How, my love,
do I write you
just a poem,
when it is
all of poetry
you deserve?

(Read more below)

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There's a reason I
don't want an iPhone:
it's an OhMyGodWhy? phone,
a frustrated sigh... phone,
groan, moan, take-a-loan phone
that is guaranteed to crack
when it falls out of my back
pocket, it's not rocket
science to design a device
to survive gravity's attack.

(Full Poem in Caption)

-

She came home with the packet in hand, not wrapped in newspapers.

Family shocked: "How could you..."

She retorts, "They're pads, not pavs."

-

The doors
I've shut
outnumber
the paths
ahead.

I can only
see the map
with closed eyes:
vision
without sight.

How ironic;
closure,
I find,
needs
openings.

-

It's been so long
since that last
- touch -
I've forgotten
I've once felt.
On frozen stone
no moss has grown;
touch me
and I'll melt.

-

I’m the gift your government received:
a gift that keeps on giving, 
especially to those ill-fated
enough to keep on living.

I’m the promise in the leader’s speech,
broadcast with a delay to obscure the screech
of the falling objects that children look up to,
and then – suddenly - 
don’t.

I am the plague the prophets foretold:
ageless, timeless, and remorseless, I kill.
Your cities fall and crumble,
they always will; 
But I, your firstborn, will never get old.

-

Today is a good day

-

What is age, but a number?
Old age is but second youth.
Each year makes us younger.
And that is an age-old truth.

-

He publicly declared his openness by speaking out his name, in rhyme.

And that is how the Universe first discovered poetry.

-

He was told by her that she was told by him about a time she told him what he was trying to tell her was really just what she was trying to tell him.

They kept telling each other things that he'd told her not to tell him, except when she had to tell him about what he'd told her not to tell.

It was all very telling.

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