All Poems and Prose written by Abubhaji (Aboo-ba-gee); inspired by all of you. He hopes you dig them.

Edgar Allan Poem

one more old post to share… just silliness. been a while since I’ve felt silly enough to write like this. I hope the feeling returns soon. 🙂


Edgar Allan Poe
Poe tato-
head, extraordinaire:
fairy-fated, frolickery
within and without all
the crooked hill the crooked tree the neary moon-
noose to hold the neck
of naive brevity lifts
the spidered-hairs of my arm
as mandibles pulls at my spine-fortune
for you, ear-spuds, for I the shovel-handle
choked-up to dig you, perhaps,
to bury you again,
in my shelf-made

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My Lord, I think I saw him yesternight…”

another old post I found and thought I’d re-blog. Hamlet’s response to Horatio when he’s told him he’s seen his father’s ghost…



“My Lord, I think I saw him yesternight…”  by Abu Bhaji (photo still from Onibaba)
Believe not, everything you see, thee Horatio.
Be it a chilling apparition that appears to know
Of melancholy calls from the living,
And given chance to answer, is all too giving;
As if by Will, it was writ to accommodate,
To intervene, and bandage fate,
Its purpose in death, is in life to mitigate,
Most unnatural acts before ‘tis too late.
To be or not to be, it must contemplate,
Not unlike you or I, bound in such a state,
Binged on Starbucks and staying up late,
Brewing and brooding over life’s mistakes,
Forgetting not, to play one must pay the stakes.
Listen to what I tell you, Horatio, my friend;
I too long, that one gone would return again,
My fond lady, from the bottom of the lake.
Go now, with…

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been awhile. looking through old posts. thought I’d re-post a couple; perhaps come up with something new…


bukowski track

Iago – by Abu Bhaji 
I met Iago at the track
He convinced me to bet the trifecta
His words like needles to my yarn filled brain
Knitting up promises
Of fortunes
And an easier life
(Hop-a-long, Peggy-Sis, and Mad-e-line)
All my ponies came in
And boy did I win
But lost it all back on Baze in the slop in the nine

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Medicine Jar – for Kokopalien

Medicine jar sits
Upon Sedona window sill
Leave your shoes, feel the earth, we share
the autumn blood moon, but blood roots no…
But we know:
Over the road, Mrs. Daly’s ponies run wild,
Salt-rock rounds grapevine trespasses,
Goldfish, in koi-pond pool-side, hide from
Large black dog on guard,
Tetherball circles pole, chain clacking
Bumper-pool balls rack and roll,
BB-guns air-pumped,
Pepop, Pepop we know we knew,
Foreign currencies pinned to the wall
Downstairs, kids play out the holiday, circles
Our memory as the blood moon circles
The earth we share.
Kokopalien circles the court
On his mongoose
with two mag rims.

Catching Air – for Josh Derksen

One by one, under streetlamp light, we took turn
at the makeshift ramp (if only Life was built upon
broken stumps and plywood scraps). With our hearts
in our throats, steadfast our grip, we charged our bikes
at slanted fate with surging awe and untamed naivety, 
peddled fast, as though our lives depended upon it;
some of us, failing to launch, unable to handle
the weight, followed the bars over, falling, while
some of us, with the gift of strength, of knowing
when and how to pull up, caught elated air, felt
the rush of being alive before the cold wind whipped
bliss into tears. A few of us, those who had the
deepest hearts, the gift of grace in their stride, and the
love of us all in their pocket, those friends rose above
and never came back down.

The Present

Together we tethered Pop’s yellow rope
to the highest branch; over creek-side cove,
dared cow-patty poison-oak, barbed-wire fence
post tripped, we slogged o’er goat-trails like young goats,
dipped bridge-belly side, stopped twice for the ducks
riding the current. We felt the present.
Ray-Ray’s handlebars, vintage chrome, we used
to construct the meanest fuckin’ rope-swing
a soul’d seen. Climbed tree-up to launch; its arch
bowed beyond Heaven, the mind’s grasp, bough-bent
to the weight of Jesus Christ hair and beer,
(bottles of Draft snug in gray creek-grass mud)
under foot and sway, holding on, for Life,
and you grinning there in the thick of it.


Poppa used to blow-dry our hair;
sisters and I would sit as bathed pups
upon our family-room floor.
With slow care, he’d pull through wet locks
his black barbershop comb.
Under towel wrap, thick orange shag
clenched our naked butts. When
Poppa would yank, we’d dig hard our small heels
and snarl.
Avon blower, warming our heads, held attachments
to help detangle knots but
that’s not how he’d had it
in the Nam;
slow till of the hills tending for punji pits
careful not to brush up dap loi mines.
Mom scooped Rocky Road into blue tupper-
called my sisters chickadees,
called me Buckaroo.

This explains a lot about Emily…


I saw this today and got a kick out of it. Thought I’d share. Cheers~

By Pound

Under posh lamplight I
unzip my urgency ‘n
piss all meaning through
thick drifts of feral snow


bayou hallways
hallways bayou
lion bayou
hiss concubine
           magnesium monkey Cirrus, warm
           cathedral dirt, crisp
           swamp shrubbery, bayou
Boo! Boo! vampire bayou
lion bayou, hallways       fluttering
lavender coyote-clown feathers, whisper
hiss whisper, hiss
hiss memory fractured
hiss vapid maelstrom     hurricane
fiasco, hiss
hiss meteor cage
memory fractured, hiss
fences’ boulders
fractured hiss memory
hiss guillotine glittering
crackerjack, hiss lion
hiss whip-
-will recliner
hiss concubine
          warm, Cirrus magnesium monkey
          hiss meteor cage
lion         bayou
hiss lion        bayou
hiss lion
hiss dirt.
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