Death can bite my shiny metal...
It can fall off my thoughts like a petal
And let go of my family tree.

O' please, let my loved ones be,
And the sea of darkness set free
So that i can sleep in peace

And wake with all my pieces.
This life is but a simple lease,
time that I'd like to extend

Push away the invevitable end
That dooms us all to bend
To our knees  and weep.

She stands at the wall reflecting
on those who were lost at sea
names and poems and words connecting
her to those poor souls and to me.
Beyond those memorial walls
the mighty Columbia into the Pacific spills
whose depth and wealth have called
so many to sail from Oregon's green hills.
From the safety of their home
they left for the great unknown
where writers and poets travel
every time they pen their spirit in word
to explore what God and life has unraveled
what pain, sorrow and joy have stirred.

Her kindness and her reflection move me to write
my poems of wandering from a safe and tidy home
to regions of imagination’s heights
shadows, sorrows, or oceans’ foam.
She reads and lives life’s poetry
knows its canyons and desert sands
she yearns only to be free
of the noise and anger of badlands
to smell the freshness of a cool and gentle breeze
feel the air brushing her arms
to look up and see the greenness of trees
to be free from crushing and brutal harm.

I see her standing and watch her reflection there
with seafarers, poets and lovers at peace
where God’s creative breath stirs air
and torments, terrors, and quarrels cease.

Author’s Note:  My sister Genie who lives in a large urban area visited Astoria, Oregon where the Columbia river ends in the Pacific Ocean and local citizens have erected a memorial park with several walls of polished black granite that display the names of mariners lost at sea.  There are also sentiments and poems about those lost souls one of which Genie photographed and sent to me.  As I examined the photo I could see her reflection on the wall as kind of a background for the poem.  That photo and my sister who loves nature and trees inspired this writing.  I wish I could post the pic here for you to see why and how it inspired me.  

Below is the untitled poem on the memorial wall photographed by my sister.

Weep not for me that I go to sea.
I shan’t be lonely, though vastness surround me.
The brotherhood of the sea shall be my family.
The kinship of the deep my company.

Weep not for me, nor worry over harm.
My heart stays with you, still and warm.
In sunrise and starlight my hearth and home
I carry you with me wherever I roam.

Weep not for me, whether bad luck or good.
Tossed about in a shell of steel and wood.
An ancient salt sea sails within my blood –
I but follow its tide through ebb and flood.

Weep not for me that I go to sea:
in the limitless ocean I am free.

Today I laid on the floor of a Somali grocery store and tried not to pass out.

I fought the demons of my mind and my heart, which were coming out in the physiology of my body.

"This is a new low" I thought, as I tried not to get sick all over the beautiful fabrics on the shelves.

To have and to hold, to bloom and to bear, to cherish and to love.

"You're in shock, you're in shock, you're in shock" I repeated to myself as I stumbled outside.

This is a never-ending nightmare, a hellish dreamscape, a grief unimaginable.

"Have grace with yourself, things are not supposed to be this broken" I whispered into the couch.

To sting and to bleed, to weep and to mourn, to wound and to dishonor.

"Can I take you home?" Home-
"The place where one lives
Permanently, especially as a member
Of a family or household"

It was August of 1993,
Summers were always humid down there
We would sit by the lake and watch the boats
With their bright lights and distant laughter
We would swing under the branches of the weeping willow
Catching fireflies in jars, just to let them go moments later

He would only come 'round when it was warm again
He would take the boat out with us, teach us how to fish
We ran to the end of the driveway-
Where he would pick us up to go get ice cream
I would stare at his hands, shifting gears, ***** and shaking

She would get angry with him and smash the dinner plates
We would sit outside and hum our favorite songs
Falling asleep under the willow, just beside the motionless water-
Shaken awake by the sound of yelling turning to screams-
Then, the sound of a hammer snapping against thick steel- again-
Muffled cracks stuck in our eardrums, repeating

Under the willow lay a fresh mound of soil
Next to it, a small cross we had woven out of sticks and twine
He left as suddenly as summer days, never found
The fireflies didn't come 'round anymore, people in boats didn't laugh anymore
Soon after, it was abandoned- that home -and never spoken of again

Mis llantos ahogados,
el pálido cielo,
la lluvia viciada,
no buscan consuelo.

she cried
for night on end
her weeping eyes
drenched her pillows,
all for a boy
whom she loved
with every last inch
of her heart.

he never loved her back.

Midnight rains are nostalgic.
They make me realize
that I am not the only one
who is crying in the dark.

The gods are too.

To be a shining star,
Is to be the echo of love that caresses
A weeping heart with two hugs and a smile!

To be a shining star,
Is to dress your soul in the eternal
Garment of kindness and render service to others!

To be a shining star,
Is to have every fiber of your being glow with so much
Humanity that the darkness of the entire universe is illuminated!

Hussein Dekmak