A Beautiful Heart (the poetry)

•March 19, 2017 • Leave a Comment

short url to this post: http://wp.me/pc5BC-8V

By Dahni
© 2017, all rights reserved

Left breadcrumbs, like Hansel and Gretel
Not to find my way back,
But to share my bread, for anyone that may follow
And not the purposed follow, as follows me, but following after I’ve left them
And found along yours or their chosen path

I cannot prevent the blackbirds of unintended consequence from thievery or the molding of time in their decay

I’ve shared scribbles and bits from otherwise blank folios— unintended numbering or to be bound, for recall

Others just given away for the moment to then be forgot, to perish or to its nether depth, beyond desire or recall
such the like wrought with the ink of wind on parchment of cloud
such as—

I dream the man I want
to see
I write the man I want
to be
Somewhere in the living it’s—

just me

Most, I’ve no drawers of memory to draw from
And there were heaps of journals kept, piled high and purposely left at landfills or fired with the flames of, as if they never were; should never have been
Perhaps those were food, for soil or food, for worms, for I would not bequeath them, even to the soul of an enemy
And there are those crumbs bound or loose, filled with the savage of time and covered with dust

I journeyed on as any other
To find my voice
To find my place
And earn a living at what I love
But when the years pass in plenty and the stores in empty
One has to wonder where the skill
Other than the deft at making much and keeping or just found myself, a voluminous quantity, virtually unknown
And there I live now, in virtual cloud
The breadcrumbs that I make
The breadcrumbs that I ate
The breadcrumbs that I eat
The breadcrumbs that I share of my bread of life

Some like casting thought to the wind that it may carry them on
Or pebbles of dreams upon the water that they may spread, circling on and on
Or apple seeds like Johnny that hope might grow
I am neither carving legacy or a memorial into stone that others might remember or others might discover me, long after my  breadcrumb are no more and I am become dust and ash —unrecognizable
No, I leave breadcrumbs to the traveler in pursuit of the destiny they journey on, to make for themselves, to do or to make that is, whatever they do, which defines the word poetry
And the doer; the maker, but a poet of:
Light Writing (phos-graphos photography)

These I loved and did and do

My mettle with the twin balances of wealth and success have been measured, and weighed and found wanton
My mettle and inferior metal not, as brilliant as gold or pure as silver, witness this then— my ignorant and unlearned state, but not from lack of the opportune
For more than others and less than others, I was gifted of much to have made a difference
I have prejudged, judged and have been judged in willful and ignorant and innocent error
For there are only two kinds of errors:
to err in judgment
to err in heart

Errors in judgment may be forgiven and recovered from, after the consequences paid and time spent, released and freed to follow again or fatal
but the others from the heart, difficult or impossible, rarely or never to ever, recover from and mostly always fatal

Long ago my innocence left me at the exposure to the world outside,
But I kept, have kept and keep still my cocoon
I will not grow up
I will keep my heart
My mind and body will keep growing out, but I will not rust out
And at my end, worn-out sleepless,
But I will keep my heart, my simplicity and play
I will love, I will dream, I will trust, I will hope, I will laugh

I am an ambivert—

Word and word and word and on, in love with words— breadcrumbs
to try and express what is inexplicable and inarticulate
Words that are just images of art, music, light writing (photography), poetry and writing

I am an enigma—
Not a badge I wear with pride, but it is my core
Ignorant and unlearned
I do not know how to write pure poetry
I am not trained to write
I am not an instructed photographer
I am no credentialed artist
I can neither write nor play music,
But all these things have I done and do
And I marvel that they have come out from me

How could such be—
Out from such a vile creature
So imperfect, so fragile
So lacking in intelligence, knowledge, wisdom, understanding, skill, talent—
How could these things be?

What things?
Things that I have done and do like a mirror,
Reflect back to be such as if they were, from the lips of God—
Pieces of life and crumbs of bread,
Of Laughter and Joy, Inspiring, Encouraging, Comforting, Revealing, Loving and Healing

Forsaking all hope or desire, for mere limited and finite fame and fortune, for love’s sake
Would you not share the same with those you love?
But that still, is not why, I left and leave, breadcrumbs!

