of self-reflection
and an almost positive attitude
walking on the sunny-side
of the globally warmed street
carelessly paved across droughted lands

come on....
it's not that bad
it's just a bad poem

longing

tired of streaming
consciousness and the un of it

need a more pastoral dream
even more, a reverie,
ponds, flowers, and yeatsian linnets
taking me back to some
different, better, idyllic place

to live in a simpler time
to actualize the hippie vision
just doing, just living, just being
our natural selves

Stream of impromptu

Just dreaming, now day dreaming
Not any kind of monkee believer
Wondering as always, amazed, maybe awed
Wondering how and why, still, things work
How I, all of us, got to this very point.

This was supposed to be, I dunno

What?  Yeah.  Edgier.  Grittier. 

And for sure… better.
What’s an umpublished

(yeah… spelt wrong on porpoise
to provide, what?, a pseudo brain thingy)

would be poet wannabe to do?

Has the world accelerated?

Maybe even, exponentially?
Moving faster than y’all, we all,

Can even think about… keeping up.

Billions of us and too many

Lonely, missing out, or just fearing

Did Homer have to deal with this shit?
Has anything changed along the way…

We dream and love and wonder and…
You know that word we use more than
Homer ever did:  cope.

This seemed like a good idea
You know, espressing myself
Undepressing myself and saving,

You know, the world, all of us
Yeah, even you…

(this suddenly new messiah complex
surprizes the hell out of me)

Stream of whatever…

This is lame.  If you read it this far.
I apologize and would offer that

Minute back, if I could...
Maybe just a store credit.

 

 

well... then there's this

random pedagogical bullshit
sparkling aphormations flourishing
litanies that might almost make sense
consubstantial (a nod to bolkoski for this word)
epistomologic scorched earth rantings of
demonic, demagogic, or democratic lost souls
chatGPT this bitches...

someplace under the rainbow
may 2023

is there a pill for that?

sometimes, they are stuck
somewhere in the intestines
of my head or heart or aura
all backed up

poetic constipation
in need of
poetic laxatives or maybe
stewed prunes
a poetic balance of electrolytes

and maybe... ugh...
a poetic enema

gotta flush that shit
right outta my head

magnesia, illinois
april 2023

Invictus Armeniaca

this attempt
this invictus challenge
to focus centuries of armenian grief
into what? one poem?

it exists already,
for our Job of a nation
it is part of our hearts, our souls,
etched into our genetic core
and infused in almost every poem
every prayer, sad story, dirge,
and bloody crusted bits of family lore.

this totality, this essence,
of our deep, dark, abiding grief
is focused through a collective lens
to a perfect, intense, white hot spot
where it is alloyed, formed, and forged
to our resilient captaining of
our undying perseverance
our enduring hope and faith

    megha asdoudzo
    der voghormia

    park asdoudzo

march 12, 2023

Asking ChatGPT to "Write a Poem in the style of mdg-poetry.blogspot.com"

ChatGPT:
In the still of the night,
When all is calm and bright,
I sit and ponder in thought,
Of all the lessons I've been taught.

Of love and loss, of pain and gain,
Of laughter, tears, and joys untold,
Of moments fleeting, like drops of rain,
And memories that never grow old.

I muse upon the roads I've walked,
And all the paths that I have strayed,
Of moments where my heart was shocked,
And others where it felt conveyed.

And yet, amidst the twists and turns,
That life has taken me through,
I know that with each rising morn,
A brighter future will ensue.

So I raise my head to the sky,
And whisper a prayer for tomorrow,
For the strength to keep climbing high,
And the grace to weather all sorrow.

For I know that with each passing day,
I'll find the courage to be strong,
And though life may lead me astray,
I'll find my way where I belong.

Cyber Space
February 8, 2023

My Response:
Well... I rarely rhyme so often
Methinks (actually i overthink way too much)
I am less (of course I am less)
Hallmarkish than this

And I have enough of that
Whatyacallit... oh yeah
Ego which tells me I am so
Flipping creative
That now I believe
I am toallly AI-ly
Unpatternably
Unpredictable

Head Space
February 8, 2023

Garden State of Mind

the stillborn poems
all blue veiny in formaldahyde
hideously beatiful and
floating sad in potential
that never was

i should move to jersey
and live not near the hoi
nowhere near the polloi
but by the broken
so comfortable they
don't know, don't care...
hell they might not even
be broken 

or no more damaged goods
than anyone else

lake forest
october 2022

poetry of everyday life

an overwhelmingness with life
but not the things to do, places to go,
not by what i should buy next

overwhelmed by what?
    life?

the people
their very being
their doing and moving about
their sayings and sighs

wondering how they are
soaring and struggling
loving or being shunned
the overwhelming uncommonness
of the poetry of everyday life

overwhelmed by the
neither winter nor spring
equinoxious void between
death and rebirth

march 2022

just maybe

just wandering along
maybe trying to make things
make more sense... maybe

more sense than dogmas
if more sense even matters
in the grand scheme, if there is
even a grand scheme or theme

and, maybe, that's simply ok
maybe that is the final grasp
of the plan, the design, the way,
the path that is so wide
that everyone's following it...

north park
april 2022

the caterpiillar in me

what is it but a dream?
like i drempt i was... what?
a butterfly?  an earthworm?
an octopus? a warlord?
virtuoso something or other?
or am i awake

daydreaming
mittying about
in a stream of
great unconciousness

albany park
april 2022

Places of Power

on that certain stair
of our first house

or
the hallway balcony
of this one

the childhood
front porch in detroit
or the nutmeg wiltonian

places of power
    rejuvenation
    maybe a vortex
to what? dare I say
    wisdom
    higher consciousness
    divine insight
    the mind's eye
    to one's own soul...

so said castenda back
when i thought I wanted to
    to be more spiritual
    and find that mined eye
    to where my soul should be