Seek n Hide

​In my actual space I, 

carrying a flashlight, virtually,

stumble in darkness,

feel the edge of a work desk

for direction,

cut my hand on its

chiseled existence,

and call it poetry and justice.

It must be the apocalypse,

for it remains hidden,

the desk,

its writing instruments,

and its intent...

But, in time, maybe tomorrow,

when it starts to rain,

I may author the Bible.

I seek a virtue amongst

the long shadows on my desk, 

the sarcastic ink bottle

I hardly use,

and within the pile of

forgotten music notes,

I search for songs and sin

to find light, write the Psalms.

-- Leslie 

Reader's Block

​If only​ ​I could read endlessly.

Then ponder those tales

and verses​​,

​doodle ​on my tired notebook,

​dragging my pen through

the narrow lanes of

a verbose existence​;​

following the rules of making love,

yet breaking all of them,

for writing is liberty.

But no one reads

what I ​sigh and scribble​,

nor ponder my state,

or my status quo.

Instead​,​ I lock my words

in a​n​ opaque bookshelf​...

​... Then I ​pick​ ​up my axe,

​chop ​it all up,

the wood and the paper,

for ​I need ​firewood​ ​​​

to rekindle the ​spark.

I wish I could read endlessly!

-- Leslie Xavier

The Good Ol' Trail

Well, the dust settles
over the li'l trail
from home to manhood.
I look back,
the dreams smile at me.
The man beams,
the child cries,
yet again, and again... 

For I write with my
feelings;
love with my
soul;
and fight with my
heart!

pic: wikipedia.org

A Poet's Audacity

Hey you,
are you mad?

... The audacity of him

to think he could,

in a matter of seconds,

turn life as it is

into words,

scribble it onto

the pad given to him

by life itself.

Pic: poetryfoundation.org

It's forgotten!

Oh I forgot,

just like I forget to sleep,

these days of spring...

When the birds sing, make love.

See, I don't read life,

or its books;

when I find a paperback,

I tear its cover,

build a wobbly ship,

and float it down the drain

that takes out the sins

of my commute,

to the depths of this

city I call home.

Then, my heart betrays me,

halfway through that peeled

bestseller...

Yes, I forgot how to write.