It becomes raining, it comes swaying,
So much to preach, the years of speech
I wish to get a bite, snack it when it is present, before it winds restless
A digital nomad, a modern-day poet, a social media prophet
He yearns for silence, a peaceful retreat, from the endless scroll and the noisy street
A lover of nature, a friend to the trees, a critic of progress, a seeker of ease
A paradox he is, a contradiction he stands, a man of the future, a man of the sands

All of my life I have had a problem with keeping eye contact.

They say eyes are the mirror of the soul.

The only times I don't have a problem is when I am enraged with someone.

It was so bad when I was a child that I could not even watch the news on TV, as I thought the newsreader was looking at me.

Deep shame was the cause.

Thanks Dad.

I exchanged all I had
and like Jack, came away with a few beans in hand

those beans now planted (magically)
grew so much more than I could ever have wished,

a three bean poet
harvesting from a gigantic stalk.

When my pen
  has run dry
  and words begin
to fail---I hang on
I still try
for yielding
is no option:
where there are
healthy roots
the tree doesn't die-

a voice within me
out it does cry:
your life does
in words lie-
this you can't deny:
revisit your waiting pen:
write
write
write!

Don't be too eager to remark
on your neighbour's garden
just look carefully at the rot
of your own backyard

signs, signs, signs
from cave wall art
-Bison found here

to buy one get one free
-sign here
-no left turn