Hallway to Nowhere

  • What I Can Hear (Poem)

    As a child I lived by the sea.

    I swam in its waters and played on its shores.

    I watched the birds write poetry in the skies,

    Read stories left by crabs scuttling in the sand,

    And was lulled by mingled songs of sun, waves, and wind.

    When I drifted to sleep with salt lingering on my lips,

    I was visited by sea serpents, the wisest denizens of the depths.

    Their sibilant sagacity wove through my dreams,

    Finally coming to root in my bones.

    Now in my waning, I begin to understand.

    Ancient laughter echoes through the years,

    While the very particles of existence appear and disappear,

    All joined in a dance.

  • A Complicated Death (Poem)

    How to mourn you?

    Only with detachment can I find room

    For kindness and compassion towards you.

    You struggled just as all do,

    And I wish to think you did your best.

    Some of your actions and words still linger with gray-tinged hurt,

    But now I can feel sorrow over these rather than resentment.

    When I speak at your service,

    I will recount one of the few memories I have

    That cast you in your best light.

    May you find in this death peace from suffering,

    An end to chasing illusory dreams, and the fade of your red anger.

    I laid down the burden of these long ago.

    Now may you do the same.

  • The Train (Poem)

    A graffitied train thunders past.

    I cling to the top of a car.

    In the rush of the air amidst the noise,

    I hear footsteps and look over my shoulder.

    Darkness grins with evil mien,

    While wicked laughter falls all about.

    With a sigh, I open my eyes

    And continue my walk beside the tracks.

    Escape. No escape.

  • Elegy (Poem)

    What makes a life well-lived?

    We see but the observable evidence

    In the actions and words that the departed left behind.

    Thus we judge accordingly.

    The landscape of their inner life remains their private domain,

    Albeit hinted at in the detritus that remains.

    We make our surmise from these scattered sherds,

    With knowledge that this reflects more our experience.

    We hope that those who’ve gone did have these:

    Joy and love and happiness and peace.

    Let us grant them that as we lay them to rest

    Using our memories of them for the healing of the world.

  • Transmutation (Poem)

    I stand in the storm and raise my face to the sky.

    One quick shiver, and I deliquesce.

    Not disappearance but metamorphosis.

    I swirl into the clouds to join the downpour.

    There is rain, and there are tears.

    I fall as both, to water the ground

    And touch your dreams with sorrow.

  • Precarious Ground (Poem)

    Right now I walk so uncertainly

    With little knowledge of what will cause me to fall.

    I can talk to a stranger with ease

    But then a smile makes me flee to cry in shadows.

    How to navigate this mercurial terrain baffles me.

    The world shifts without warning,

    While so also does my ability to adapt.

    I had the illusory notion I could cope well.

    This has fled, as I struggle once more.

    How do I give thanks for this reminder of impermanence,

    When I feel thrown back into depression’s embrace?

    Surely some of my study and practice will stay

    To provide a steadying influence while I falter through my day.

  • Cry Sorrow, Sorrow, Yet Let Good Prevail (Poem)

    I do not fear the monsters of this world.

    I have long familiarity with these.

    Depression, anxiety, and their coterie

    Have almost been my family.

    I dwell in comfort with such dark beasts.

    What has the ability to undo me entirely are the beings of light:

    Kindness, consideration, and their kin.

    The afflictive malfeasants offer predictable torment

    That at times seems almost a shelter.

    I can hide with them from myself and the world.

    Venturing into lambency that flickers with uncertainty

    I find an often frightening task.

    To see others is one thing;

    To be seen in turn unsettles me in the extreme.

    Still I take up this challenge,

    With the words of Aeschylus giving me strength.

    And the company of monsters ever at hand.

  • Where I Am (Poem)

    If I truly wish for all beings to be happy and free from suffering,

    I must apply this also to myself.

    At the moment, with my physical being wracked by pain

    And my mind clouded by bleak depression,

    I find this to be a difficult task.

    Equanimity towards my own state is a struggle.

    Occasionally I relax into spaciousness and acceptance.

    But old patterns return again and again

    To obscure my view and murk the light.

    Sometimes I can see that these are illusion and let them go;

    Other times I grasp them tightly as old familiar friends.

    Indeed, they once were ropes that tethered me in safety.

    So rather than judging them (and myself for holding on to such),

    Let me honor their place, grant them gratitude,

    And treat them gently with kindness.

    I walk the path I do in knowledge that it looks the same

    But, like everything, is always changing.

    I still stumble and even fall. The rocks that bruise me

    Appear like the stones from yesterday and before, even unto the distant past.

    Yet when I pause to see, after the pain of impact, they are not.

