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INCOGNITO
Cities allow an anonymitythat few who have itclaim to want,and those who cannotfind it only wishto briefly have it.Cities have mastered juxtaposition,offering what is unwanted,taking that which is.But we choose to livein cities, visit them,for they are our sirensand we are simple sailorsalways looking for home.
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SOLITUDE
We are often blessed with solitudeyet we consider it a curse,for being alone can be difficult,more so when it is with yourself.The cacophony of the mindhas no off switch, and the outersilence is like a volume knobturned slowly to maximum.It can be bearable, but thereis always a lingering fearthat it may have no end point,that…
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SEEING YOU AGAIN
I saw you again yesterday, as I haveso often recently and once again thoughtof approaching you for there is muchI would like to know about you and howwe ended up in the same place.But once again I sensed that youwanted solitude, wanted notto be disturbed, not to be questioned.You did smile briefly, a momentarysoftening of…
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ENCROACHMENT
Driving across the Sunshine Stateyou slowly realize the citrus groveshave fallen to the oppressive blightof growing communities, many gatedthat eke their way inland from the coasts.You still see the large cattle ranches,cows and bulls grazingwithin easy sight of the highway.You wonder if, in their solitude,they know their ultimate fateis the slaughterhouse and ifas they watch…
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SO, JEAN-JACQUES
I suppose, with some effort,I, too, could become oneof Rousseau’s savage menbut I have to ask myself if thatis a path that I would choose to walk.It isn’t the walking that give me pause,for that, as Rousseau said,enables contemplation and notmere thoughts flitting about,and is a means of meditationin my frantically moving world.And it isn’t…
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WITHOUT
He pretty much hated the outdoorscamping was a wholly alien conceptin parks for places for at besta short visit, a picnic lunchand then back in the car and home.He was not even a fan of the partsin the heart of the city, for theydrew crowds and he did notlike to be around other people.He wanted…
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WRITTEN
It was written for all to seebut went unseen as no oneentered the portal willingly,never sufficient curiosityto offset the foreboding.Everyone knew what it saidbut knowing and seeing areseparated by an unbridgeable chasm.It remained an imposed solitude,an isolation inherent in location,implicit in a world spinningoff its moral axis, time extendedand compressed, an irregular pulse.It was written…
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DYBBUK
The evening slowly entersWarsaw — along Aleje Solidarnoscia lumbering truck backfires — some old onescringe — thoughts collapsing — into rail cars — lighteningbolts on stiff black wool uniforms — polished jackboots —a wrought iron gate — Arbeit Macht Frei The evening slowly entersWarsaw along Aleje Solidarnoscia truck backfires a sudden flockof sierpowka Eurasian Collared…
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HAKUUN’S BLACK AND WHITE 鐵笛倒吹 十四
Like Hakuunshun the city,flee the townsand find a homein the forest onlyin the deepest partof winter, butdo not shun peoplein your solitude. Write versesof total silenceand dig deeply intonewly fallen snow.Let it drift over youuntil you black hairis all that appearson an endless field of white. A reflection on case 14 of the Iron Flute…
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COUNTING TIME
I was honored to have this recently published in Arena Magazine: A Magazine of Critical Thinking, Issue 162 from Victoria, Australia This river has for endless time flowed from the distant hills on its winding path to the waiting sea. The river has no need of clocks, cares little whether the Sun, Moon or clouds…
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an old writer and his words 