I. Indoors; outdoors

Outside; inside

Sunlight; tubelight

The poet must choose


II. Lights on

Lights off

The glow of the computer illuminates

the poet’s minds


III. Turn to a fresh new page

Clean, blank –limitless

Grabbing the pen, 

the poet begins


IV. Look out or look in

What do you want to see?

Tell us, poet, what inspires



V. Write


Imagine you are a poet.


Forget everything else

Poetry is your calling,

for these next few minutes

Can you describe it?


What is the point of a poem?
Of poetry, in general

Do you know?

Does anyone?


A poet looks out at the world

Takes in the world; breathes it in

And lets out meaning; Writes meaning


Meaning is life;

What the poet

sees, hears, does

from his glasses


His point of view

Your point of view.

Can you do it?

Should you do it?



A poet reads

No he devours

Others’ works


Reads to steal


Not the superficial language

Not the words that are on the page

A poet’s theft is far deeper –more meaningful

Thoughts and ideas


An idea

can change everything

An idea

is a poet’s strongest weapon


A weapon to cause


A weapon to cause

what he wants


Pablo said, ‘Bad artists copy,

Good artists steal’

What kind is a Poet?

This road

This road’s going somewhere. I don’t know where, but it intrigues me so I’m going to follow it. The literal road I’m on is third avenue and that has definite destination that most of us know. Right now I’m headed back home. And that is a road I sure as hell want to follow. It leads to the most important thing in my life, at this very moment in time. That’s my bed. Sleep. The very thought of it makes me feel all soft inside. I taunt myself with images and thoughts about getting into bed under the nice warm covers and surrendering to sleep. God knows that this is a battle I fight every day. And he must know why too because the answer eludes me. I want sleep. I crave it. And yet when the time comes, the final moment when I am ready and I have decided that it is finally time; the time for sleep has finally arrived, she runs away from me. I picture her laughing at me. Giggling gently, thinking about me as some poor sod. It is a nightly dance, that Sleep and I, we partake in and she is constantly leading. I try to fight back, to grab control of the reigns and lead, because I am supposed to lead, and yet my efforts are futile. She is in total control and I struggle to think back to a time when I was in total control. The very thought seems idiotic. But I haven’t yet gotten to that stage yet. I’m still walking back so it hasn’t occurred to me, just as yet. I pretend as if I don’t know that I’m about to take part in this dance.

Everyday is a new, fresh day.

I tell myself.

Les Textos

“Will 2025 be anything like today?”

“I feel like I need some coffee. Even though I don’t feel tired at all. I want coffee. I feel like I need. Does that make sense?”

“How do you know what you want? Is it a thought, hmmm I want that. OR is it an insatiable urge. I need that!”

“To be sure that I remember how to write, I often sit down in odd places and just write. About anything.”


A blank page lets you write what you
A blank canvas lets you paint what you
A blank room lets you decorate it like you
A blank house lets you design it like you
A blank office lets you organize it like you
A blank world doesn’t
A blank life lets you change the one we live
A blank _______ lets you do whatever you
Just choose a

Watching that ticking Clock

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Time passes us by
When we aren’t looking

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
The key is is
that life is too short

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Yet we still play these

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
We can’t ever cut
right to the chase.

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Don’t ever look 
at the clock

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Waste your time
playing games

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Do that, and
your life won’t ever come back.

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Go. Waste.
That’s what we all do.

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Waste. Those precious

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Seconds that can
change your life

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
And Forever.

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.

Tick. Tock.





The Coffee Shop

His cold face stared down at the open book that lay on the table. The white headphones stood out against his black t-shirt. They were connected to his iPod that also lay on the table –that too was black. His hair was short but looked as if it has grown out from the almost clean-shaven haircut he had gotten a month or so ago. Like his hair, his beard had grown out too. Both were a blonde brown color. The brown being the more prominent of the two. He looked for a single moment towards the clock on the side wall. He was sitting in a small cafe. That was quite unlike a Starbucks you see on every street corner. Quiet, just what he wanted. Other than his coffee of course. Which was black, no milk or sugar. Just the way he liked it. He rarely felt the need to get up or speak to anyone. This was his time and he wasn’t going to waste it spending time with people who he didn’t care about and ones he would never see again. He just wanted to read. Something he hadn’t found time to do in the past. Something that he didn’t like. So he decided that his mid-day break would be his and his alone. No one else’s. He’d only move to refill his water bottle or speak on to ask for more coffee. Other than that, all he would do is read. He wouldn’t let anything get in his way. No unnecessary phone calls, no iPhone apps to distract him. It would be him, his book and his music. The music helping to drown the world out. Helping him to throw himself into the book; into the character’s head. Escape from his life. Not that his was bad. But everyone needs a break sometimes. A bit of peace within the chaos that is life. So he would use this place, this cafe whose name he did not know, to give him that bit of peace. To keep him sane in this cutthroat world of ours. If we don’t there’s always that risk of crossing the line from sanity to insanity.


A beautiful girl
Dark curls caress her soft nape
When will I see her?

Chocolate eyes –
Deep and full, draw me closer
taking me away

Her pink lips
glistening in the moonlight
taste of strawberry

A woman’s body –
bare, smooth and supple
Pure perfection


In the Dark of the night,

We feel the rain



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We cower and hide

Unable to find

Courage to cross

That Bridge