Blurb: The Struggle of Every Writer

The best writer is true, genuine, transparent. He gives a piece of himself to the reader that he doesn’t want out there. He allows himself to be judged, scrutinized, and to be disgusted by what he shows of himself. The self; no one else would know if nobody knew who he was. But if nobody knows who a writer is, then he doesn’t have a self, anyway.

The choice is a two-pronged sword. Shall I socially ostracize myself, or shall I be virtually unknown?

The Plucked Purple Flower

Today I plucked a purple flower
I walked with it
Cherished it.
And then threw it away
To the dirt

The hyssopos landed so perfectly straight
As if reconnected to the ground again
That’s when an eerie thought struck me:
‘The purple flower is staring at me’

“Why?” it asked
I was intrigued.
So I picked it back up again
I carried it along my way

At home I placed it into a cup with water
And I take care for something
That doesn’t belong to me
Yet, I feel,
As if were mine

The plant is purple.
Yet, sometimes the petal tips
Were brushed red,
‘An illusion,’ I thought
As I am –
Flesh and blood.

The hyssopos needs sunshine
And I cannot offer the sun
Yet I feel as if the sun were mine.


Gustav Klumpt ‘Lady in Gold’
See it at the Neue Gallerie in New York City

Doesn’t Deserve Space

“For here
Am I sitting in a tin can
Far above the world
Planet Earth is blue
And there’s nothing I can do”
– Space Oddity by David Bowie

What is falling 180 mph to the ground

In a lifetime?

An antidote for quicksand.

What’s the difference between

Diving through air or through water?

It’s a question that doesn’t deserve an answer.

Because any answer would be forced.

Sometimes answers don’t exist.

It just is.

It is just.


The Skin Walks Away From the Sun

Life can sometimes feel like the sun

The rays hot and oppressive

Sometimes they’re warm and enjoyable.

But later a sickly burn appears.

10 years later, spots appear on your skin.


It’s a lesson to learn from the sun:

Know when to leave.

Know when something good will become bad

Upon this realization, sing the harmonious notes as you depart.


Though it seems cruel to the goodness,

It is not a quality of Necessity to appease.

Prolonged exposure to the sun requires recluse in the shade. 

But can you build a ladder from earth to the sun?

And, after climbing to the top, pour in some other ingredients?

No you cannot – for two reasons.

One, the self will disintegrate while trying.

Two, the sun will not heed to a vial of potion.

The sun is massive,

And any external contribution is merely a fleeting timely phenomena


So how does one leave with grace when he doesn’t want to?

He looks at the sun, takes in its warmth 

And then he heads inside.

Closes the door.

And it is as cruelly simple as that.

The “cling” of the lock and bolt signals with a screechy tune:



In another season

The door will be opened the once again

Greet the sun as a friend 

Maybe some stranger will come along with an umbrella

And with that, you can bask in the sun’s grace until eternity.


Photo: Sunrise-marine by Oscar-Claude Monet

Meditations: Of Mediocrity

  1.  If one knows he is not usual, but is nothing special, then he is nothing more than an outsider. If he becomes something great because he is different, then he is a success story. There is a fine line between nobody and somebody.
  2. The sound of quiet is disturbing. The idea of vacation is repulsive. Both signify nothing happening, nothing moving, nothing. A pesky voice says, “Is there something inherently wrong with a day of nothing? A week of it?” Taking a vacation is failure. It’s an acknowledgement of limitation.
  3. A man can say, “I have no limitation, I am the best there is, I can do everything.” He may believe ‘I can do everything at once.’ But when he fails at one task, the entire picture cracks, and the framework crumbles.
  4. That which is on the other side of one’s home is intimidating. There are so many things to do, to see, to accomplish. There are prickles of the cold winter and the blistering hot sun. There is the mind shaking wind and the peace making breeze. Trees like poetry, the sky a reminder. There is more to life than whatever “this” is. This moment, this experience, this knowledge, this pathway.
  5. There’s an endless amount more to life than… anything imaginable and everything that occurs. There’s always more. As such, is the key not to want and to allow the universe to just be?

Bourne of a Harvest – Poem

I tell you of your harvesting talents

I tell you to be successful reaper

Yet I pull apart the fruits

For you are planting all wrong

Plenty of Fruit (Lynda K. Cole-Smith)

Not enough water

Too deep

Too shallow

“You can plant,” I am told

 “but this is mediocre”

They say this with painful repitition

again, and again

“Go plant a season

Go plant your livelihood

For you could

You are talented

But this fruit is too dry”


I stumble on the infertile dust, my failure

I spot a browning fruit

I detatch the plant, and hand it to the mentor

Unawares of the poisonous worms in it

Now, this time you are unable to criticize my produce

As soon as it enters your mouth

You taste it

And croak

A wind of silence takes your place

It bleeds onto the roots and ash


Rebirth, I can start my reaping anew

Next day I begin the seasonal harvest

I carefully lay the seeds

I water with care

The silent wind disperses the seeds

It clears the dust to reveal the soil’s hidden potential

Then the first leaf sprouts 

Finally something can grow

The fruit emerges

It shines

It glows

It isn’t ‘shallowly grounded’

It isn’t ‘weak in its rooting’

Rather it is independent of them

The corresponding flavor is grand

The harvest blossoms

The corpses of my ‘mentors’ decay

These two happenings occur concurrently

The nutrients of the decaying flesh

Sprout the harvest anew

Regenerating the system

Unknown, for credits please contact

Featured image: Plenty of Fruit (Lynda K. Cole-Smith)