I walk past row on row of granite stones. The grass is usually freshly mown, but lately vegetation doesn't seem to grow, and so, I kneel where seeds have been sown.
A Place of Death [Rubāʿī]
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Category Archives: Rubāʿī
The Doldrums [Ruba’i]
Back in the days of wooden sailing ships some unsaid words could never grace the lips: the "calms," or "doldrums," signed apocalypse. Better storm than lull end one's life of trips.
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Wind-Swept Hero [Rubāʿī]
Beyond the house stood half a tree - cleaved in twain, robbed of symmetry; leaning like a wind-swept hero, it could still shade a reverie.
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POEM: The Stranger [PoMo Day 3 – Rubaʿi]
I've walked the world cast in the role of distant stranger, and seen the old, the bold, the minor, and the major. And people talk of fears, but I would make a wager that never was a sense more ill-tuned than that of danger.
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POEM: Pangong Tso [Ruba’i]
the parting clouds divulged a deep blue sky and lapping waves were proof that time passed by but only so gently that I couldn't say if time ran true or told a subtle lie
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POEM: Parallax [a Rubāʿī]
The grass is growing through the cracks,
but each man’s view is parallax.
So, while it seems ill-kempt to one,
others are charmed by the same facts.
the !n(tro)verted yogi 