In Search of Gumption: Poems

00. Welcome. Come in. I feel your pain.

Omar Shaker — Sat, 31 Dec 2022 08:42:00 GMT

"Would you like to start this time?" "Yes, let me just put my phone away. What is that, a joint?" "No it is Palo Santo. It’s incense that helps keep evil spirits away." "Oh wonderful." "Ughh, I know what you are thinking, just surrender to this smell…

3 years ago · 1 like · Omar Shaker

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A Burning Man Sunrise Kinda Poem

Omar Shaker — Sun, 18 Sep 2022 22:18:18 GMT

Photo by Adam Hornyak on Unsplash

Warm Hearts

The Everything In Between Poem

Omar Shaker — Mon, 25 Jul 2022 17:49:16 GMT

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I am the warmth of the sun. 
I am the desolate cold depths of the ocean. 
I am the stillness of the mountains. 
I am the roaring engine of a dune buggy. 

I am the swirls of dirt it makes in the sand as it cuts through it. 
I am the capricious waves of the Atlantic. 
I am the lazy current of the Russian River. 
I am the one who knows that the Russian Ri…

The Writing Poem

Omar Shaker — Mon, 25 Jul 2022 16:56:16 GMT

I am sitting here in the past typing these words and there you are in the future reading them on a screen. We're not in the same room, you don't even hear my voice Technically, I never said these words at all. These ideas are being channeled through my soul, to yours I can't take credit for writing them, and you can't take credit for reading them. Together, we are bound in a moment of time, just long enough for your eyeballs to scroll and scan and scroll and scan, these thoughts that I have recorded for you once upon a time ago. Once upon a time, there was a pain in my chest. I could not face it so instead numbed it good every way I could. And one day, the thoughts swirled up into a heap of dust! It dulled my brain and exaggerated my lust. I was lost in the heap of ideas and felt robbed of emotions. I locked myself up and threw away the key. But then one day there was a paper and next to it a ballpoint pen! A soul of light bounced through the window of my eye. "Write, write" a voice then said "document these thoughts for when they're on paper they stop being mindblocks. And through your fingers, your demons will rise and you shall transmute them into fine tunes and images. And if someone happens to read them one day then they too shall dance with the melodies, exorcize their maladies, and one day the world will be healed." And if not, well then at least we are doing magic.

The Coffee Poem

Omar Shaker — Mon, 25 Jul 2022 16:52:57 GMT

Coffee is a wonderful and legal drug. I depend on it to tolerate you, and the horror of a morning sun. I hated the smell as a kid, but grew fond of its magic as an adult. It made my father approve of me, when I fixed him his cup. Then in college I thought I’d try it, just to see what the big deal was about. Zing Zing Zap Zap Fireworks in my brain! Once again, I tolerate you and I feel a little bit less insane. The more I drink, the more I work, the less I feel, the more I do. Move on soldier the machine can’t run itself. Production, Marketing Selling and Farting! Drink more and one day we’ll make you head of your own department. These are the words that lie above their mouse traps. They make me think I’m worthwhile then pull away the warm blanket. They give me the tit, and take it away before I am fed, and before I have found my angle. So when they’re gone when all is lost, when stupid shit is a part of my past. I still have coffee to turbo charge what ever is left for me to care about. Now that I am old enough and have the cash to buy a better cup, now that I’ve been around the world enough to know that you’ve been serving me brown water! Now I’ll make my own coffee, thank you very much. No more Nescafe, no more instant, trigger happy, bullshit. I’ll have a pour over, that’s a french roast and organic! With hints of hazelnut and a dash of almond milk. Ooooh what is that Huye Mountain! Where? Oh my god, Rwanda! Wait till my friends hear! Maybe I’ll get me some of that. Fair trade? Oh that feels good makes my insides tingle and tickles my fancy quite a bit! No wait! I think I found it: Guatemala San Sebastian! Oh, yes that is the one. A cup of that everyday through eternity and we can perhaps reverse all what the white man has done. Yes pour me one over the beans that some native woman uh -sorry- woman of color has plucked from the field with her bare hands and sown the seeds after her family had planted and had broken their backs over hundreds of years to get me that turmeric coconut Guatemala pour over on my big fat leather couch. I sip it and think of the Amazon, not knowing that it has nothing to do with Guatemala. I don’t really care where it is from. What is important is that it is strong and that I get my kick and that I am happy and that I can tolerate you once again. Zing Zing Zap Zap Let’s get to work Churn Churn Look! Bling Bling We know you want it bad. Suddenly I believe their lies and I am way too wired to be sad. Now I can be a smiling person and promise to refrain, from earlier thoughts about killing the people that I work with and myself.

