I recently set up a website, http://www.gevros.etsy.com, in order to facilitate orders. Drop by the site and check out the books in the store!

My new collection of poems, “The Bars of 55th Street” is printed and ready for your reading pleasure. The book is a series of poems recollecting notions of love, pondering the highs and lows of the everyday, reminiscing on the fading of youth, and embracing the joys and expectations of moving forward. Please contact me if you’re interested in purchasing a copy.

it’s been quite a while since i’ve posted! but i’m back, and in good spirits. the new book is progressing smoothly, and i’ll keep you updated on its progress. stay tuned, and visit regularly!

a rock in your hand-
your life, pebbles of dust in your
palm-
small bits of happiness-
plentiful particles-
thousands of miniscule grains
combining to form a goal-
a vision-
all within the weathered crevasses
of your grip-
squeeze tightly-
build pressure-
tighten those pebbles of dust in your
palm-
until they exlpode like a geyser-
and rush out like a waterfall-
reach deeply-
grasp at what you seek-
fill your hands with these little bits
of happiness-
fill your hands with tiny bits of life-
until those grains spill out onto the
earth of your choosing*

i envy a certain drift of air-
a specific draft of wind that has
blown many times under my nose-
and over my face-
i long for it as if it were the cure
for me-
i desire it as though it were the beginning
of me-
an invigorating scent-
full of everything that i’ve never had-
a full breath-
full of everything that i’ve ever lost-
i envy that drift of air-
and i covet it as though it were the last
thing on earth that could make
seeds blossom-
as though it were the end of all endings*

The concept of life and death is incredibly interesting; what’s fascinating is reading the poems constructed centuries ago by dying individuals. Many of the same sentiments felt by them ring true today; most importantly, that life is but a fleeting dream, and must be lived thoroughly while time exists. Enjoy this great example, written by Uesugi Kenshin (1530-1578).

Even a life-long prosperity is but one cup of sake;
A life of forty-nine years is passed in a dream;
I know not what life is, nor death.
Year in year out-all but a dream.
Both Heaven and Hell are left behind;
I stand in the moonlit dawn,
Free from clouds of attachment.

Here is another by Ôuchi Yoshitaka (1507-1551),

Both the victor
and the vanquished are
but drops of dew,
but bolts of lightning –
thus should we view the world.

Here is one written by Minamoto Yorimasa (1104-1180),

Like a rotten log
half buried in the ground –
my life, which
has not flowered, comes
to this sad end.

And a final one written by Hôjô Ujimasa (1538-1590),

Autumn wind of eve,
blow away the clouds that mass
over the moon’s pure light
and the mists that cloud our mind,
do thou sweep away as well.
Now we disappear,
well, what must we think of it?
From the sky we came.
Now we may go back again.
That’s at least one point of view.