Silky petals

Could not the Odyssey spare me a Nightingale

Thereby offering me promising hope of warmth

Invite me to picture a rural sylvan of green tops

Colorful butterflies in flight and light hair girls

Chasing after without real intent to surrender

Oh, I could almost hear their echoing laughter

As I lay alone, reading somewhat sprawled out

Upon an inviting blanket where I offer them rest

Then, we would chat about the flowers and moon

And of course, love and lazy afternoons- all alone

Sisters or friends endeavoring to become women

And I- merely but lad desiring to become a man

Would only too happily feel obliged to them both

After all, what then is nature for if not to…bloom  


Poet of the Light © 2023

Photo by Maksim Goncharenok on



I abhor when others dishonestly mispaint the world as only beautiful

As if avoiding true ugliness humans endure should be hidden

And their pain and suffering erased from everyone else’s view of realities

To prevent darkness from infecting and causing even more tragedies  

Albeit others oft recreate a more palatable truth of what they ingest  

In order to stomach the illusions, that they themselves afford to live

What then of the efforts for those who’ve climbed out of hell

While all others were busy ignoring their cries for help

Those brave souls that wear unseen scars from their battles

Is not their choices to resist obvious fallacies more courageous         

Are not warriors as ascetically beautiful as an unblemished model   

Or an inspiring soul that has overcome a pervading presence        

How so disingenuous to use our beliefs to mismeasure the lives of others

And avoid the task of truly seeing our ignorant selves in… a mirror


Poet of the Light © 2023

Photo by jorien Stel on

Specail delivery

I almost feel a reverberation of stars sporadically spread across a vast darkness

And just as nearly, hear their cries of errant emotions tucked in loneliness

As they peer down at eyes like mine in a sad and longing fashion

Relating all too well to both our relatable existences

There’re some things designed by heaven that are void of explanation by words

Not even colors could dare come close for expressions

No, emotions are the Holy Grail of true unfettered communication              

And when we deny emotions, we deny a divine language and delivery

Denial: a byproduct of human fear, sowed amidst flowers or stars by darkness alone                  

Fear that hesitates as a scolded child that has not eagerly misbehaved

Darkness, that illegitimately slithered through the Holy Garden of Eden                   

Emotions are a fruit afforded humanity to know and learn      

Emotions bare forth charity and love from their soul

How could we ever bequeath what… we’ve never known?


Poet of the Light © 2023

Photo by David Kopacz on


I stare easterly at a future dormant horizon that lays bare and ominous

That imaginary long thin line we notice cognitively in a pensive mind

Just as a northern breeze caresses my left cheek, invoking my childhood memories

Of when I stood offside of my mother, and she innately touched my face

As if saying without words, “Worry not about today my child, I am still here”

In that loving fashion only, mothers can do so affectionately without ridicule

When an impressionable lad’s head is filled with naive fleeting thoughts

Far removed from the dangers of life, love, and other immoral malice      

But time and life lessons overcome a parental effort when absent

And children become near adults with all life’s answers all wrapped up

As if bequeathed divine knowledge like chosen future saints of a church       

Reminding me in this sober moment, we’ve not enough time to learn          

How to openly communicate and respect one another’s differences

Let alone grasp a fuller understanding of what love really… is


Poet of the Light © 2023


I’ve earnestly believed what we still share

Would defy even the rules in heaven

I further think we both needed to trust in that

And that faith- became our binding teether

But- I have to say in the upmost honesty

I feel so disconnected in your absence

And my faith is being strained constantly     

To the point I wake to find disappointment waiting   

It matters not if the sun shines or if it rains

If it is summer or winter extended these days           

What matters most of all to me is what is missing

From my sight, hearing, heart, and all my emotions       

These- these are my truest strains now in life

As I wait for the grains to empty out of… time


Poet of the Light © 2023

After letter, Holy Satuday, year two

I’m sure it goes without saying that the full culmination will be radiating for me, especially this weekend. The promising renewal of spring has been slowly climbing up our mountainside and getting ever closer to your garden. A few rains have swept through the valleys a few times and greener pastures below are already emerging. Life goes on whether we care for it to continue or not. The snowy blanket of winter’s sacred magic has nearly disappeared, except for the higher white cap summits with their pastoral views all year.

On another subject, I don’t mind saying how at odds I feel with life here without you. The bittersweet taste of patients isn’t as sweet as we’d like it to be for those of us left behind struggling through the strife. I’m reminded of the bitter cup of vinegar offered Christ on his cross and the lesson in similarities that can be selfishly overwhelming for the mere mortal I am. I can already tell it will take me a couple of weeks of toiling in your garden to overcome this very moment, somewhat. Nonetheless, I will honor your request and care for your beloved flowers in your absence, but something deep internally tells me you visit them often. Like you, there are times the scent and blooms become spiritually captivating for me.

We know not the hour or day the Father will reclaim all that is near and dear to his heart. Until then, I will tread as best I can, this pathway in my mission and passion of life… Lord willing.


Poet of the Light © 2023

After letters collection.


My ego heard waves of your discussion

And in spite of all my moral resistance

I’ve imagined our poetic wordsmithing 

Excitedly uncovering our mortal fabric   

Undressed flesh wrapped in pheromones

Drunk tongues flog on virginal landscapes  

Degusting each other’s sweet anticipations  

Traversing in and out of rarely-seen places

Kindling fires of responsive erotic whispers        

Draping off the curves of our drooling lips

And our fingers and extremities tightened   

As raw animalistic objectives fuel passions        

Wrinkled damp lien sheets left in disarray             

We lay extinguished in our … poetic bodies 


Poet of the Light © 2023  


Decay, albeit a carious foe that

Seeks our early failings during life

That one hopes to delay as long as possible

But no one can cover all fronts simultaneously

We oft employ professional aid

To guide us in our endeavors and battles

They act like Generals and treat us like cavalrymen

And no matter what- the failings are the fallen               

Religious traditions and ethnic histories

Are reshaped into mental illness by stoic nihilist    

Fueling the rise of violent tribalism

Where money trumps survival of the fittest    

Morality tends to fall first and foremost

So Marxist elitest can rule minions … by chaos


Poet of the Light © 2023


Writer © Max Ehrmann- 1927

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible, without surrender, be on good terms with all persons.

Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons; they are vexatious to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter, for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth.

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here.

And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Him to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations, in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

Photo by Mehmet Turgut Kirkgoz on


Conception trips the clocks hand

Thus, we’re given our head start

Tick, tick as we grow from there

Unbeknown to us, we’re the rabbit

Fetus, birth, toddler, teen, adult

Years may pass by us in our bliss

Still ignorant we’re being hunted

Like a wolf with a slightest whiff

Spent drops of our tears, or sweat     

As this hunter covers miles a day    

We traverse nonchalantly by feet     

Naively we overlooked our reality   

We drop one by one in a sneak attack  

As our life pendulum… swings back


Poet of the Light © 2023