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check out my video haikus
and slideshow videos on youtube at "junahsowojayboda"

Thursday, July 31, 2014

auroras (haiku) * 7/31/14

upsurge of colors
these curtains are auroras
night sky dancing lights

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Who * 7/30/14

Thoughts are the feathers
on the carriage of one
one, who also preens me
to refine my lightness of being,
one, who further gives me wings
to surrender to the sweetness of sky,
one, who selflessly gives me sky
to surrender to wisdom behind all-space,
and one, who reverently gives me space,
either as my riddle of self-occupancy
or as oneness, the grand, through me,
unjustified . . .

Tuesday, July 29, 2014

Soap (haiku) * 7/29 14

reality haunts
I wish it were a live soap
I’d just read my lines

Monday, July 28, 2014

time chauffeurs my duplicity * 7/28/14

Dancing the dance humans call history,
these next two minutes are cheek to cheek. 
My mind, as with these momentary hands,
delicately grasps the intimacy of this passing.
These two records immerse, unchecked,
letting some recognizant g-force ooze
onto my screen of experience.
My blind confidence will see it, name it.
My solar plexus uneasily yawns at it
exposing the dark side
of a wide-eyed cynicism looking through,
though not wanting to,
and a mindful penetrative idealism
grasping at the slightest draws as uplifting.
There is an apprehensing, a future nausea,
held down by thicks of my willfulness
readied to dish out mind-filling lessons
to be impersonally imprinting on me
with that "don't-you-ever-forget-this"
inner voice privately bellowing at me.
But time chauffeurs my duplicity,
as these two temporal frames,
cancel each other's darkness against light.
Silhouettes fired from the same blaze
as likenesses of myself,
both in dialogue as movement,
both dismissing each other’s fixated poignancy,
yet in time, living the bliss as the rest . . .

Sunday, July 27, 2014

out of here (haiku) * 7/27/14

still there are problems 
privacy and dignity
starts right here with me

Saturday, July 26, 2014

grass blades with watering eyes * 7/26/14

Grass blades with watering eyes,
stare out into the stale dewy night,
waiting for robust from the sun,
watch mourning doves quiet to the down
of their small nighttime world.
I am further aware of crayons cooling in drawers,
away from hot hands with their coloring tasks
while I sleep with the knife
that cuts fresh flowers in my dreams,
delivering me cheerful faces, yet holding poses
while privately straining their stems dry.
In the morning, indifferent light will come,
yet for me, longings for the two of us,
light as my emmissay,
will run the length of your body.
with long slow-blade radiant strokes,
now deliciously watched, for my eyes’ nurishment
to feel for your absence, but am comforted
both by your imagined muted sighes 
coming from the pit of my stomach
and these grass blades, that I now share
with them, these too, my watering eyes.