    I take hold again of my stick, pull myself up, and even take in

    The glorious colors of the trees and sky and listen to the wind.

    I walk on with my usual unsteady gait until the next halt.

    This is where I am.

  • The Illusion of A Chair (Poem)

    Consider this wooden object.

    This is a chair. You say.

    But is it? I ask. What makes it so?

    This! And you sit upon it.

    Ah, I see. But please arise.

    I place my tea cup and notebook upon it.

    Now, still a chair? Or has it transformed into a table?

    I remove them.

    Would you please retrieve that book from a high shelf?

    You then stand upon the sturdy item.

    It has become a stepladder.

    What magic is this?

    Thus is all.

  • Rocks On The Path (Poem)

    I am grateful for all I encounter in this life

    But I bow in most gratitude to the difficulties.

    Like stumbling upon a rock on a path,

    They cause me to stop and pay attention.

    Look, they say. Open your eyes and see what is here.

    Then I remember to do so.

    Oh, my walk is like this now?

    I smile, breathe, and continue on.

  • Flight (Poem)

    I open the door and step out.

    I walk among fantastical beasts of rainbow hues

    That dance in flight and shimmer with the sun.

    I reach up to seize a passing cloud and ascend into the sky-held throng.

    My many wings unfurl with grace and soar me into the air.

    I am not bound by all you thought you knew of me

    Or even by what I considered of myself.

    I am magical indeed with chimerical form and abilities untold.

    As are you and you and you; as are we all.

    Blink your many arcane eyes and enter the revelry!

  • Cataclysm (Poem)

    How do I construct a world?

    The very sky is ever-shifting with shadow and light.

    The earth beneath moves and trembles.

    The lines of existence are in flux.

    Dreams fly apart and come together in unrecognizable forms.

    Past and present spiral and flow in mutable streams.

    Any certainty slips through my hands like liquid sand.

    But glorious songs weave through the cracks in hope.

    So I celebrate nonetheless.

  • Little Conversations (Poem)

    Let me stop these conversations in my head.

    I want to experience what I encounter in the moment,

    Not the narrative I’m running about it.

    I’m not there yet in ability, however.

    For now all I can do

    Is change the tenor of my interior dialogue.

    I am slowly replacing the critical words and sharp retorts

    With pauses and kinder responses.

    Equally hard, when I talk to another,

    I endeavor to listen to them.

    Not myself.

    What filters we all have!

  • Reflections On Illness (Poem)

    Practice can be difficult.

    Often my body is filled with pain

    Or clouded by fever.

    I realize again

    That compassion and patience

    Must be extended to myself.

    I consider impermanence and the connection of all,

    Grateful for the many kindnesses of others.

    These current conditions will change.

    One breath at a time.

  • Death’s Entrance (Poem)

    I consider the gateway of my death.

    It is always before me, sometimes hidden by distractions.

    There are periods I see it more clearly.

    As of late the details of its appearance become more defined,

    And the door opens widely and freely.

    When will I pass through?

    I, as with other beings, do not know this for certain.

    Each moment brings me closer.

    Let me prepare now.

    I can almost feel the latch swing under my hand

    And hear the rustle of the gravel as my foot starts over the stile.

  • The Connection Of Islands (Poem)

    Lest you say,

    “I am an island unto myself,”

    Remember that an island is so

    Only because of other factors:

    The waters that surround it and the land from which it is formed.

    Should you think,

    “I depend only on myself,”

    Remember that your very birth was a result of others’ interactions.

    We are inextricably connected to all that is;

    No-one nor nothing happens in isolation.

    Consider this and realize therefore

    Care for oneself includes care for all.

  • For Edgard (Poem)

    So much love continues your presence here.

    Our laughter and tears are testament to your being.

    No shadowy ghost that haunts,

    You remain a warm solid comfort for us all.

    Our stories and memories share your light,

    As we move through our days and nights.

    We remember your smile, your kindness, your generous spirit.

    We hold these in our hearts with gratitude

    And give thanks for your existence.

    You live on, beloved friend, and we cherish all that you are.

  • Weight Of Samsara (Poem)

    How to develop a lighter mind,

    Able to easily drift on the winds of change?

    All my attitudes hinder this,

    Causing me to adhere to every sticking point.

    Rather than a clear openness,

    I find the constant film of selfishness.

    Sometimes this momentarily fades,

    Through diligent application of appropriate means.

    My attention waxes and wanes,

    With the result that the tarnish returns.

    Once again I sink under the grimy wash.

    If I could but realize that this be illusion,

    I could float freely as the leaf and cloud.

