Westendorf Poems

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Location: Aarhus, Denmark

Friday, March 05, 2010


You came so unexpectedly
with a kiss and a smile and a tender hug
Like a phantom in a dream
will I be woken from this revelry by some quick tug?
You'll leave so unexpectedly
I'm sure

Thursday, November 08, 2007

Psyche’s columns

What is this insanity conjoined?

The verity made betwixt our minds and eyes and hearts and hands?

It is the substance of our silence and the flightiness of a step.

It is his outrage and my torrent weep.

It is a distillation in a day’s evenin’ end.

It is the hours by book and coffee-glass spent.

It is the stuff of lips alighting on his brow,

Handsome sprees of payment for his pensive liberty.

Lonesome groans birthed in wordy revelry.

It is between us suspended: oh, aeonian heavenly question.

One, I, insistent in His nature.

The o’er dwelling on nature’s own nimbus

(That Being being beyond man’s cursive start, in any land’s prescribed indite.)

His thoughts a gentle zephyr agitate through psyche’s columns.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

The Bosom’s Chateau

My heart though torn

Knows not wherein lies the thorn

Is it home each unbalanced wave

Of sentiment unanchored craves?

And if being so

Which is home?

Is it here beneath a starry sky

Held aloft by palm branch and mosque’s cry?

Or is the other the bosom’s chateau?

Mother’s embrace and sun setting o’re emerald show?

Betwixt them is consternation held

Oh sweet loves all t’would meld!

But alas an hour creeps here

When one world as a stock faired

Well enough in ripe time is traded

For another promising page yet unfilled

And in those moments of long-dreamt

Reunion to friend and kin, will soul have wept?

None can say, as of yet

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

Cease, what still not best

As tears wept for love and passion

Or is it merely blind infatuation?

A love lifelong confined

But if e’er their love entwined

Would not drudgery of the cycle

Turn fantasy to fractured debacle

Realize in each the soiled stink …

Spoilt curds of their drink

What was thought wine –

In spectacular aged kind

Only found rotten filthy brine?

And all a life lay wasted

Discovered of the last: all time hastened

And all those years run past?

What is any desire but longing enjoined in hope

That what’s held beyond one’s grope

Bears greater unimagined bliss

And heaven and earth turned by the kiss

And when gave be just lips and tongue

Not much more moved than when undone?

Then hands reach and bodies combine

To sap the nourishment of life from th’other

What gained, what enrichment I pray?

Is thee satisfied, full, complete and still?

Nay “still” but in its depth, there the truth: still … not best

And there in lies unrest

Such with the smell of every blossom

And livelihood: advancing our ambition

Each would give (we deceive ourselves) what pleased

It is to heavens’ God to our souls release …

Both now and forevermore

Simply know every o’er craving implore

Us to look to Heaven’s door

And cease vain dreams e’ermore

Sui Juris, Beholden But to One

Sui Juris, Beholden But to One

I beg an hour of mind sui juris,

An eagle hovering in the breezes

Beholden to no one,

No one, no one at all but God

When others applaud, appreciate

The eager works I narrate

It’s then an artist’s complex encumbers me near crippling

An engagement not, no not of God

And then I curl myself,

Wishing I were a little trinket on a shelf

Hoping no one notices, no one admires me

Simply let me be a child, a child of God

And brooding eyes seek Him

Mull o’er His word; tuck in my chin

I remember I am of vast universe a little thing

But a thing loved, loved by God

And finding my Lord’s presence vicinal

Let all fly swiftly to Him administer

Each expectation, every praised successive feat

Let all my works only boast of love, love for my God

Rachel Beach

Monday, February 12, 2007

Stranded in Marrakech

I'm afraid I'm stuck in Marrakech
But with local I admit I've been blessed
It could have been M'Hamid or Tingdad
Or another particular douar unsaid
Why, you ask, am I sitting here?
Well therein is a tale to hear
The taxi drivers and buses
Are worried and all making fusses
About a new government policy
Regard: driving-accident injuries
Let's say your bus, as along it flies
Accidentally hits someone who dies
Off to jail you go
For five years whole
And 50 million dirhams' your fee
Which you'll be paying for eternity
So that's the new policy rumor
That has made traveling a blunder
For every tourist walks the streets
With miserable, tired defeat
And stare down at their feet
Wishing for comfortable sneaks
Because fancy heals don't cut it, I say
When "no taxis" means walking all day
Thus settling in we all are
Since one simply can't travel far
Rather wander through blossoming parks
And get lost in Jma Alfna's larks

