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NAMASTE
If you stare at it very closely and carefully you will soon see that deep within it there is silence. You may take it with you, it will go along willingly, but if only you don’t try and grasp it. It is soft to the touch, certainly, and has a sweetness that settles gently into…
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DREAMS
Dreams are a place where the dead are free to walk about, where they speak in voices barely recalled, but which seem so familiar to the ear. They are willing to engage you in conversations left unfinished, you are always surprised at what they have to say, at how it is not at all what…
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INFINITE LOOP
Once the story ends we simply start another story, and repeat the act in varying detail with each repetition, until we run out of words.
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KEMBO’S TRANSMIGRATION 鐵笛倒吹 六十七
Awakening in the morning when you first see the sun and the dew resting on thee leaf which eye are you using. When you stare into the mirror through what eye do you see, and what eyes stare back at you. When you see the deer lying in the road which eye do you…
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OH, NOAH
None of us can remember what was here before. We can search for clues, develop elaborate surmises and find telling relics from which we can conclude this or that, with a certitude the gods would surely mock. But our field of vision is restricted, our memories equally so, and we are left with one certainty,…
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THINKING MAKES IT SO
Words, words, words Polonius, it’s all this damn book is full of, but don’t let it bother you, for your time is so limited, I’ll see to it soon enough. It’s the price of doing the bidding of the devil. Did you really think it would be otherwise? This is, remember one of…
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A SCREAM
Then there are the days when extracting words feels like extracting teeth, and there is no Novocaine for either my pen or me. If you hear a scream, just ignore it please, it is only the agony of a poem’s death throes.
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GENSHA’S IRON BOAT 鐵笛倒吹 八十語
Do not suggest you can only be enlightened on a cold day in hell unless you are prepared to carry the air conditioner across the River Styx. Even Cerberus has Buddha nature although none of the heads will say so.
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THE WATCHER
He stands transfixed on the bridge, arms outstretched, staring at the river always flowing slowly by below. He wears a garland of gold, an inscription in Hebrew, the holiest of holies, mocking those who hold him a man. Did he peer out of the corner of his eyes as they marched them across the bridge…
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THIS IS HOW WE MOURN
This is how we mourn: we don’t berate the clouds for gathering, nor begrudge the rain’s ultimate descent. Our tears fall to the earth as well, and there are moments when we need the gray, moments when the sun would be an unwelcomed interloper. This is how we mourn: we wipe the walls clean of…
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an old writer and his words 