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PARENT AGE
I have two mothers, now both dead,I have three fathers, one unknown, one buriedoutside Washington and one lostin a corner of his shrinking mind.I am growing older, I have achesand clicks and pops and groans,which each remind me that Iam aware and alive and thatisn’t a bad way to start a new day.
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ON MORTALITY
Death was never something we considered, until that certain, ill-defined moment when our immortality suddenly disappeared, and in its place was a reality to be avoided. Even once death became a shadow, always lurking around us, we kept our face toward the sun, so that death might not be seen in the bright light of…
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GROVE
Living in a bamboo grove, she said, is very much like living in an old house. Look up at noon, into the canopy and imagine you see rays of light piercing the ill-thatched roof. Listen to the growing winds or autumn and hear the ghosts of the old house making their way up creaking stairs.…
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BETWEEN
Between now and then, between yesterday to and today, between night and day, between birth and death, between good and evil, between heaven and hell, between light and dark, between joy and sadness, our lives occur and we are so seldom there to see it happen, lost in dreams of what never will be, never…
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NEXT QUESTION
It was a short questionnaire, and he wasn’t sure why they had chosen him to answer, or for that matter, who they were. He was one to follow rules, so he sat down to complete it, they, whoever they were, said it would only take fifteen minutes. “Who is the one poet you would want…
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ON THE BORDER
It always seems odd how the dual veils that separate day from night, wakefulness from sleep, seem impenetrable in the moment. Yet they both fade, now pellucid, permeable with the simple passage of time. Now dreams are a reality, such as that purports to be, and the worlds intermix, one ceding it to the other,…
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AS IT SHOULD BE
Day gives way to night. Life gives way to death. Truth gives way to truth and falsity to falsity. Nothing moves, nothing cedes, all is constant. This is enso, one stroke, complete and incomplete and this is mu. You may enter freely, but will never leave, and once captured you have never been here and…
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ADIEU, SOL
The sun is preparing still another departure. He moves with a ponderousness that you wouldn’t expect of him, he who should be all passion consuming the sky, painting clouds. We expect his return by morning, he has never yet disappointed but Luna, lingering at the horizon, a diva making her slow entry, shines fully as…
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MY REFLECTIONS
Each morning I stare into the mirror and see the same white hair and wonder who I will be today and what I was on all of those other mornings. I ask the mirror what life has in store for me this day but it only smirks, never answers as if it knows something I…
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DEEP WITHIN
In the dead heart of winter there is only a brief dusting of snow this day and the sun appears in appreciation before sulking off to far warmer climes.
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an old writer and his words 