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NIGHT AT THE ALLUSIVE TAVERN
He had been sitting there for hours, days,how many “last calls” had he heard?He watched Beckett and Eliot come and gobut he sat waiting, patiently, no Godot for him.He had long since lost his now empty pen,his pockets grown stuffed with damp cocktailnapkins, the story of his life bleeding slowlyinto the worn fabric of the…
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MORNING SONG (Awdl Gywydd)
The sun creeps down city streetsdew retreats from the grassesand fills the air, with sweet scentuntil spent, the bus passes. The robin sits in the treeas worms flee into the lawn.The morning foretells the rainthat will slowly drain the dawn. The city quietly wakesand stretching, shakes off the sleepit slowly comes back to life,the sun…
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SPINNERS
They were hoveringlike so many demented helicopterson the verge of the pondthis morning, as if fightingthe humidity that hangslike a velvet curtainover summer mornings.They look littlelike the dragonfliesof my childhood imaginationnor of the great beastswho should oncehave roamed here.We are nowtheir predatorsbut the morning sunno longer danceson the wingswe have given up.
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RIDING A TIDAL WAVE
For how long had he been staring?He didn’t know, didn’t need to,time had ceased to matter,carried off on the gravitational tide.He had been walking for daysto get to this place, each stepa new beginning, each going nowhere.He knew he might seek solace here,knew he could never leave,here, now, was his ancestral home.There was a succulence…
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ONCE A HOME
They arrived again as the sunprepared for impending departure.The wetland is verdant and smallan area the developer reluctantlyset aside for nature, not knowingor caring that the birds who oncecalled this whole area home,a thousand and more each eveningare now crowded into this aviantenement, gone are their spacious homesgiven over to ours, but the birds knowwhen…
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AND COUNTING
The dawn brokethe counting beganeach daya new dawna new count.The resultswere notedwrittenfor posterityout of habitfor no reasonfor no onecared any longer.No onecould remembera day whenthe countwas zerowhen the gunswere for oncetruly silent.
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CALLING
As I age, I more willingly accedeto the sirens call of sleepfor as night washes over mepulling up its blanket of starsshe takes me on a voyageto destinations she willnot disclose until our arrival.The journey may be pleasantor the seas of night can beroiling, but her grip is firm.But in her never certain worldage can…
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SHHHHHH
Step outsidelisten carefullyto the morning breezehear its songenjoying itsilentlylips not movingyour voicea chorus.
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IN A HIDDEN CORNER
As stars go, of courseit is rather nondescript,small, middle agedstuck in a distant cornerof a not all thatimpressive galaxy. Yet each morningit sweeps the skystoring all of its kin,even the biggestand brightest, intoits own celestial closetwhere they willremain locked awayuntil it decidesit needs a restand lets them returnto once againpaint the sky.
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JOSHU’S WASH THE BOWL
In the early morningwelcome the sun,as the day retreatswelcome the sun.When you are walkingalong the garden pathwhich foot is forwardand which footis behind? A reflection on case 67 of Dogen’s Shobogenzo (True Dharma Eye)
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an old writer and his words 