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WHOSE FAULT?
You lay on the lanai paversin the shadow of the tableunder the watchful eyeand ever prodding pawof the cat into whose territoryyou have so boldly encroached.You say that it is not the faultof your kind that ours were evictedfrom the Garden, and of courseyou are correct, but it no longerreally matters, does it, allof us,…
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I PLAY THE FOOL
On more than one occasion she had characterized him as a loveable fool fit for a Shakespearean comedy. Of course when she said this he bristled. That was the required response to the characterization, else he willingly adopt the role in perpetuity. But deep within himself he knew there was more truth than perhaps even…
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CASTLES
Standing along the stone fencein the late afternoon shadowof Auchnanure Castle, as friendsmade their way up the narrowstone stairs to gaze out overthe Irish field in which we stood.We watched horses in the adjacent fielddash wildly toward us as if saying“damn the old stones, here is the photofor which you came to Ireland.” Orsaying “let…
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NOVEMBER EVENING
He sits calmly in the cornerof the restaurant redolent with curryand cardamom.He smiles, unseen,his third eyes staresdeeply felt on the backof my neck.Her eyes draw me inoffering a serenity.She smiles freelyand I recall the parkin the shadow of the mountainsthe soft touch of velvetand the empressalongside the fool.It is too soon donebut the soft furof…
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COMPASSION
You cannot discover compassion, itisn’t something you can buy on Amazonor find along the side of a rural road.It cannot be found in books, or giftedby ministers who promise anythingfor a tithe and pledge of your soul.It is something that exists within you,much as curiosity exists within a catalongside its own form of compassionthat nature…
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OUR SONGS
Each morning between fourand five AM the cat comesto the bedroom door, the gatewayto the one room she is deniedand for five or ten minutessings her songs which I,on the now rocky shore of sleep,imagine as a lullaby.She cannot expect me to respondbut each morning it isthe same, the songs differ,and when I finally ariseand…
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SAY WHAT?
In the heart of the night Iam wandering the back streetsand alleys of old Kyoto when Istumble across old Joshu staringplacidly at his acolyte monksgathered closely around him.“I ask you all again,” he says,“does a dog have Buddha Nature?”The monks consider this at length,each afraid to respond incorrectly.In this dream I am a cat out…
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TY NEWYDD
In the gently aging house,replete with writersthere are endless roomsin which the muse dartsdispensing her soul.I prefer to sit with the catcurled in an overstuffed chairher head risingand falling imperceptiblyour breaths harmonic.We commune in unspoken dialoga language of silencebespeaking volumesof our shared existence. First published in The River, Sandy River Review, March 2024https://sandyriverreview.com/2024/03/30/seeing-you-again-next-stop-riding-ty-newydd/
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FETCH
I think I stopped going to partiesbecause I grew tired of hearing howso many other’s lives had gone to hell,how they hated their jobs, and a fewhated their significant others and hopedto make them insignificant othersif they could ever get the courageto leave or ship them out, butmaybe it was just because Istopped getting invited…
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FIVE BIRDS
The cold winter breezepalm fronds shivering at dawnegrets remain still a thousand birds landengage in conversationa foreign language arriving at duskwhite ibis strive to decidewho is the alpha the cat sits watchingthe sandhill crane approachesthey speak to each other a single ibisstruts across newly mown lawnsdinner now awaits
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an old writer and his words 