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

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.

Grand Moff Tarkin


Grand Moff Tarkin
Once, rising star of the Imperial Construct:
known for his goal-driven project
management methodology over the course
of the Death Star build-out; despite its short life –
the successful recruitment of Darth Vader;
and lesser known, his being the sole strategist of the high yielding and resourcefully
 prosperous stormtrooper
outsourcing program, and scandalously uncovered,
no longer myth, that being his being
the chief commanding architect of the Imperial Destroyer sub-leasing
has resigned today.
The Empire wants us to believe he was simply ready to retire.
However, the Alliance Ledger’s new narrative has cited him as saying,
“Imperial Management has lost its conviction. Once a universal threat, hungry
for power and strict order, has lost itself in a cosmic cloud
of intellectual properties. It’s focus on rule
through merchandising and distribution is not in alignment with
our value code and in fact, has become
too ‘Mickey Mouse’ for me to support.”

SL #2

Dark Roast comes from a place
That few will go
Unless they have in them
 A resilient desire
To find a bean that offers more
poetic richness and depth
than the lighter roasts dare
to dream for but forever
setting the dial to a less distinct quality
and an honest but somewhat forgetful aroma
Unlike yours, if you try
Harder than a coffee bean
Don’t try. Do.

SL #1

Belief, you see,
                Believes in dreams,
Believes in me,
                As the air you breathe-
                As the wings take shape               –
We’re the same, only you
                Have yet
to find the name
One day soon, you
won’t help but you
will see, that the day that comes, comes from me
                And I give them all to you, with a tenacity that cannot be forgotten.

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