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AN EXCERPT "The exude with intelligent emotion, description and lean toward a spiritual tone of the wisdom that there is a great truth to be sought, even embraced as the beginning of the revolutions of our existence and our purpose."

Road carnage sadly described by Timothy Wangusa in his poem - A taxi driver on his death. Please drive carefully. from East Africa by David Cook and David Rubadiri - 1971 via

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Road carnage sadly described by Timothy Wangusa in his poem - A taxi driver on his death. Please drive carefully. from East Africa by David Cook and David Rubadiri - 1971

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“Welcome is every organ and attribute of me… Not an inch nor a particle of an inch is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest.”

~ Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

my bed is an island. the covers are my shelter, protecting me from sunlight streaking through in the mornings and the terrifying thoughts that plague me when moonlight hits. the wind hits harshly at night, like blades of a fan whip, whip, whipping around the room. i am careful to keep my limbs from dangling off the edge, wary of monsters and sharks nipping at them while i sleep. anyone who dares to approach is considered a pirate and will be treated as such. you should proceed with caution. i am always on guard, always ready to defend my territory should someone threaten the peace. but, there are miles of ocean on all sides. i haven’t seen anyone yet. i don’t think anyone’s coming.
—  t.s.

“The love I have for you is truly so beautiful, and I do not mean to boast- but I never believed that me of all people could ever harbor such beautiful and meaningful cravings, thoughts, and wants when it comes to a certain person. I never would have thought a feeling- a force as strong and as beautiful as this one could ever grow so deeply inside of my soul. Little did I know how radiant yet so beautifully weak my heart could become at the sight of the one I love. Who knew I could feel this way? I knew your name at first, and then I saw your face, and ever since the day I recognized your beautiful soul I couldn’t get you out of my head. I still can’t get you out of my head. Who knew my heart and soul could ever be anyone else’s but my own? Who knew I could love every single inch of a certain human being, and want to know them so deeply, and not have any fear? When I was young I was afraid of the world, but when you came into my life, the places around me didn’t seem so scary at all anymore- in fact, everything had become beautiful. I was no longer afraid of the world anymore, because you had become it.”


i will end my poems the same.i am just going to sit and watch you.

hey your fridge is playing music

ah yea if you let it go,it shows pics

i had no kids before but,it displays

drawings of how our kids would draw

that cliche mama papa house & me pic;

everything is smart now,my prescription

eyeglasses tells me that my ex is now dating

her old ex,asks if i plan creating a soap opera

to produce it to the masses,sitcom ‘ahah’

i just want to implant you in my brain;

as a chip,so i can sit,

and watch you sip wine.

i’m excited to say that i’m doing a giveaway when i reach 1K followers on twitter! the details will be posted when i do reach that milestone, but i’m excited to say three winners will receive a copy of my debut poetry collection, craving chaos! so follow me on twitter if you’re interested in winning a free poetry book!

as a small boy, I saw a formation of stars
(later learned, with the same curiosity.

it was called Polaris) in winter wondered
the distance from that star to me; millions

of years. Later, saw a corpse of a marten,
huddled next to a pine, stomach open,

riddled with white worms, the first stench of
a rotting corpse on a bright summer day.

Bright summer light, star-light, mystery;
things so distant and yet close enough to

each other; one star dies in the distance
but the fading of the light reaches a mind

and when the mind dies, we become true
loneliness: having followed the same path.

Digital Tomb

the worry of the times

has all this glittering science

made the human condition

much more acidic

screens with fantasy worlds

people in the seam of vicarious imagination

living life through this digital dream

under dreams are always the pains

it scratches at me

worry in this modern morld

create and exploit, fandom and glee

living through character, consumed with greed

golden in a way that doesn’t burn,

like honey but impossible to overwhelm,

the sounds of tiny bells and chimes, and yet

its loud enough to hear a distinctly pleasant sound,

like laughter of the sun itself, the sweet embrace of spring,

rain on a sunny day that is warm enough to bring forth flowers

leaping from the ground unfrozen, healed of all the damage done,

I’d join in the pleasant reveries but for fear of what I would become