Bound upstairs

I want naught but to write

But write I do not

Abstractions stumbling through my mind

There’s much I’d rather leave behind



Impossible: all upstairs is in a bind

Fathom, nay spasms

I’ve been warned I’ll not remain detached,

Rather in me something a lot like love will hatch

There’s in me a fear o’r the aforementioned unwelcome, Love – its very name

Joined with a man to me is strange

The hope of immortal bliss

Of unending mirth and happiness

Is oddly hard to fathom

My memory recalls only emotional spasms

Kerfuffled Faeries

Dashes of notes

Tempting teasing little totes

Flit hither and thither

Prancing through my mind

No solid thought

Could scarce be found aloft

As dancing faeries

Ne’er sure their whereabouts

(Just a scurrying kerfuffle)

And any single production

Tempted to perform itself

Merely mocked before the theater of
My mind is e’en filled

Thus it returns score and playbill

And with apologetic bow accedes,

Turns and quickly flees

Borrowed flames

True beauty dwells on high; ours is a flame
But borrow'd thence to light us thither.

The Forerunners, George Herbert

Friday, February 24, 2006

The Hashuma House

There is a place where we can go,
A place that only we will know
Where forbidden things are not a foe

We eat in a month when no one eats
At noon we head into the streets
To find goodies and little treats

We sit on the roof, sunning ourselves
Remove the long sleeves
And toast to our health

In Ramadan even gossips hashuma
To bad no one informed us
Cause we're just spreadin' ruma'

Men and women separate should be
But, we've concluded adamantly
We're leaves fallen from the same tree

You can't take a nap
With a man on the map
But at school, that rule's scrapped

Good thing we don't smoke
O t'would be another rule we broke
And another hashuma joke

The is the house of Hashuma
Keep it on the down low
Else you'll get somethin' comin' to ya

~ Jesse & Rachel

Saturday, November 05, 2005

Wednesday, February 15, 2006

PS..My favorite Poem

Is "Simply Words"

In the April 2000 archive.

...what they think

1/8/2006 11:00 PM

I have found the enemy of my soul’s rest

Every night it beats upon my chest

In the daylight it will not let me be

Nor even ever hide from me

But shamelessly it pursues

Often I was caught before I knew

That its wiry fingers were round about

It tangled me and let me doubt

Let me ponder until despair

Had pressed me down a stair

Forcing me away from where

To go I’d even thought to dare

It would clinch my throat;

And life, bit by bit it would choke

Over and over the agonies

The same sorry thought flurries

Played like a horrid dream

An unchanging wretched theme

A deja vue somehow reminding

In every new place still finding

Me in the last place I just left

Unrepulsed no matter where I drift

I have so many happy dreams

All ruined by one sour fiend

Every night and day and year

The torment and abrasive wear

It is the thoughtless comments that one shares

Who become inside a raging flare

For I simply cannot cease to care

Sunday, October 10, 2004


It is a thing that stirs the soul

That moves the mouth to smile

The eyes to beam with energy uncovered

From quiet places of the heart

Sweet Morsels

As with food the overabundance

Of words overwhelms the mind

As a feast doth overwhelm stomach

More is the pleasure of a sweet morsel

A simple truth is more to be savored

And to linger over this one fact

Than to rush flavorful aroma and spice

And lose the sensation

That the first bit of knowledge

Had initially to offer

There is reason in quietness

Not rushing words from carriage of mind

To vocal expression and beyond the lips

Before making sense of them

Of pondering long and deep

And making wonder of their

Sweet or sour impression