Taken in the Western Group of temples at Khajuraho in October of 2015
DAILY PHOTO: Khajuraho Temples
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DAILY PHOTO: Chaat Vendors of Triveni Ghat
Taken in November of 2017 at Triveni Ghat
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DAILY PHOTO: Why the Zebra Has Stripes
Taken in April of 2017 in Mosi Oa Tunya (Victoria Falls) National Park
Chobe National Park, Botswana
I heard a person — looking at a solitary zebra — say, “That is horrible camouflage! How is it not extinct?”
The answer is found by looking at zebras in a group. When they run in a herd, it becomes impossible for a predator to distinguish one from another. Heads merge with hindquarters merging with a shoulder. They become an amorphous monochromatic cluster with nothing to bite onto.
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POEM: Neuron Fire
Source: NIH
flip the switch
the lights go out
but for random flashes and flickers
playing pieces of your past
shuffled into unrecognizable dream stills
like lightning illuminating
and old farmyard
a flash…
a monster appears on the horizon
a flash…
the monster is bigger
with each flash the monster looms larger
but it’s not getting bigger
it’s getting closer
when it’s no longer a silhouette
when it has features
all hope will be lost
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Bamboo Haiku
bamboo copse
groans in subtle wind
no space between
crows rule
the bamboo arch
over the road
bamboo grove
carpeted in grainy beige
alien landscape
plastic cup
gripped in crow’s beak
frat boy style
pink blossoms
will soon bleed onto
bamboo pollen
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DAILY PHOTO: Petronas Towers by Night and by Day
By Night; Taken in December of 2013 in Kuala Lumpur
By Day
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DAILY PHOTO: Looking out from Diskit Gompa
Taken in August of 2016 at Diskit Monastery in Nubra Valley
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DAILY PHOTO: And It Was All Yellow
POEM: Dreams
dreams, my friend, are lost on you
you think them false when they are true
you think them true when they are truer
you think them from a subconscious sewer
you feed your monsters, but make them ride alone
then can’t tell the imposters when they’re full-grown
they say that nature outstrips nurture
and the seeker outwits the searcher
but who can know such things
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POEM: Smoke
turrets turned as tires burned
forming a cloak of jet black smoke
oh hell! oh hell! for a tank shell
will pass right through, belching smoke of its own like a chimney flue
and when the wall is blown apart, and spall flies as from a cart of darts
I’ll long for naught, just I thought, while I wonder just what man hath wrought
