Forever
Our dogs hide under the bed,
escaping thunder.
But the sun shatters
a cloud and I know
we will live forever.
Each hour is the sky,
every day, another
star. Now the trees
join the wind
in rejoicing. This
is what we make,
they say. Only this.
* * *
“Forever” made its last appearance here in April 2018.
Snow Country
desolate the reach
of space a
curved line of
white empty as
the loneliness one
feels the tone
is different on
a day like
this she says
unaware that her
words fall like
snow in the
mountains soft quiet
in the roar
no one hears
* * *
Another piece from the eighties…this first appeared here in November 2015.
Rain Forest Bridge
To cross
you must first
trust the strands
to hold.
The second tentative
step precedes
the next,
each successive one
gaining strength:
here to
there, now
to then, a summoning of
entreaties
within
one’s faith.
Vapor meets cooler air,
forming droplets,
clouding the far side.
I have feared endings
and the strictures of the unseen,
but here
in this vast
swaying,
I know
one line
bisects the void.
* * *
“Rain Forest Bridge” first appeared in Four Ties Lit Review in August, 2014.
Shakuhachi Blues
That waver,
like the end of a long
dream flickering to wakefulness,
or an origami crane
unfolding between whiskey
poured and the tale of deceit
and a good woman done wrong.
Air flutters through this bamboo
tube, and it seems I control
nothing. Inhaling, I try again.
A simple instrument that will take a lifetime to learn…
Because You Cook
You know the pleasure of
hunger, of patience
and a task well done.
Dice onion, peppers – one hot,
one sweet – saute them in olive oil,
fold them into an egg
cooked flat. Add
crumbled goat cheese, basil.
Look away.
Morning ascends, then declines,
but night drifts in, confident,
ferrying these odors among others.
Accept what comes but choose wisely.
Light the candle. Shift the burden.
* * *
“Because You Cook” first appeared in Ristau: A Journal of Being in January 2018. I am grateful to editor Robert L. Penick for taking this piece.
Beer Bottle Suizen
No rules apply here. I blow
into the empty bottle and achieve
silence. Tilting it, I adjust my mouth’s
shape and blow across the glass lip,
receiving a flicker of tone in return.
Repeat. More of the same. Discarding
the vessel, I open another, drink deeply.
Become the emptying.
* * *
Note: Suizen (blowing zen) is the practice of playing the shakuhachi (traditional Japanese bamboo flute) to attain self-realization.
“Beer Bottle Suizen” first appeared in Subterranean Blue in March 2020.
Why I Hate Mowing the Lawn
The unmowed green reveals its secrets
blade by blade, shadowed and fresh.
Don’t look, it says, whisper deep
into my chlorophyll. Save this blue.
It unveils other nuances, confiding in
contrast and symmetry, employing
your eyes and their measures. The quiet,
all-encompassing and subtle. So true.
* * *
“Why I Hate Mowing the Lawn” was first published at Buddhist Poetry Review.. Thank you, Jason Barber, for taking this poem.
Ro
When this note fades
will it join you in that place
above the sky
or below the waves
of the earth’s plump
body? Or will it
circle back, returning to
my lips and this
hollow day
to aspire again?
Note: Ro designates the fingering required to produce a particular note on the shakuhachi, the traditional Japanese bamboo flute. In this case, closing all holes.
Morning Suizen
Boundless, it sips direction in the way of all music,
tonguing each note for its salt.
We call this ecstasy. Or peace.
Follow, and they still escape, always beyond
our outstretched fingers.
Exhale slowly. What do you know?
That long tunnel, ribbed in silence.
The scent of burning cedar.
Days framed in darkness and birdsong.
* * *
Note: Suizen is the practice of playing the shakuhachi, the traditional Japanese bamboo flute, as a means of attaining self-realization.
“Morning Suizen” first appeared on Nine Muses Poetry. Many thanks to editor Annest Gwilym for taking this piece.
Japanese Gardens
how natural the
lines falling so
purely as if
with a single
stroke we walk
through the opening
and see space
the white center
composed of sand
and gravel later
a gate opens
to another garden
its lantern and
stone so carelessly
arranged so deliberate
“Japanese Gardens” first appeared here in January 2015.
O at the Edges 