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THE LIST
I am compiling a list, ever so slowly, of places I still want to visit, and you may be surprised to find that Paris, London and Madrid are nowhere to be found. It isn’t that they lack beauty, charm and countless things to see and do, it is simply that they have been usurped by…
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BALANCE
It is a precarious balance, really, more and exercise in tottering and hearing than in standing still. Some prefer stasis, others, I included, find it leads inevitably to a loss of energy, to an entropy from which it is difficult to escape. I don’t walk along the edge of the precipice, but I do peer…
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Jack, for Heaven’s Sake
The truly pious will never get to heaven for they don’t know how to sing or dance. Kerouac roams freely like a rogue elephant unable to get a good buzz on but not for want of trying. He thought it would be Edenic, a garden somewhere between Babylon hanging and the lobby of the Royal…
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ONE OF US? NEVER!
I now live among birds, and they accept me, listen to me endless complaints, and never demand I cease kvetching. I know they speak about me behind my back, but they are kind, and generally do not remind me of my shortcomings, no doubt certain I am all too well aware of my failings, and…
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HAVING WRITTEN
I suppose I ought to be glad that no playwright has ever written about me, for that is a fame that always seems to end badly, unless it is a comedy, and that, too, is dangerous ground, for such plays tread heavily for a laugh. Consider Shakespeare, and ask yourself if yo would want to…
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ISAN’S SUMMONS 鐵笛倒吹 三十一
When the master calls for a novice do you answer? When the inkin bell is struck do you begin or end zazen? As you follow your breath when do you leave your body, and who returns when you next inhale? Search instead for an answer that has no question. Who is the novice now? A…
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STATELESS
I suppose it is oddly fitting that I was born in the continental U.S. but can claim no state as home. I was a Federal child, and that meant nothing at all to me, a child who left town at two after a father’s death, a sister reclaimed by the government, which was no State,…
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DE GUSTIBUS
As the last of the wine glasses is put back on the shelf the Brut recorked and the dishes set in the tray to dry we take a slow walk after the meal hoping the arrabiatta sauce will be less angry, the pasta less weighty, when we arrive back home to the sofa and the…
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BROKEN BOW
This poem was recently published in the first issue of a new journal, Punt Volat. You can find it here: https://puntvolatlit.com/issues/winter-2019 Early this afternoon, a Kenworth semi pulling a 53-foot trailer rolled down Nebraska route 92 and entered the limits of Broken Bow. The importance of this event, while not yet obvious, will, I promise,…
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BROKEN DAY
Morning slowly encroaches on your dreams, eroding images despite your tightening grasp. Clear lines blur, become hazy and dissipate bleached by the first light creeping around the shades. The dreams do not care for they will arise again when they choose and this is for them a mere inconvenience. You are the loser here for…
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an old writer and his words 