KANNON WAITING

The hermit lives
in the shadow
of the great mountain
listening to the symphony
of the bluebird
and the wild Rose
engulfed by the sky,
the meandering stream
his constant companion.

I live in a city
in a sea of city dwellers
each of us prisoners
marching from cell
to cell, with passing nods
we hear only solitude
and are blind
to the ever shifting clouds.

Kuan Yin sits
in her temple
and whispers to all
who will stop and listen
that you cannot offer
compassion for others
until you granted it
to yourself.

FLOWING

 

A young man stands
on the bank a river
and sees the water
toppling over and around
uncaring stones.
Halfway up the slope
of the great mountain
an old man steps
from his small hut
looks down
at a hawk circling
the river, watching
for the glint
of a passing salmon.
From its aerie
in the crags of the mountain peak
an eagle peers
at two men, a hawk
and a ribbon of water.
Only the passing cloud
sees the great mountain.

THE HERMIT

The hermit lives
in the shadow
of the great mountain
listening to the symphony
of the bluebird
and the wild Rose
engulfed by the sky,
the meandering stream
his constant companion.

I live in a city
in a sea of city dwellers
each of us prisoners
marching from cell
to cell, with passing nods
we hear only solitude
and are blind
to the ever shifting clouds.

Kuan Yin sits
in her temple
and whispers to all
who will stop and listen
that you cannot offer
compassion for others
until you granted it
to yourself.