My Words

Understanding the World through words

Month: June, 2014


I shaved my face
Today with a
Dull razor

I’ve been growing
Facial hair for some time,
So shaving kits around
My house are not
Usually, “first rate.”

Normally, the blades
I find are rusty—
The ladies use them
In the shower and leave
Them there.

They Look like they have the
Dreaded chicken pox,
Only the red dots are on
Surgical steel,
Instead of on my skin.

Dull, like a garden
Tool that has
Lost its edge.
Like that
Push blade lawn-mower
I used
On wet grass,
Exhausting as
That stubborn donkey
In Baalam’s story—
Avoiding the fiery angel that
Almost got Him killed.

Each hair follicle
was yanked on and
Mercilessly severed. The
Shaving experience I had
was full of drama
And wincing pain.

I danced the
Dance of agony with
A towel around my waist.
Trying to make the best
Of a bad ordeal, wishing
I’d gone to Walmart first
For new blades.

I don’t normally wish I’d
Been to Walmart, if you
Knew me, you’d know
How I hate Walmart; but
At this moment, Walmart
Sounded like Heaven and
The aisle where the shaving
Kits are found—
Streets of gold.

After all was said and done,
I shaved my beard and
Left only the Mustache
On my lip.

My kids laughed and laughed,
“Dad looks like Mario”, they

“Nice dad, you look
Like a character
In a video game.”, Levi said

I grew up with Mario
On my Commodore 64.

Jumping out of harms way
Trying to find
Magic mushrooms, shooting for coins
A fantastic journey, while avoiding
The flying turtles, all so
I could get to the next level and
Find the next world.

I took a selfie,
Posted it on
Instagram and
Hash-tagged it–
#Supermario, and

The response was
Immediate, I now
Have a gammer
Fan base all around
The world.

Some even say that
I Look like Lugi.
All because I shaved.



I shave more consistently now.
As I’m at war with the grey
Hairs taking root in the forest
That’s my face.

I’ve drawn imaginary battle lines.
Lines that exist around my cheeks,
Under my neck, and below my lips.
With a swift steady motion,
I sever all remaining stubble—
Grey or black, indiscriminately.

Similar to the Battle of Verdun,
My shiny stainless steel
Razor blade, becomes my personal
Machine gun that mows down the
Hordes; like the grim reaper’s
Bright sickle did during that
Historical battle.

As steel meets flesh, what
Remains is poured down the cold
Porcelain drain, emotionless,
Until the battle is fought again.


It’s warm and the fan
Rotates, spins like
The earth
The sun.

It moves air
makes a quiet humming

The mechanism
Twirls attempts
To cool my sultry room.

The brisk flow reaches
My warm skin;
Spins like a
Whirling Dervish.

Will the fan reach
Will it
Attain Kemal?

I wish I wasn’t its god,
Or that I had
The power to end
Its search for truth
With a mere
Flick of a switch.

Free Online University Poetry Course—Coming Up In June

I got this information from my city’s past Poet Laureate. The university of Iowa International Writing Program, is giving a free online course June 28, open to anyone.

I found this information exciting, I happily signed up for it. Just follow the link and press the “get started” button, register and wa’allah you’re in.

What does fatherhood mean?

Teaching my youngest
daughter how to swim, and
Making sure she kicks
Her legs hard, as she
Crosses the pool for
The very first time.

Then holding her
Reassuringly in my arms.
And telling her, “I’m
Proud of you”, and seeing
Her brown almond shaped
Eyes sparkle with delight.

It’s reading books with
My son about spiders,
And making sure he enunciates
All his words. And when he
Cries–rubbing his head and
Putting my fingers through
His hair. And saying, “your
The best reader I’ve ever heard.”

It’s cheering for your son when
He pins an opponent and videotaping
His every match; while getting up at 5:30
To practice wrestling moves, before
Driving him to school in the morning
Then picking him up in the afternoon.

It’s taking my eldest daughter
To her very first ballet, and buying
Her the sparkliest dress. While taking
Her to a fancy dinner, and letting her
Know how beautiful she truly is. Today,
I played volleyball with her, laughing
And goofing off until the warmth of
Of dusk brought us both in.

It’s buying my son his first
Writing journal with a
Handsome matching pen,
And letting him know how articulate
He is, “I think you’ll make a great
Poet someday son,
Write as much as you can.”

It’s going to work with my eldest boy,
And letting him know what a
Pleasure it is for me, to work with him
Side-by-side; and, taking
him on his first trip to college;
While, finally getting him enrolled.

It’s picking up my youngest boy
In the morning and
Squeezing him oh so tight,
kissing his neck and breathing
Him in, like it was my last
Dying breath on this earth,
Whispering in his ear,
“I love you so very much.”