Perhaps one day, you or others will find and feed on my breadcrumbs,
left along the way of my life
And you or they will be fed and led and then lead others to your breadcrumbs
And of mine you will clearly see, this enigma of a corrupt life,
could not have left these breadcrumbs
cannot leave these breadcrumbs,
But like manna from heaven, bread of life
came from the breath of God that moved in me
and therein lies…

A beautiful heart

Mine breadcrumbs not testament that I—
Not was or was not the man I knew to be
Not was or was not a man after God’s own heart,
But a beautiful heart He sometimes, was able to live in and make manifest
To an eye that would see
An ear that would hear
A heart that would live

A Beautiful Heart

Not meant as a time capsule in a cornerstone of some building
Not a keystone for which some building was built
Nor if find-a-grave then still exists, there to find me, but
I’ve a breadcrumb, a stone that is to be left near a stream
a walkway, a path, a bridge and a bench
My ashes beneath
My date of birth and of my passing
With these my final words:

“This is a breadcrumb
May you take and eat
On your way to becoming
A Beautiful Heart”

December 13th, 1953 — ?

Note: ‘A Beautiful Heart (the story)’, to be posted in the future, somewhere in the cloud

Here you’ve read this in the dark, there you can read this in the light



Comptine un autre été Juin

•June 26, 2016 • Leave a Comment
short url to this post: http://wp.me/pc5BC-8J

by Dahni

fireflies and strawberry moon
rhyme another summer June

© 2001-2016
from the collection: NIGHT WRITER
by the same author

Rhyme Another Summer Afternoon

•June 22, 2016 • Leave a Comment
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Comptine d’un autre été, l’après-midi

(Rhyme another summer afternoon)

by Dahni

a pory (poem + story)

Along the banks of the Arno river in Pisa, Italy
A poor man of Lebanon named Khalil, “friend” in Arabic
Was hungry, for more than just some cheese, and bread and drink
More than, for a place to sleep
But to play his love
And live to love his play

He, with just an old violin kept with care and tune
His worn case open with hope to receive the gifts of coins

A busker

And there he played a French song
A hauntingly beautiful sounding prayer
For passersby to answer with their coins
But passed him by they did, as if they could not hear

But there was something more, he did not expect

A young and beautiful Hebrew woman, Yalissa, “a beautiful flower”
An old soul that wore tears upon her lips
Deep the passion in her eyes with but a glimmer of light
Of hope
To dance her love
And live to love her dance

Barefoot with no ballet slippers could she afford
No pedigree or connection
For formal training to make her a prima ballerina

A danseuses

Just a danseuses with a dream
But the music drew her feet
Despite the shyness she forgot
She danced

But there was something more, she did not expect

I like to i-magine the pory, behind what my heart sees

The people stopped and traffic halted
The river stopped its running
The birds hushed to watch
And sound went silent
Save for the music of the dance
And the dance of the music
And the people held their breath
And tossed their paper coins
Into the violinist’s heart
And into the dancer’s heart
And the people found joy
And music found his dance
And dance found her music
Khalil’s and Yalissa’s couplet to—

Comptine d’un autre été, l’après-midi
(Rhyme another summer afternoon)

© 2000-2016
from the collection: WONDER
by the same author


Notes: Comptine d’un autre été, l’après-midi is a song written by French musician and composer Yann Tierson. It is featured in the lovely French movie, Amélie in 2001.

busker (noun) busk, probably from Italian buscare to procure, gain, from Spanish buscar,
to look for.

danseuses (noun) French, for a female dancer

pory (noun) poem + story pronounced (pour + ee). – A story told by poetic means. i.e. “Who knows how long this pory will last?” The word “pory” © 2003 – 2016 from: Dahni’s New Word Dictionary “A heaping helping of made up words” 2nd Millennium edition

Good Morning USA

•July 4, 2015 • Leave a Comment

Short url to this post: http://wp.me/pc5BC-8m

by Dahni
© 2015, all rights reserved


Good Morning USA,

What’s offending, You today?


Is it that these three, barely exist

or that a remnant, still persist?

Is it that WE do NOT know each other

or WE are impatient, for it all to smother?

Is it that WE were ever united

or the fire has been ignited?


From 1776 and 1789, for 239 and 226 years respectively

Through hell and back, these three have stood collectively

Are all just separate relics of the past, WE’d just soon forget

Are all meaningless scraps of paper and cloth, We surely and sorely regret?


Good Morning USA

What’s offending, You today?


Is it that WE’ve traded, for all our wants and security

or that we deserve NOT— Life, Happiness and Liberty?


Good Morning USA

What’s offending, You today?


