come, stay and let's talk. it's a good day to be alive
sometimes it betrays
your true inner age
sometimes it testifies
your true virtues you exemplify
sometimes it serves as a reminder
sometimes it helps your mind wander
a photograph is worth more than a book
a photograph is valued by the one who looks
1.24.2022
by happenchance, I opened the door,
opened, too, a world I haven’t seen before,
a father, crouched down, reading a book
a mother, calling their son to take a look
this bookstore, a microcosm of eclectic stories
fireworks of intellects, memories, and histories,
world unknown, unseeable, unimaginable to the rest,
perhaps best kept hidden inside, as a place blessed
let its glories be passed onto this child
let it sow seeds of dreams to keep him smile
1.8.2022
followed a white bunny down a hole
came out into world unknown at all
wallowed around to find respite
hollowed candle I found at night
running in dark worried through an arc
brushing doubts aside reminiscing the past
wondering impassive, expansive thoughts
thundering punishments, imminent fraught
ticking of clock, won’t it stop
ticking of clock, don’t you stop
1.6.2022
slowly crawls like a shadow
gnarly smell infuse the air
hoping it’ll be better tomorrow
in the end, it will all be fair
headache, you are not to be feared
I know it’s only pain that matters
better healthy and pain all over
rather than lying in bed all the years
won’t it shine like sweet bees in the air
won’t it rise like what Spring brings to here
1.5.2022
in awe, I stared upward
remotely familiar memories
long-gone, but I wondered,
remembering veiled stories:
a flash of smile, a gentle touch;
popping balloons at climax,
awashed shame and such;
a lonesome requiem at flashback
in silence, I stared up high;
white, misty cloud filled the sky
calmly, I counted the dreams
reluctantly, letting tears stream.
1.1.2022
keep your head held high
even as your fellow men blame you
keep striking that red hot iron ore
of your dream and your ambition
even if it dissipates like a sandcastle
no matter how dearly you loved that woman
who turned you down like a squashed bug
believe that there will be one who see you as you are.
no matter how many woman reject you
believe that there will be the one who accepts your hand.
no matter how foolish your actions of the past were
forgive yourself and accept yourself
learn and rise. never forget to rise again.
12.30.2021
In a lazy summer of 2015, I picked up on a book in a yard sale in front of a house where I lived. It was not my house, but it was one that I loved. Feeling somewhat directionless, I picked up the book, The Double, written by Dostoevsky.
In the book, I found an old piece of paper, hand-written by two writers, strangers to each other, addressing to the other. A writer asked, should their lives be consumed by love so important, yet so ephemeral.
A note shared by two strangers wrought with passionate attraction to each other. This, all the more, made the book more interesting subject to read. Has this book by Dostoevsky been the catalyst between these individuals? Intrigued, instead of procrastinating reading this one along with the rest of the books, I made a resolution to read at least one of the novels in the book to see what drew these two strangers together.
feeling numb in a plastic bubble
staring out into the world
one pinched the wall
peeling away the shield
rushed in were emotions:
love, passion, and freedom;
city lights and the aurora;
magic filled the air
as one held reins to affair
but also came in fatigue and pain
from battles cries and sacrifices of attrition
beauties missed and promises broken
daggers in heart, tears in shadows
sweat soaked neck, dried blood on hand
but all in all,
one lived
and one died many times.
had one not jumped,
one would not have known.
12.28.2021
can we just pause this world
imagine a world without
a stronger man and a weaker man
and just picture where
we can just talk about the art
of living?
can we push aside this anxiety
and shame of stupidity
and for once, ask the question
what are we all doing here?
so I say, my brother
we hold this glass to
yellow street light
and talk of this woman
we’ll drink to.
12.12.2021
her hair ruffled like a city mice
her eyes glimpse deep through the lies
you try to feed her no matter
you explain it’s for the better
she dances among the shadows
when the party is lively
but goes to the lakeside shallows
when no one is looking silently
as the night lingers for long
I wonder what took her song
12.10.2021
Ralph with Coffee 
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