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THREE
Ginkgo trees laden with leaves fanning the dawn sun Seeds lie in waiting The morning bell sounds the monks pause from their labors Buddha sits zazen The wall does not move only the breath is moving count it carefully
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UNDER THE WEIGHT
My shelves grow heavy with volumes of words I wish I had written, neatly bound up in books that stare at me, at once bidding me welcome and challenging me to enter. One shelf is set aside for books of pages, blank, on which I have written each day now for three and a half…
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MORNING SLOWLY
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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MOMENT
Enter slowly, calmly, and we dare say enter at your own risk for you cannot know what will happen within, nor can we although we have been here countless times before if our memory serves us, which of course it cannot for it, too, is stuck in this very moment with no escape. Do not…
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NIGHT AT THE PUB
It’s a fading memory now, a hole in the wall then, CBGB’s, loud, but nothing happening at Tommy Makem’s and here the cop and his pals play angry Irish with a foot in reggae and ska. I’m too old to be here, but no one really cares as long as I buy my Bushmills or…
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WEB
It has far less to do with the casting of the net, far more to do with the reeling it in. The spider wishes to work in peace weaving her web, does not desire to be seen. For her this is work and it is not until done, or as done as she chooses, that…
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ETERNITY OR A WEEK
He only wants to live forever, or if not, at least until a week from Thursday. Important things always happen on Wednesdays, he is convinced. He has no logical reason for his belief, but it is his and he will not be shaken from it. “It is a matter of faith,” he says “and you…
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SOLSTICE
I haven’t the time to stop and measure the day to insure that it is as short as promised, that the sun which will refuse to appear would minimize its visit if it did. That is a task I leave willingly to others. I increasingly operate on faith, that I will wake tomorrow, that tomorrow…
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THE LAST TIME
The last time we spoke you asked me when the end was coming. I didn’t have a good answer for you, wasn’t even quite sure what you meant by the question, the end of what? Of time, of your life or mine, or merely the end of a conversation we had been carrying on for…
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FARE WELL
She left this evening, slid away silently her goodbyes long ago said. She was a feather carried on a gentle breeze, refusing to land, until at last the earth reached up and reclaimed her, and she settled gently, her voyage over, our memories of her smile, her nod, her knowing winks, now fixed for eternity.
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an old writer and his words 