Roger Humes is a graphic artist/musician/poet from Claremont, California. He is influenced by such Iranian poets of Mahmud Kianush and Foroogh Farrokhazad and such Arabic poets as Adunis and Mahmoud Darwish. He believes that poetry is best described as thus:
The Prophet Mohammed is reported to have asked his companion the poet Abdullah bin Rowaha: "Abdullah! What is poetry?"
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The poet responded: "It is something that pulsates in my heart and is then spoken by my tongue". - from the essay Arabic Poetry: A Glimpse Into The Soul by Ghazi al-Gosaibi
Magdalene
through the twisting streets and blind alleys she deftly
walks amidst the memories and wonders if perhaps
the salvation he offered was another empty promise
from yet another man who left her though this time
in a way she never expected as she remembers the darkness
that eclipsed the edge of his face while he whispered to her
or some other voice far away that he had been abandoned
when it was she who would have to face the empty
days without his embrace that had once soothed her
like his stories had placated the multitudes who eventually turned
on him as her emotions now revolved around the vow
he had offered before he ascended past her touch
perhaps to return but would it be too late
to do her any good or would he be just another
mark on the tree of life that held some hidden message
on her way home to the light and salvation
she searches for on these twisting streets and blind alleys
that cage her mind like some wounded creature on the run
Top of the Page.
Call Me From The Earth For I Have Many Names
call me from the earth for i have many names
that our father placed within my soul
to lead a journey from the wilderness of the spirit
into a promised land where i chose to strike a rock
and water not blood poured forth
in promise to the multitudes
who were fed with several loaves and fishes
so that they remembered we all come
from the loins of a man given generations
numbering among the stars
and though his back may have turned upon one
destined to walk within the desert
a father's heart can never dwell far
from the halls of love when it comes to a son
for i wore a coat of many colors
which my brothers ripped from my back
soaked in the blood of the lamb
and placed before the crying eyes of an old man
who watched his dreams fade with the light of my life
until all was forgotten save for his pain
but the journey returned me to those of my blood
and all was forgiven before a sunrise
on a hushed chill morning in a promised land
where each of us has many names
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Once A King Grew So Weary
once a king grew so weary
of the banal tears
of those around him
that he retired to a peak
to watch the dawn wash
away his disenchantment
but he heard the lamentations
of one in such agony
that the rivers cried
at his slightest glance
so the sovereign called the man
to his side where he took up
a mirror which illuminated
the anguish and darkness
until the king shattered
his reflection into a thousand
pieces and together they watched
the shards turn into birds
that flew into the smoky air
where shadow and light become one
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I Will Meet The Morning
i will meet the morning
where the dawn glazes through
my window and rouses me
from the embers of my dreams
with your name still perched gently
on the edge of my smile
i will meet the morning
where i rise and go through
the motions of another day
sleepwalking as i hold the slices
of your name still perched gently
on the edge of my smile
i will meet the morning
where i attempt to get through
until night enfolds me with dreams
of your image upon my tongue
and your name still perched gently
on the edge of my smile
Top of the Page.
Along The Edge Of The Crisp
along the edge of the crisp
air i walk in silence
eyes closed footsteps directed
by the sounds that touch me
as they race through my musings
the breeze lightly licks at my lips
as i remember when a smile
was a sign of innocence
and not merely another way
to disguise the mark of cain
all of us have such moments
where the bridge to sanity
is kept open by a toll
paid with the blood
of our memories
Top of the Page.
The Eve Of War
a lone crumpled sheet of paper
(perhaps a shopping list
or the reminder of a chore,
possibly a lovelorn note
or some verse best left to silence)
caressed by the fingers of a cold wind
tumbles with the dust
across the darkened road
teeters on the edge of sight
and is gone
Top of the Page.
For more poems, visit Roger's website
www.electrato.com/art
Letter to the Author: Roger B. Humes.
at rbhumes@csupomona.edu