a poem

my word
is a reflection from what I see

in front of these eyes,
Pacific racing orcas

let go of your worries
& M E N O R

so this temple of mine can now
feel young

the motion of speed
surrenders to the moment

restoring the soul
from a damage of imbalance

inhaling the wind,
i keep oxygen trapped

’cause my breath is a grant & a gift
Saint Diego, i’m in love with your water

© Yoni Gebru 2026

S A N D I D A C U S was originally published in The Howling Owl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

a poem

i’m letting it clamp around my ears
noise is too loud for me to focus
so i kill it!

with an airpod maxy active cancellation,
the color of a dark metallic midnight
on my skull

i listen to this and not your bullshite
i formulate a thought to solve the many problems
of men

can i suspend? time, and for a moment,
and may i suggest? the pause!
of your becoming to choose

who i’m gonna be when circles of a cycle
pedal to the morrows of change,
embracing all the water from rain!

thinking of a world without myself in it
by no means, my speech is of
a suicidal decree, times three —

Lindsay’s on a baby killing spree,
with an army of sheep that screams
free satan

to Cora, to Callen, & Dawson
rest in peace.

© Yoni Gebru 2026

grainy blər was originally published in The Howling Owl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

a poem

the land of Mary she cries,
i’m in a car, fast driving outside of a swamp
we left dryness to find water in the air
the first time i arrived
was a — 
vapor,
wavy,
rain
i can
smell the
nature of today
i can, see the
revelation of green
the city, of chocolate
brings my endearing smile
by nearing the house,
i shuffle the cards

i’m in the heart of the river — Potomac

it’s not clean, this mud we swim rough
through all impure gains
and money
and money
and money
that’s coming - from blood
is the honey from a wasp
that i spread, on a sourdough slice
of this bread, venom toasting me life
until the day i die
my relationship to grief
never casting aside
that you matter in my head
to the dance of my letting go
the releaser is holding on
i’m stuck in a faded story,
refusing my fated glory

© Yoni Gebru 2026

Pursuit of Madness was originally published in The Howling Owl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

a poem

WHO IS THE MAN THAT HASN’T BECOME?

holding his blade with a
closed grip, to navigate a swing
controlled by the tip — of his thumb

kill the young one, hood child of the ocean
to let a man rise, the boy has to die
what say you, denying the joys of your life
by drowning in sorrow and pain
the Buddha taught Jesus how to pray
and so he prays, knees bending to the floor
as he wores in his armor with an honor thorned
eyes closed to find himself running from a lion

BUT YOU CAN’T RUN FOREVER

to face the dark shadow behind his warm body
is acceptance, and rise
beyond the common fear of getting cold
death trapped in a moving circle of tombstones
gone but never done, wrong but isn’t dumb
who is the man that hasn’t become?

HIMSELF

© Yoni Gebru 2026

yonarē was originally published in The Howling Owl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

a poem

The clearest view of a man
is from the deepest part
of his observance.

Rock-bottom floors beneath — 
they crack, split into waters.
It’s not hell, nor is it fire;
below God is an ocean.

Things I once held
are what I can’t find again.
What I’m wanting the most
’cause it was once mine,
into a passage of joy.

In front of your face I found you,
as you are.

Standing on the ark as it floats away,
floating on Neptune’s moon wave,
surfing on the rock, higher than Himalaya.

By tasting her sweet pink salt past,
I’m shaking this glass of time,
filled with sand.

© Yoni Gebru 2026

Ripple & Flow was originally published in The Howling Owl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

a poem

Enclosed in a home
where the woods burn slow, is a
fleshly body away from the door.

Sitting on the floor
with his feet criss cross, are the
crow birds up, flying in a flow.

Tell him
why a meditation is good for you;
into a flower, of a lotus
spring — the calm posture.

Mimicking the monk
born Lâm Văn Túc,
turned Thích Quảng Đức,
the martyr.

Self-immolating ways,
the days of your Catholic violence.

He don’t scream
‘cos he don’t feel pain.

Adele! Please set fire, to the rain!

And then he waits, until he’s gone,
levitating smoke from soul.
The burn renders embers
of the internal.

He made a choice
to burn himself,
instead of brawling you.

© Yoni Gebru 2026

hearth on fire was originally published in The Howling Owl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

unconquered, uncolonized, from a battle
an Italo-Ethio burn, of many wars
small world, larger spirit — inside an African horn

they were bombing my people up north
living in mountains, making a large mess
from the city of Rome, Italy lost this:

control of my soul & then a tucker tail!
that convinced my body of fire
to cool it now

when you’re quiet,
you’re speaking in silence,
& then it’s loud

rushing blood
of a circulation, in my simulation,
is a story defending my roots

the guerilla maneuvers the bully

Adwa's Understory was originally published in The Howling Owl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

i hope that your hunger
can eat your own, because
Hannibal knows what
you and i don’t, what
you and i won’t do
to survive

inside of the belly, is prey
one step, two, and
everyone waiting and smelling food
are wanting you, so give ’em some
of a placement to hold
there’s only so much
of myself to go around

cooking and cooking and cooking broth,
cutting my arm the organic way
for the meal — is the serve

with onions and peppers, and seasons
of scallions for the soup
on my cutting board

spider creatures consuming
the father of crawl,
weaving the soul of many born
i release my body
into the web of new arthropods;
the old die slow on a
timeless marathon

speeding engines for this, endless road,
my regulated mind is a
soul drive way past the mountain,
& into the Pacific’s of the deepest trench

i’m learning to swim in this ocean,
of descension

Patriphagy was originally published in The Howling Owl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

face to face to face — with the killer of kin
you displace the place of my soul
the robbery of homes and lands of my folk
the children of men have nowhere to go
so this isn’t cease! to choose fire

after decades of war
and conflict bloodshed
are the roots of frustration — 
of my placement
determinating me and my new flower
you murdered love!

should i negotiate? gun to my head
or do i confine to find the primal mind
my second resort is a moment of danger
of eyes into the eye

inside of tranquility i prepare
knowing they’re coming i’m going strong
getting ready for the candles of fire

preacher of peace
i reject your speech
by accepting violence

extracting all kindness — from my heart
blessing myself with conviction and strength
the time is now! so come

meet me and my blade

preacher of peace was originally published in The Howling Owl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

prince of dreams, crossing lines
do you chase what you feel inside?
watching a life alive with two eyes

no longer blind to the wicked secure
doubtful demeanors without any courage

one day the one who is last — 
thinking of you — will pass away
then it becomes that you never existed

inside of a skull, trapped by a thought
is closer to the end than ever before
further from one is my thirty and four

the reincarnation is a farce
when it becomes repetitions of more

minor spark of a major blackness
humanity dies — long after I’m dead
so why should I care, if you don’t?

ever flowing and never forcing
the moody mind and the outer body
looking inside while thinking afar

on top of a stool inside of this bar
all alone

indifference was originally published in The Howling Owl on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.