The Wadi

The rocky path will not always be true,
But it will still lead you to the same place.
Out of the mountains, a wadi once grew,
And hid a paradise in the cliff face.
There is a stream that turned the valley green,
With time, eroding away the hard stone,
Leaving behind swimming holes so serene
That humankind could not leave them alone.
They will travel from every corner
To find some fun in this famous canyon.
What ails them, they think they will find a cure
After a week long holiday is done.
Don’t tell them that the wadi will forget
Every person it helped get wet.

Holiday

It is about the sand under your feet
As the in coming waves wash it away.
It is about the ultimate retreat
You wish to find on a vacation stay.
It is about time I spent with my love
Without having to worry about work.
It is about no new rules from above
Coming from an administrative jerk.
It is about time off that I deserve
Because the amount of your workload.
It is about the resting of the nerve
Due to the fact of the stress that is sowed.
It is about a moment within reach
Where we can spend the day walking the beach.

The New Culture

You all look like ants, crawling down below
When I am able to stand from the height.
I can see how far that this city grew
As it takes, from nature, another bite.
Over the desert, the road stretches forth
To the places where the Bedouins camped;
You may look to the south, east, west, and north
To witness how that culture has been stamped.
It can now be found within the museums,
Or the picture books given to children.
Humankind is subjected to its whims
To ignore the places where it has been.
I stand atop its crowning achievement,
A tower, to God’s grace, will not be bent.

My Place in the Desert

As our feet slowly sink into the sand,
And it squirms into the the cracks of our shoes,
The wind tries to blow us from where we stand,
And the sun pays off its last daily dues.
I can feel the grit filling up my teeth,
And my eyes sting from the wind’s and sun’s burn.
I can find a resolve from underneath
As why I’m on the dune ready to learn.
For it is only here when I’m alone,
I can contemplate things of great import
That this great expanse of grain was once stone;
Nature wished it to be another sort.
Where will the wind send me when I am done?
Will I still feel the warmth of the sun?

The Turning of the Page

We all know that it must come to an end
Even though we try to fight against it,
But this is not a rule that you can bend,
And we must allow the moment to quit.
It will open us to us something new
Though that might be something that is scary,
But these opportunities are so few
That we should not allow them to tarry.
Instead we should look towards their embrace
As if fate even gave us an option;
It might be better what it does replace,
Only if we could seek out its intention.
We may think it something we nurture,
But nobody can predict our future.

Westvleteren 12

The bottles have been stored behind the bar,
Waiting for the moment to pop the top.
The aroma will tell tales from afar
Of the history of the Trappist crop.
It must be poured into its holy grail;
Its crown will be a creamy head of foam.
The watering of your mouth will curtail
The last destination of the beer’s home.
It will travel to your table by tray,
Becoming the coaster’s guest of honor.
When the first sip finally comes to play,
The complexity will make you ponder.
The tradition has endured the ages
Without it ever changing its stages.

The Great Debate

In the spirit of our competition,
I will cross the stage so I can shake your hand.
The audience has some expectation
That our exhibition will be so grand.
To see who goes first, we will flip a coin;
The other will pick the side they will take.
Ideas we’ll explore; clashes we’ll join
Will bring us to an agreement we’ll make.
Though it may seem like we are in a fight,
There is a greater purpose happening.
We will find a compromise that is right
That comes about from all this explaining.
The purpose for us to participate,
To learn what is right from our great debate.

The Rhino

I just wish to live a life that’s simple,
Roaming the plains from where I was born,
But there are those that look at my pimple,
Thinking it’s not right for me to adorn.
So I have to spend my days in hiding,
Keeping careful watch for these greedy men.
My problem is my eyes are short-sighting,
Making it hard to see where I have been.
This gives the advantage to the hunters,
Creeping nearby me in the undergrowth.
I will never know about their saunters,
Thinking of a tree as neither and both.
That’s why I keep secret my location,
Keeping horns safe from another nation.

Unraveling

It will only take a tug on the thread
Before another one will come undone,
And soon on the ground, gathered in a bed,
Will be left a weaving that was once spun.
Focusing on one not to pull and pick
Will leave someone else to give a try,
Doing nothing big, just a little flick,
Allowing the rest of it to comply.
You run over there before it’s too late,
But that will leave other idle hands free,
A battle ‘gainst inevitable fate
For a carpet that’s never meant to be.
Still you do your best to clean up the mess
As a model of calm under duress.

Departure

It is time for us to say our goodbyes
While standing in the middle of the road.
I laugh at how our time together flies,
And our time apart bears a heavy load.
As we stand at the gate for departures,
Me with my bag firmly in my hand,
To me, a stark revelation occurs:
These moments have a limited demand.
But I have to live with the choices made,
And engage within the fare thee well hug,
And though my emotions, right now, are frayed,
I pass it off with a casual shrug.
You may not think I saw the tear you shed,
‘Cause I was busy with my own instead.