I keep hoping
that all that I have seen
and all that I have done and
all that I have been
would rise up
Conspire to
braid themselves together
into a derecho of intention
and with a headlong rush
stiffen the fickle
of my mind
Rigidly fix it to point
the direction forward
in this second act of my
This wandering
to and fro
back and forth
is taking me nowhere
A pointless place
where I have no desire to be
when the hand of the reaper
eventually finds me
and demands
an accounting

Thursday Thinking

What I dreamed so long ago I scant recall
An archaeologist exhuming pyramids
from the sands of Egypt was one
Abandoned somewhere trail side
on the uncertain path to adulthood
and the obligatory rock star fable
held sway for a time
Bass in hand
heading for the promised land
of fame and fortune and writing
songs with McCartney but I wasn’t
set up for that sacrifice
It wasn’t in my blood just
the passing plaything of
a teenage mind
and I ended up


With the rest of those wandering souls
who make no particular choices as to
how to spend a life
Employed for a suitable dowry
A house
Close ties to a
financial institution
with more checks than balances
floating around

Always wondering
if it’s too late
to re-write dreams that were
allowed to escape or to create
new ones to carry you through
to the end
knowing now
what wasn’t known then

that you will not pass this way again

The Prosecution Rests (Life Awaits A Reply)

I lack the strength of mind or

more genuinely

to become a classical musician
in either Western or Indian music
I have the time
The hours in the day
The years remaining
but a certain laziness
comes with age
A creeping apathy

What a shame it is that so few
grasp their purpose in youth!
Only the gods know why most
arrive so late to the grand
idea for their life

With the passing of years
we become
Unwilling to submit to
and our doubts rise
in equivalence

But I still have time to decide

And the truth is evident

The more we resist and fear
an undertaking
the more clear the point
is being made that this
thing we are avoiding
is what we are meant for
in this life

What will I decide?

What will you?


As a river I run
though less certain
of purpose
I run
bearing the leaves
of endless autumns
upon my face
with what little
grace remains to me
in this age and the
stones some larger force
deemed fit for my way
bend me
Gifting me speech
as I dutifully
wash them
and I have heard
of a great sea
awaiting me
where all the tears
of a million years
have become one
and my own
will be welcomed
So as a river I run
through sunny days
and moon fattened nights
when no one’s looking
but the sky
I run

Caw! Caw!

I write well,
a decent poet
who could be
magnificent with
passionate devotion

true also of
the teak sitar
leaning against the
corner chair
and the even
more sublime
teak surbahar
standing silent
against the wall

yes, magnificence
awaiting my
passionate devotion,
to include
the ocean
of handcrafted flutes
now collecting dust
two high end

Surrounded by
while I float,
accomplished at
save imagining
unable to choose
a final legacy,
the special
to define me
in a world that
doesn’t know I
a wayward
shiny things
for no

the dead
don’t give it
a thought