The Religion Poem

Omar Shaker — Mon, 25 Jul 2022 16:48:41 GMT

Just like Shabbat, and Church on Sundays, Muslims have Fridays to pray and be nice. My dad and I would go together, like every father and son in the hood. I hated the mosque and before you kill me, listen to my strictly practical reasons. First of all, my shoes always got stolen, but also, I had to stand awkwardly next to my dad. I’d stare at the boys, in silence we circled, and listened to the parents talk about the weather. Oh this oh that! Get me out of here this ugly kid is killing me. But Friday afternoons, they were quite special, just my father and I, away and together buying newspapers, eating Persian bread, Times I now cherish being so far away. Then I would ask him the weirdest questions And he would strategically hide his dread. Like once I asked him: Is religion even real? We all need it, son And it's the whole deal. That Didn't Make Sense! Islam to me was a video game Developed by God, and installed by my parents I was into winning and I must ace it like every other act. But soon the play became quite old and fresher thoughts entered my brain. Some may say I was Westernized by Classic Rock and South Park. I argued, I fought I won many battles but lost great friends and felt quite battered. I wasn’t an atheist or maybe i just dabbled but realized that they are equally terrible. So I rested with my indifference to the answer and stayed cozy and warm in my echo chamber. Then one day I heard me say horrible things to myself. I felt alone and not quite right. And suddenly a mountain and a zooming out. At some point, I stopped thinking and started intuiting, And felt connected To other humans, to the birds, to the trees, to the Earth. I might have taken a tab of acid, or maybe grandma was praying hard for me. But the point is that, I transcended the layers of bullshit that have us stuck. So it was me And the mountains And the desert and The Big Ol’ Sun. The divine mystery, I was reminded of. Angelic sounds were here to show me Yes, you are loved. You are not separate. You are not against. You are with! You are protected. God speaks to all. Each and every one of us is connected to each and every one of us. Amen, Aho, and Ohmmmm. Say what you say, dance how you may, just know when you judge me, that you’ve gone astray. God doesn’t care, she’s everywhere, and isn’t waiting for your masturbation to make sure that her day’s work was worth it. So just do the thing that lights you up, and find a community that opens you to your deepest intuition. Go for Renaissance not Prohibition. May you be peaceful May you be kind May you be free from suffering May you be fulfilled. In your work, in your relationships, in your spirituality, and in your purpose. Amen.

The Art Poem

Omar Shaker — Mon, 25 Jul 2022 16:22:41 GMT

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Art is making
something
out of
nothing.
It doesn’t have
to be hard.
Here,
I’ll show you.

Art is a stick figure
drawn by a kid
on the back
of a napkin,
a silly dance
in the kitchen,
or singing Whitney
in the shower.

Art is a war
inside of you
and showing up 
is your only weapon.
It is you,
and your feelings,
splattered 
on a messy canvas

Art is a heal…

Short Story: Notes On Therapy [Lover]

Khaled sallam — Mon, 16 May 2022 02:05:41 GMT

This is part of a series of short stories that cover the archetypes. These are the nucleus of all of human being’s “collective unconscious”. Each story explores one of these archetypes. Let us now if you relate in the comments.

Should we do more of these? Leave your vote at the bottom of the story!

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Recap:

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Zelda is a rich tycoon who has been deserted by …

Short Story: Vasilis [King]

Paul G. Kist — Sun, 01 May 2022 18:00:36 GMT

This is part of a series of short stories that cover the archetypes. These are the nucleus of all of human being’s “collective unconscious”. They govern our psychology, behavior, development and fantasy. This is all towards a bigger effort of writing a novel that inspires better health. If you are not subscribed, click below to get our weekly posts in …

Short Story: Zelda's Initiation [Magician]

Omar Shaker — Sun, 17 Apr 2022 22:00:34 GMT

This is part of a series of short stories that cover the archetypes. These are the nucleus of all of human being’s “collective unconscious”1 that govern our psychology, behavior, development and fantasy. This is all towards a bigger effort of writing a novel that inspires better mental health. If you are not subscribed, click below to get our weekly pos…

Short Story: Howl Like You Mean It 🐺

Omar Shaker — Sun, 27 Feb 2022 16:00:31 GMT

Aaaawwooooooo!

It is another Sunday and I am still alive and still writing. Al-hamdulelah 👐🏽, cheers 🍻, and everything in between.

Thank you for reading.

I mean it from the bottom of my heart.

Also a special thanks to 🙏 Atta Pilram, Riitta Kamel and Gabe Charbonneau 🙏 for their incredible, personal and timely emails and messages of support week i…

Novel Excerpt : Me and my Self - Part 1 of 2

Omar Shaker — Sun, 06 Feb 2022 15:00:38 GMT

☀️ Happy Sunday! I’ll quote the end of this excerpt here because it encapsulates my intention very loudly:

If one can dream even further, then maybe one day a communal collection of pieces will provide a sort of literary cure to depression and mental illness.

👨‍💻 This journal entry was the first time I was able to turn my suffering into something crea…

I am the Unloved Poem

Khaled sallam — Mon, 06 Dec 2021 16:29:16 GMT

I am the unloved,

The darkness inside

Party of one

But still nowhere to hide

I am your shadow

Your sadness,

Your plight,

I am that one bully

That you never could fight

I am your best friend

I’ll tell you the truth,

I am your dad’s approval

Just kidding, that will never come through

Your addictions?

You ask

Yeah I run that train

Choo Choo, Next stop

Here come Withdraw…