Goodnight Winking Moon

•June 21, 2015 • Leave a Comment
by Dahni © 2015, all rights reserved


Goodnight winking moon

I notice you there, not because you are the brightest light

in this first night of summer, but because you’re closer

and appear bigger

than all many stars and planets and configurations and lit heavenly or celestial bodies

in this cool breezing marvel-ling even

and your wink is part, congratulatory unspoken words

that I have lived yet, another day,

but there’s something more you’re knowing

reflecting the promise that another day is coming

and is on its way

and for now, you guard and protect and rule the night

a nightlight for the sleeping

But I cannot understand why each of us under your selfsame congratulatory, promising and watchful eye

are not permeated with the same warm inside/outside glow of peace as I,

perhaps it is cloudy where they are?


not looking up, but—

Goodnight winking Moon


My Roller Coaster Baby

•May 23, 2015 • Leave a Comment


My Roller Coaster Baby

 By Dahni

For My Friend: Jennifer Baskin






all around

keep your head

and hold your heart

we’re heading for the scary part


the top

the sudden drop

down down start to spin

then do it all, all over again

 You’re my roller coaster baby


and through all these many extremes

life never dull or so it seems,

but I just want you to know

I too said let it rip and let it go

yep, two seats in every car

I’m with you near and far


A train wreck I may be,

but I got track,

and I’ve got your back

You’re my roller coaster baby


Things will eventually level out, but it’s the up’s and down’s that life’s about

Never a dull moment with you, each & every day and I wouldn’t have it— any other way

So keep your head and hold your heart, OMG, another scary part

Hands up here we goooooooo, it’s the whoosh and the rush from high



Oh, my, oh, my, each and every day— I wouldn’t have it— any other way

WOW what a trip— though heartbeats skip

Yep, without a doubt, no IF or maybe

You’re my Roller Coaster Baby







then do it all over again

down down start to spin

the sudden drop

the top


we’re heading for the scary part

and hold your heart

keep your head

all around




A train wreck I may be,

but I got track,

and I’ve got your back

No ifN’ or maybe

I love you— my roller coaster baby!

© 2001-2015 from the collection: WONDER by the same author


A grown-up lay me down to sleep

•March 27, 2015 • Leave a Comment

short url to this post: http://wp.me/pc5BC-7B

by Dahni

© 2015, all rights reserved

(an anticipatory participatory prayer)


Now I lay me down to sleep

I thank you Lord,  for the sweet memories I keep

and if I should pass, before I wake

please give them to my loves –

for them to take



God Bless,


(your memory list goes here)




Soul Mate

•February 15, 2015 • Leave a Comment
by Dahni 


In the empty, cold dark abyss of the human heart

there is, but one thing that sustains its existence

an awareness that it is, missing something

and found of it begins. to beat, to warm and radiant and vibrant life


and somewhere love is, waiting on and for you


© 2015
from the collection: ‘Re-collection’
(the collection of poems by the same author that never had another name for the collection)


Happy Valentine’s Day 2015

The Candle and the Mirror

•January 16, 2015 • Leave a Comment

It is said that to sing or play the Blues, one has had to have them. To be a poet, one has had, to have gone to hell, at least once. I make no claim that I can sing or play the Blues or that I am a poet. Let the “wick of my words”  illuminate for you, who I am.

by Dahni
© 2015, all rights reserved


I already dwelled among the shadows of

be this, do that, come here; go there

for if I was truly living, I would have never sought –

something more


Hiding still among the shadows

those safe places, for they were all I knew

staring at the light from afar

and from afar, it blinded me and burnt my eyes and melted my flesh


So then I decided to descend

down into the ninth circle of Dante’s Inferno,

for I already dwell in the shadows

and there stripped, bare and naked

there was no light, no warmth, no love, no hope

only what I brought with me that was in me

and there a mirror appeared


A mirror not the kind where coiffed and dressed and smiling in my very best

reflects not who I am, but who I thought to be or think I should become

me there, dwelling among the shadows

hiding from the light and from myself

but it was a mirror, polished of perfected glass

that showed me my real self

and there I saw not the horror of my imperfect, fragile, finite self,

but I saw there freedom –


Free as the waves crash upon a shore

free as the gulls fly overhead

   within the seemingly infinite blue

free as the nightingale sings

free as the butterflies dance

free as the hummingbirds float above gravity

free as the bees draw nectar

free as the rain falls, the creeks fill to flow over –


Free as the rivers overflow and return to the sea

free as the flowers kissed by the sun, fill with nectar and feed the earth

free as even the sun, where she comes to draw her own radiant and living, life-water

free with all I could imagine and dream of

free though I could not, cannot; shall not ever imagine or dream

free above and beyond all space and time and the bounds of impossible


This freedom is,

   without length or breadth, depths or heights – limitless

and in that dark, I light the wick of words

and there, I live in the light of my own candle

and before this mirror, I see who I am


free by poetry




© 2015
from the collection: G2H
by the same author