My heart hurts,
and it is not okay
that I hurt you today.
But I don’t always get
how to keep my tongue in check,
and I don’t always sense
you’re already feeling tense
so even though-there’s ice in your eyes
I would still like to apologize
for those thoughtless words.
I’m a silly turd.

opinions, poetry, writing

For Your Information or When Trump Met Zuma

in 2018 you can reuse calendars from 1945
what a time to be alive
when: post collonial powerhouses are crippled
by the mighty stupidity of vain men.
And we, in the shadow of their vanity deny the insanity
of: salaries that have no relation to inflation,
lawmakers that have no place among the thinking human race,
religious institutions that fill our heads with illusions
while we: are carefully weaned by our T.V. screens.

opinions, poetry, writing

I’d Rather Be Writing

Just another rough draft to keep the thoughts flowing.

I don’t know if it’s worse to be
writing instead of working,
or working instead of writing.

All I know is that I
work to strive to succeed,
but write to stay enlightened.

On the one hand responsibility,
on the other-escape from insanity.
When did routine become a fallacy
the daily grind, my stark reality?
What I need to do just doesn’t excite me.
Honestly, I’d rather be writing.

freeverse, poetry

Loosen Up

Still struggling to get those mind muscles loose. So here is another rough-very rough-attempt at poetry.

I drew myself into a corner.
The white walls made me anxious,
too anxious to think, or breathe, or live.
So I scribbled, and doodled, and scratched away at my surroundings
until every sharpie I owned was as blunt
as my thoughts,
But I could breathe again, think again:
I crave the outdoors,
wine outside a goat shed,
an easel overlooking the vineyards,
good, dark, heavy, red wine,
a place where I can be different without losing my sense of self.
I crave the outdoors.

Beat, opinions, poetry, Taiwan

Thoughts and Concerns

It seems like work has been taking up most of my time
the daily fight, when all I want to do is write.
I guess I
should learn to make time for what’s important,
make my own desires a predominant commitment
lest I forget, forget how to truly be alive.

Anyways, I haven’t been writing much lately. And, like an athlete who was out of commission surfing the couch for a few months I feel mentally unfit. It’s as if the words just won’t come anymore. Yes, I still get ideas. Yes, I still babble away about my opinions to anyone who is close enough to get caught in one of my rare, but deadly “introvert-trying-his-hand-at-being-an-extrovert” conversation traps. But, when I try to put my pen to paper there is a serious lack of flow. I am writer’s block incarnate, watch me…stumble for words, and then sulkily sit around exclaiming, “writing is too hard!”

Now, my brother has asked me to be the written input for the website of an Art Residency he will be managing from the new year. But before I can even start to apply myself to that, I am going to have to learn to reapply myself to writing. So without further ado, here is a poem written groggily somewhere in the waning hours of last night.


Let your mind flow-
for a moment
let go
of this fleeting emotion
that holds you trapped
in an ocean
of routine and forced structure,
become unencumbered
the dark days are numbered,
let yourself go.


am a perfect example
the dull masses the trample.
like a boot overhead,
do they dare to tread
on me?

It’s in need of sculpting, but at least I’m writing, and it might be enlighting,what’s the use in fighting, me? Slam poetry.