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JAPANESE POEMS
They watch the heronhe wonders what it is liketo be able to fly She gently smiles back knowing he would never leave the safety of earth. Wading birds are stillignoring the frequent rainsthe wet season now
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STOICS
This afternoon the vulture couplesit stoically on the limbsof the long dead tree in the preserve. The rain was torrentialas we watched from the dryconfines of our home, theystood soaked to the featherswith nowhere to hide, knowingthey couldn’t out fly or out climbthe purging clouds, so they setsoaking wet and stared at us. And then…
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JEALOUSY (AGAIN)
We are jealous of trees,anchored as we areto a grasping earth,able to tear free onlymomentarily or withthe help of machines, for trees can approachthe clouds, swaddleall manner of birds,and, we are certain,know heaven moreintimately than we can. And trees are jealousof birds, able to flywell above their highestbranches, knowingthe true blue of the skyand the…
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BUSINESS SUITS
“What do you think is the likelihoodof success in the long run,” she asks,and I watch the fly land on my forearm,perched on hairs that barely bend under his inconsequential weight.His wings are a perpetual twitch,almost unseen, and felt only as a faintbreeze in my imagination, while a world is created, a reality collapses, a…
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ABYSMAL
At the edge of the abyss,teetering on the precipiceyou need not tell us notto jump, need not tell usthe horrid details thatwould befall us if we did,blood and gore ininfinitesimal detail. It is more than enoughthat you point out to usthe sheer height at whichwe stand, the craggedfloor of the canyonawaiting those whoimagine they can…
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CROWING
Imagine, for just a moment,you have become a crow.You know that you will bedetested by most eventually,your voice despised by allwho are forced to hear it.And while you can fly, youknow you won’t be morewelcome regardless of whereyou choose to land. If you cannot imagine this,then imagine you havebecome a politician,for that will, for you,…
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LIONEL HAMPTON AND THE GOLDEN MEN OF JAZZ
Blue Note, pardonour constructionblack paintedplasterboarda hangingair conditioning duct. Grady Tatesneering at the skinsgrowling at a high hathands shiftingdeftly reaching inpicking a beatand sliding itover the crowd. Jimmy Woodeblind to the lightsslides his fingersover stringsand talks to the bassresting on his shoulder.It sings backbegging , pleadingdemanding as his headsways with an inner vision. Junior Mancesways slowly…
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GOOD DAY (GOODNIGHT)
Every morning we are able, we go outon the lanai and have our fruit bowlsthen our cappuccinos with toastfrom her homemade sourdoughwhole wheat bread, and watchcountless birds fly outof the wetland that abuts our yard.The cat is always awaitingour arrival, usually sleepingon one of our oak rockers.She will look up at us, yawnand when we…
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HAUNTING
The ghosts of my birth parentsblow into my dreams asso many white sheets tornfrom the clotheslineby gale winds, fly over me,at once angels and vulturescarrying off memoriescreated from the clayof surmise and wishful thinking. I invite their visits, frailbranches to which to clingin the storms of growing age,beginnings tenuous anchorsto hold against time, knowingthe battle…
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NANSEN’S NOTHING SPECIAL
Her greetingis met with silence.His greetingis met with silence.Your touchis met with greeting.You want to fly,curse the Earthfor holding you,while it is your mindthat is youronly anchor. A reflection on case 87 of the Shobogenzo, Dogen’s True Dharma Eye Koans
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an old writer and his words 