In the midst and turmoil of daily life where do we cross to find ourself?

Photo by author in Kyoto

A Bridge to Our Self Once Taken — a free verse poem

I came across a bridge and lingered before crossing

Stone and mosaic moss, it slept before me

Paths worn and tired, it tempted untold souls

Arched to perfection, its completeness concealed a blessed cruelty.

The stone bridge echoes of departure and arrival

It spans time like a mirror of thought

Reaching across from expectation and desire

It touches down in uncertainty, battles yet to be fought.

It urges us to abandon safety and…

How to know if the choice was right, a review when cuddling after 40 years.

Photo by Everton Vila on Unsplash

The Disclaimer : I am not boasting the years I have accumulated, that is not my intent, I was fortunate and I recognize everyone has their own road to walk. I do not want to admonish anyone nor thump dictates into another, that would be pointless for no road is smooth and all paths have bumps which give the journey dimension.

The Location and Time : In bed at 4 A.M. thinking of what to write when I rolled to one side and found familiar…

Standing in No Man´s land, a charred post views our heroes.

photo courtesy 903115 on

The post stood alone, brittle, bereft of kindness, a peering eye.

Between the trenches it watched as man´s hubris sputtered by.

Raging courage, to quell the fears, it saw men blindly race to the fore,

Soon to be slaughtered with guts hanging in mud, terror turned inward with gore.

The post was merciless, strewn with wire, channelling a poisonous pain-filled parting,

At young men, with innocent loves tendered, who saw the light of life soon departing.

Posts, nought but wood, made a line, a christening, decorated with razor wire,

The bitter sweetness of letting love go. A poem.

Photo by Andre Frueh on Unsplash

Volcanic and eruptive it stings my soul

Ripping, the slashing pain, forever unseen, consumes me

It towers, a suddenness that arises and cuts through the known

I knew it was approaching and welcomed it ... for him.

Yet it is a pit without end, a darkness with unreachable depth.

Where is the tool to reveal joy in heartbreak?

Like sunshine through rain, abandonment seeps in and cripples me.

The defiance of loss, the enduring void of hope withers my love.

The taste of his lips linger sweet in my memory


A lie of the mind revels in the shadow of cowardice.

photo by author from Enoshima island

You stood before me, with innocence on your breath

You held out a palm, to nurture, to suckle my needs,

You gazed warm and tender, trust begging from your eyes

You uttered softness to calm my quivering, selfless deeds.

My weakness yearned to submit, to swim in hope

My needs, a wanting pit of pain, directed my mind.

My dreams — broken mirrors, begged to find a new reflection

My heart, a fragile leaf, fluttered in the winds and pined.

Trust carried me, lifting the dark curtaining clouds of…

They walk among us and dwarf us with their selfless soul.

Benkei’s battle against Yoshitsune, Gojo Bridge, public domain

You are no weight, no burden, though you are my greatest load

Your movements arrive in simplicity, though they travel the harshest road.

You are questioned, you are doubted yet your purpose resounds forever clear

You bring a force of wonder, pride and depart with a heart-wrenched tear.

Your time can be short, or it can be long, fleetingly sudden and intense

Your effect amongst us is immeasurable, always immense.

You cannot be tarnished, mocked or sullied by accusations of the profane

You are born of innocence yet your…

A poetic question to a merciless arbitrator.

photo by author

Taken too soon, their, lives once abundant, Loss has no answers.

Souls of potential, laughter unending, love encompassing journeys rich…

Abruptly cut. Tell me, Loss, where did they go?

Are they like an echo drifting lonely in a void, knowing no darkness nor light, no color or cold? Without sensation, if they embody an echo will they feel my emptiness for them?

Abruptly cut. Tell me, Loss, where has their potential gone?

Like morning mist they enraptured and enveloped their world. With unending presence they formed the support that cupped the hearts of…

Age, you abuser, grant me one simple wish.

Photo by Alexandre Debiève on Unsplash

The creaking doors that are my knees groan and whine

The steps unsure, a drunkard’s balance, dances through my fragile stride

Eyes once sharp are smoked windows that hide my truth from me

So easy to stumble on quivering joints that scream

Forever aware of toilets — too many trips, dribbles, shame and embarrassment

Hands, once fleshed strong, tremble below a carpet of blue veins, brown spots

The engine runs at a feeble purr, not a roar as fuel demands dwindle, birdlike

Standing is a bitter crackling of leaves called my spine

Conversations, with tea in my garden. Searching for control of the inner self in bonsai.

photo by author

For the past three months I have had the pleasure of living in the mountains of Japan. Secluded from the madding crowds and saddled with rescuing a project damaged by extreme levels of snow, I have had time to consider the simplicity of that which surrounds and is within me.

The weight of meters of heavy snow earlier this year crushed the roof of the home into the garden. Once lifted and stabilized we discovered a treasure gamely hanging on to life regardless of the…

The statement of a single man silenced the world.

credit Jeff Widener AP. Goddess of Democracy under construction Tiananmen Square.

As the anniversary of the Tiananmen Square massacre passes again, and the anniversary of the Chinese Communist Party’s establishment looms, unanswered questions rise, like Lazarus, to haunt the abuse by governing powers over innocence and the desire of human expression.

The ramifications of the Tiananmen Square massacre echo more than thirty-two years after the incident. That is as it should be. History denied is learning lost.

Recently, half a year ago, we also witnessed a similar dissonance splattered across our newscasts by the radical, misplaced passions of a horde of gun-toting…

Kevin Farran

Kamakura based writer, lover of Great Danes, vintage cars, good red wine, bonsai and the Bard

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