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Nansen’s Reason Is Not the Way 無門關 三十四 
If you see the Buddhayou have certainly gone blind,if you hear his wordsyou demonstrate your deafness. Nansen will grow old,hearing and vision will fadeand he will sit and shoutin a sun warmed rain. A reflection on Case 34 of the Mumonkan (Gateless Gate) Koans
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THE TIE’S LAMENT
I still have the tieI wore to m grandmother’sfuneral, one I conducted,but the suit from that dayis long gone, and just as well,for it would be several sizestoo large for the present me. I’ve only worn the tie oncesince that rainy day in Marylandand then to a weddingto balance out the sadnesswith a bit of…
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FOR RAIN
The clouds build slowly, turning the sky from blue to ever darkening shades of gray. He hopes it will rain, rain heavily, as the ground is parched, the wetland a bog, and the birds have moved on in search of water. He watches the build up, the clouds accreting, and he waits for the first…
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BEGGAR’S TALE
I speak clearly, conciselyin an ancient, long forgottentongue that none understand. I tell my tale, leaving outnothing, a summonerin a deaf world, whispering of coins, pulled froman empty pocket and castat your feet, soundless. I point to signs, letteredin my careful hand, withoutmeaning, cryptic to you You urge me to trustin your god even asyou…
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FLIGHT
We imagine that they aredisappearing into the cloudsonly to reemergein a different place. Nothing could be furtherfrom the truth for they,these raptors flyingon monstroius wings,are shredding the cloudsripping free their fruit,eating of the sweetestparts, letting the restfall down on usas we scurry awayafraid of being soakedin their remnants.
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BLESSED
Barchu, for the slugs of the Chinese knockoff AK47 which tore through his legs, twisting to avoid the artery and nerves. Barchu, for the moon hanging in the frosted night seeking shelter in the mist cutting into me, lashing me to reality. Barchu, for their memory the small circle of candles that burn eternally in…
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APPROACHING AUTUMN
This is the seasonwhen the maplesbegan their rainof colored tears. It may still be so,but not here,and the palmsknow no seasons. Once there wasa veil of lilac,bushes trying tooutdo the others. But at leastthe magnolias carenothing for distanceoffering their beauty here and where wenow have onlymemories of the ebband flow of seasons.
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DEAR ERASMUS, DIE
Today we welcome the rain, hopethat the wheaty winter lawn willshow some other color under its care. The birds ignore the clouds,accept the rain, care little howour lawn looks, their next mealof always greater importance. I am losing the vision in one eye,know I may soon be kingof the country of the blind,and sadly curse…
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DUST AND ASHES
Between Scylla and Charybdisthey cower amidst the ruinsfearful to look skywardlest they encouragethe rains of hell. Now and then they visitthe corpses, hastily buriedgrief drowned by the soundof the laugh of the gunnerpeering down from the hills.It is always night for the souland lookout must be keptfor Charon, who ridessilently along the rivers of blood,that…
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CHANGES
The finches are strugglingthis morning, searching the lawnfor the odd clover seed that’s yet to be reduced to dust by a summerwhere the rain has paintedour world with a palette of parchment, ochre, leaving uswandering an increasingly sepia world. We know that the rains will come again, that nature’s green will return, however briefly, beforewinter encases us all in…
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an old writer and his words 