to sp: with profound apologies

i would have been like gomidas
(dang
i should have capitalized his name
neon
blinking lights)
i should be more armenian
but for the lack of skills and language
that now has to be unnarturally learned

can one write good poetry in a
second or third language... and yet
that skill thing is still in the way

instead i am not even a poor man's basho
or varoujan wanna-be sometimes
oh my god
using bad language and imagery
that offends or confuses

who is the real armenian?
me? you? dear
saint of the port?

mattered not to the turks
who would have dragged us
both from our beds, kicking
the digested food out of us
maybe have forced intercourse
with you
(and me? ugh)
and killing us
for being the same...

armenian

Confession

I have to write
Myself to a better place
Pen and type away my
Anxieties, guilts, and burdens
Crumple them into paper balls
And shoot three pointers
Time running out in the finals
Beating the buzzer
Swish… all gone

I wish

No Fooling

Tired

Or at least I was

Two Starbucks later

Awake and alert to

All my flaws and

Undone to-do list

Growing like some kind

Metaphorsisized cancer

Maybe I was better off tired

Could have just taken a nap

Escaping the natural way

Fuck even this

Poem is for shit

And yet…

I am really in a better mood

Than you might think

Gotta find my glass

And half fill it

Jefferson Airplane Groove

iPodding in the past
listening to the airplane
hurtle me through time
back

a yearning aura
instantly glowed
bubbling youthful
from that weird
innocent time

everything could be ok
but probably not and yet was
in that summer of love

airplane chords change in
smooth druggy wonderment
almost jazz not quite rock n'roll
clear clean ballards sung slick
with jorma licks

like a youth we never had

Too Much MK for a Haiku

I think I finally
Understand Leornard Cohen's
I loved her perfect body with my mind

January 6, 2010

happysad

i could have
perhaps should have
thought about or even
maybe considered
the possibility of
invoking the yin and yang
the dichotomous yes and no
good and bad up and down
left and right hot and cold
oneness of it all
i really could have

just too cliched
your happysad was
in the end or the beginning
simply better or worse
imperfectly perfect

the stones of ani

the stones speak loudly
and clearly through your words
they speak through the pathos
just a photo of them evokes

a half a dome, a crumbled stone,
a faded fresco, and old words
all cry out to imagine
what once was and
will never be again