It’s looking longingly at my
Wife and remembering how
Beautiful she looked
Pregnant, while I
Jubilantly anticipated,
Our next birth!

My Name Is

It means Prophet, sensitive, articulate,
It is the number 3,
It is like a Topaz deepest brilliancy ,
It is dancing with my children on a warm summer day,
It is the memory of Tito, my father,
Who taught me never to quit, and to be always faithful,
When he failed he’d get back up and try again,
My name is Samuel,
It means Lover of humanity.

Navajo Blanket

When I was a teacher a
Few years ago I happened
Across a story, it
Was Native American
Folklore, a beautiful
Legend that
Spoke to me.

when you
Visit someone and the
Company is enjoyable,
It becomes a spiritual

While two people are
Amicably conversing,
They’re embracing.

The communion leaves
Everyone satisfied like a
Navajo blanket’s warmth, worn
on a chilly prairie night.
A splendid shroud that
Heavens and Earth has woven,
From galaxies, mountain and
Fertile streams–

Yesterday, I visited
A good friend who’s
Recovering from a
Serious heart

We had heartfelt
Dialogue about
Our past and present.

I felt our spirits
Connect as we spoke,
Laughed and cried.

I felt we were weaved
Like an Indian-red and
Navajo blanket
I once saw on an Arizona

Our conversation
Cross stitched
Each other’s—
While we sat
There cooled
By our ice-tea
And warmed by our
Many pleasant words.

Night Flower

Last night I was throwing
A pity party,
I got myself all worked up for nothing.

Reading about other peoples
Successes, is difficult
Right now.

I’m in a precarious place,
Transitioning from being
Self-employed to seeking
Employment a fresh.
I feel like

I’m reinventing myself.
I’m self-conscious and
Vulnerable. To say its a
Humbling experience,
Is an understatement.

One thing I can count on
Is my family, I have a
Support system that loves
Me tremendously.

Most of the time I’m pumped
About the future, but during
Times of solitude I catch
Myself thinking about the
Hole I’m currently in.

I hate looking in the mirror,
Because I’m
Reminded of more of my
Failures than what I’ve

So, I write about it,
It helps to relieve the
Anxiety I feel about
The unknown and chaos
I currently own.

I know it’s not wise to
Compare oneself to others,
But it’s hard not to fall
Into that trap in times
Like these.

My wife told me something
Eloquent and it stuck with Me.
“Live everyday the best
You can—for God, yourself
And your family. If you do
That, you will succeed.”

Such words of wisdom
Are important to digest they
Help nourish my soul.

If I could sum all this up
Poetically it be:

I’m Like a strand of
Jasmine that grows
In between two massive oak
Trees, canopy covered and
Hardly sun touched.

Who’s envious of the roses
That bathe in magnificent warmth;

While, I frantically struggle to be
Nourished by the midday

but come nightfall the
Moon and the stars shine their
Brilliant light—

Me to feel that I have
A little bit of hope,
As I envelop myself in the
Coolness and darkness
Of the night.

Conversation With God | Like A Vine

Why me God?
It’s the perpetual question
One asks in distress.

Why did my way of making
A living suddenly dry up?
It’s as if a beaver built a dam,
And stopped a life giving river from
Flowing downstream; instead, turning
It into a dry creek bed of death.

I’ve put countless hours
Into my business
Just like anyone else,
Not to mention
The tears I’ve shed and
I’ve literally bled too.
No need to recount this Lord
You’ve seen what I’ve been through.

Between my wife and I
It was roughly 100 hours
Each week we patiently
To our means of making a
Honest living.

So, it wasn’t because of neglect,
You control the world–
Why did you let my business
Come to such horrendous turmoil?

God’s answer:

You can’t expect to have a business
Get you by,
How else can I get your attention when
You’re so busy earning your bread?

A scribe can’t write from a lofty place when
It’s in the trenches that you see the
Real action in.

If you look around you
You’ll see
People are distressed
similar to how you feel.

How can you see humanity anyway else?

How can you feel their pain
if your living in a gilded cage,
With all the comforts
Of a bloated king?

A vine produces better wine
When it’s under duress.

Take away a little water from its roots,
Make the vine struggle a little,
And the end result is that
The wine is sweeter,
More intoxicating,
increasing its final
Market value.

The conclusion is
That the particular vintage,
All agree,
Is good!


The palm tree and wind
Are intimate friends.

They play
Off each other in a
Lighthearted yet romantic dance.

It reminds me of a

While one leads, the other
Bends, and how the palm tree
shimmers in delight—swayed
And moved with such wind-swept ease;
Returning, only
To be touched and lovingly embrace again.