I write as the north wind chills a January air, early dawn as the sun does rise in the eastern gates and a Rocky Mountain fair, my soul carries a remembrance of the earthly pond during the terrain’s commencements – and, a trauma dream, hidden in a haze of fiery schemes. The epoch of years…
Sonnet IV
I am the warrior by word who brings peace to regions of the desolate, barren, and hopeless. Always, living on the doorsteps of death, I managed to survive, even as an infant, premature with all my dogmatic faith, I stood to tell the myth of how I survived. Based upon the fear of a machismo…
The Weight of the Morning Dew Yields a Fertile Fruit Upon the Earth
“A bit of weakness in metaphor is enough for tomorrow for the berries to ripen on the fence, and for the sword to break beneath the dew.” Upon reading Mahmoud Darwish & The Zohar – 1st Volume. The crucible sword falls by the weight of the morning dew, As the love of a rose draws…
Thoughts Before Early Morning Coffee
Thoughts before early morning coffee It’s 4:00 a.m. as I peer through my kitchen window beckoning a smile from my beloved bonsais. A blanket of snow covers the ground as I think back to a memory re-call. Trauma – I say, is a four - year old boy devastated through the rupture of the hymen…
The Tiny Mustard Seed
So, where is home? Home is where the dust cries In a foreign land Where we shall come to know the bitterness of exile. And yet, where is this home? It is inside the mustard seed Where only the dying can see – If we are to poeticize these inkwells With an altruistic art, We…
John G Evans & Paavo Oso Arts 