• Can You Lend Me an Attic?
    Can You Lend Me an Attic?

    Can you lend me an attic someone? And in that attic I will see that girl again. The one with the blue frilled cotton frock. The one with the acne marked red cheeks. Playing with imaginary rabbits. And immersed in her story books. Can you lend me an attic someone? I will go there and…

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  • Oriental Lilies
    Oriental Lilies

    The fragrance, the colour and the perfection. The dazzle, the mystery, a wondrous collection. The stargazers looking up to absorb all. They among all other flowers stand tall. My mother was so much like Oriental lilies. The dazzle of her intellect and her sparkling words of ease. The mystery of her beautiful eyes and her…

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  • The Three Sparrows and Me
    The Three Sparrows and Me

    I was walking on the soft green grass. The sunshine was glistening on the dewdrops. My feet was touching the earth. My heart was feeling the happiness. Three sparrows were there with me, Pecking away in the grass. They went on hopping from one place to another, Not scared when I went near them. I…

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  • Weeding

    Dandelions expire and their hoary seeds are gentle as they urge the Spirit into spheres of truisms and because they are so delicate and soft they do not inflict any pain at all except that I must pull them from the dirt of their mothering roots so that the garden might thrive, the blood and…

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  • Bruises Do Not Hurt the Skin
    Bruises Do Not Hurt the Skin

    Tonight, new moon rising like an absent ghost, I am the sentinel with her back poised upright against the wall, awaiting its drift of sleep, and as well the sleep of two children, their senses lost to world, and the world lost to their senses. I light a candle to find the light, and click…

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  • Prayer for Bathing
    Prayer for Bathing

    The sunset resists itself and in its premature glow while I un-clock myself supine in the bathtub I converse with the trees that I can see through the half-lowered blinds on the window. And sometimes the trees are as ancient as a whisper of lives which exhale into other lives upon lives, and then sudden…

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  • Breathing Memories
    Breathing Memories

    An hour that goes by forms memories, even when life is busy collecting tomorrow’s worms, splendidly popping up like bubbles in still water. Some are tall, illuminated buildings like a bonfire sticking out its golden tongue, lapping the dark firmament— shifting like the ebb and flow. Others are perilously impartial— like fireworks they sparkle and…

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  • Midday Door
    Midday Door

    The sand alley, a sign, entrance to the other time, inner courtyard, 1 person at the counter, the post office of Baghdad, almost a Far West or Ur Little Middle East, faded, left & lost, years ago the letter with postmarked stamps, on the way, still and just.

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  • Now

    Just one cigareta – and we‘ll think up blissfull moments beside the water, on shores that become embers: in words, on sores, sometimes a wave; another toke – cos we glow out & into the distance of the doubled seasons: what once – when once, we now never say not. After all the voice sounds…

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  • The Walking Stick [A concrete Poem]
    The Walking Stick [A concrete Poem]

    A soggy old man, groggy with sleep, heads towards his tumble- down cottage. His eyes looking around frantically for his lost calf; ‘ho! Ho! Ho!’  He bellows. Some vague impulses, some wayward fancies, some laughable absurdities, and recurrent revelries, whirl in the mind of this soggy, old shepherd. A twig between his chipped and discolored…

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