Writing & Editing Foundations - A3 Submission
Figs
I wonder why I’ve been trying
to squeeze light out of darkness’ heart,
helping grandpa pluck thyme out of thorny bushes;
eager to find myself…
Flawlessly ripe figs stand out
among clusters of shy, unripe siblings.
Bathing in the cool dew
of the fresh misty morning
ruby mouths and luscious lips
each holds a juicy melting gem:
a drop of pure honey.
Who are those little seductive nymphs
that steal your eyes
and heart
and tongue?
“Your horses”,
My grandfather almost shouted at me
as I spotted one of those beauties
and reached up into the branches
with my tough little fingers.
“Handle with care, young man!
Look at that soft and tender skin
that can easily peel off and bleed”!
And then he paused and thought,
“What man can claim to keep his chastity
with all this estrogen around”?
Of Horses and Verses, Of Rice and Men
She may have liked your poetry
or might as well have liked the way
you read the lines
as she reclined in an armchair
or leaned her head.
Entranced, she sipped her morning coffee
and listened to you
admiring her innumerable graces.
You knew your words
did not quite match the way you felt
about her
and often got so deeply hurt
that you - with all your wits about you -
could little harness her young wild heart
to your wild imaginings.
And she sipped on,
and you read on
and as you read she dreamed,
but not of you!
Someone was there behind the door
half-hidden to your eye.
A knight in arms he was;
his white horse saddled.
Was he the knight or just a knight
She little knew.
And they were gone.
And they were gone into the mist
and you, my friend,
hands full of mist,
were left alone!
Sugarshiro
I think of you, Sugarshiro,
and my heart aches.
On your soft, young shoulders
fate has laid
burdens
strong men may not endure.
I think of you as you force your way
in the jungle of heartless men and women:
lone traveler
in stormy, dark, and muddy streets
baby on your arm
brush on your fingertips
creating warmth and beauty
out of rust and ashes
and long nights of lonely, cold rooms.
I think of you, Sugarshiro,
and my heart rejoices…
As you plod your way
through barbed roads,
your eyes still sparkle
like those of a five-year-old
on her first visit to Disneyland
and your skin is still as moist and fragrant
as that of a five-year-old
whose mom has just given her
a long, foamy birthday bath.
The Wrong Train
How strange love is, my love!
How kindly-cruel its hand!
It opens doors
and closes doors
in odd, haphazard ways.
My workplace’s a garden
that meets both eye and nose;
I look and smell
but “Oh”, I cry,
“Where is my darling rose?”
She lives alone
in such a city
where every street’s a chance
and handsome men
just pass her by
and like myself
she just would cry,
“Where is that man
whose words and looks
can get my soul to dance?”
And now she tells me
she's lost her way…
but she’s my guiding star.
If guiding star did lose her way
then who, on earth, can show me mine?
Yes, who, on earth, can show me mine?
Reflective Statement
I believe my poems may be deceptive on some level. The language is purified but the content is rich and moves my soul. I am inspired by Japanese art, both visual and verbal. I infuse innovative imagery into simple subjects taken from my daily experience in a universal countryside. “Figs” is a superb example. Having been raised in a minimalist environment in Chouf, Lebanon, my poems are totally devoid of pompousness and pretension. I aim to master ‘le mot juste’ and establish the right balance between sweet and sour (as in “Sugarshiro”) while hoping to touch the reader somehow. My intimistic vibe can make one think and feel, as in the best of the 17th century metaphysicals. Yet, I remain realistic as an observer of nature and include a healthy dose of wisdom that some readers can identify with. Another aspect is it is non-elitist but has some class. I blend the very personal and the general, thus achieving a mythopoeic universe because of my connections with nature at its core. “Of Horses and Verses” has the resonance of the biblical “Song of Solomon.” I try to awaken icons of English, American, and world poetry: Tennyson, Donne, Dickinson, Frost, E.E. Cummings among others. The theme of this suite in particular falls under the umbrella of ‘Infatuation’. Depicting the profoundness of ‘womanhood’ from manhood’s perspective. I acknowledge that the concepts may follow quite binary ways of being but this is just how I have always operated.