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MASTER CRAFTSMAN
He waited patiently in the queue until, after two and one half hours he approached the battered metal counter. The young, bored woman, chewing at her gum asked the usual question, have you looked hard for work this last week? I stood in many lines, for hours on end in my battered old shoes, that…
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A SIMPLE SONG
This morning’s song is drawn from the whispers of the passing clouds as the last snow flows gently down the street.
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CASTING THUNDER
The night was ripped by the lightning, the thunder piercing our dreams, awakening us to the shadow’s play on the skylight shades. As I slip back into sleep the gods turn their backs and continue to argue well into morning.
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THE VISITOR
Autumn dropped by this morning, a wholly unwelcome visitor, and although her visit was short, it was a foreboding for which we were not yet ready, not that we ever are. The gulls along the river discussed this at length, and even the two Red Tailed Hawks high overhead, swooped in agreement. We simply turned…
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MOMENT
If you are patient and do not look for it, there is a still moment in each day when nothing at all happens, when the silence without demands a silence within, when thoughts evaporate like the mist of an early morning dew, when you have precisely enough and cannot imagine needing more, when where you…
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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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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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INCEPTION
Morning arrived as usual today and we shook ourselves slowly from sleep to greet it. As we rose and drew open the curtains and blinds all that morning had to say, and said rather imperiously was “where is the coffee — you can’t expect a damn thing from me until I’ve had at least two…
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MORNING
Each morning she looks at the small window in her bedroom, just after the sun has broken the horizon and the lake is set ablaze. Each morning she sees the small boat, its oars resting on the gunwale, dark against the orange water. She never asks how the boat got there, why it stays there,…
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NIGHT ARRIVES
When we finally allow night to settle in around us, and we curl together in anticipation of sleep, we fit comfortably, but with no less passion than when we first did this, but a passion tempered by less need for flame, more for warmth and a gentle caress. We could not have anticipated this, and…
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an old writer and his words 