  • How To Walk (Poem)

    Let me go for a walk. How do I begin?

    By starting from where I am.

    I put one foot in front of the other.

    Over and over and over.

    I alone can do this.

    I cannot ask: Would you move for me?

    (I could, but this is nonsensical.)

    If I want to trek to whatever destination,

    I must commence.

    Now is the only time;

    These steps are the perfect means.

    I embark upon the journey.

  • Spacious Mind (Poem)

    What is the beginning of wisdom?

    Simply this. To say

    I do not know.

    Nothing more. This hard thing.

    A sentence to utter often.

    Practice articulating these words.

    In solitude at first if need be, for familiarization.

    One brief declaration, then stop.

    Listen to what follows.

    Open mind. Open heart.

  • Winter House (Poem)

    I am come late to build my dwelling.

    It proceeds slowly, hampered by age and infirmity.

    Lest I get discouraged by this,

    I keep in mind that my life antecedent

    Has all been preparation.

    I now have more skillful means to construct a proper residence

    With patience, foresight, and expertise.

    The foundation has been laid through prior experience;

    The design has been shaped by acquired knowledge;

    The materials have been gathered with painstaking care.

    I know that I might not live to see the completion,

    But that is not the point.

    If need be, those who follow can finish;

    Whatever I manage to construct will be beautiful and sturdy.

  • Patience On The Path (Poem)

    Thank you for teaching me patience amidst urgency.

    Yes, my time here in this body is precious and brief,

    And I wish to do as much good as possible for both myself and others.

    But I can relax into this path

    By realizing that my limitations are many and varied.

    I am a traveler like everyone,

    And my supplies and journey are affected by myriad different things.

    The way can seem daunting, with unexpected detours and deterrents.

    My progress speeds and slows and sometimes halts for awhile,

    For I am not commencing alone in a void.

    I continue step by step with a steady mind and open heart,

    With the knowledge that eventually I will reach my destination.

    While I travel, I experience pleasures and griefs on the way,

    With appreciation that they are temporary and ever-changing.

    Remember always that scenery is only scenery

    And continue to walk.

  • The Seedling (Poem)

    I walked on the trail and saw

    Amongst the usual plants and trees

    A small sapling that appeared different.

    This thing is not like the other things,

    Thought I. But then I said

    Stop and look again and see.

    I did. Here is what I found:

    Like the other growing things,

    The little seedling grew from the earth;

    The branches reached to the sky;

    The wood was brown and the leaves green;

    The sun and rain and soil nourished it.

    This thing is utterly like the other things.

    So with all, if only we look closely

    With openness.

  • The Gateway (Poem)

    I stand at threshold of the path.

    The gateway stands before me.

    I look once, twice, and yet again.

    At first glance, I see a plain simple structure.

    Then it appears rich, bejeweled, and ornate.

    On third look, it transforms back to an ordinary entrance.

    Will I pass through to start the journey?

    Yes, and yes, and yes.

    All I have to do choose to begin.

    One step, one breath, one life at a time.

  • Where I Live (Poem)

    Where do I take refuge?

    If I build my happiness on external factors,

    I will lose this. Always.

    A futile task, as this brings short-term satisfaction

    Which leaves me wondering where to go next.

    My home will present problems

    So that I move to find a better place. Again and again and again.

    I think surely this time I will be content.

    But there I am, and I remain the same.

    I cannot leave myself behind

    Yet I cast my unease as resulting from the wrong circumstances.

    I want to stay in the place where I dwell

    Without adding to my own suffering.

    Just being alive can bring pain enough.

    Let me learn wisdom, practice kindness,

    Thereby to find peace.

  • How We Weave (Poem)

    Let us consider our actions with care,

    Be they verbal, behavioral, or otherwise.

    Any of these done has force in the world,

    With consequences unforeseen and unknown.

    Each gives rise to a certain tendency of repetition,

    Increasing in weight into often unconscious habit.

    Patterns can trap us in complex webs

    Which take a lifetime or more to unravel.

    Much simpler to choose with intent.

    Not easier, as we are connected with all around us.

    Start now, wherever we are.

  • Karmic Dramas (Poem)

    We often wonder why in terms of personal experience.

    A futile question to ask, for the many causes cannot be determined.

    We have never been a blank slate, to arrive at this moment sui generis.

    We come with so many stories behind us that push us where we are today.

    We are the authors of them all and continue to narrate our ongoing tales.

    These, interwoven with the chronicles of others, shape the current scene.

    All we can do is attempt to ensure our ongoing accounts are the best we can tell.

    Let us choose words more carefully that spread kindness and compassion.

  • Attentional Closet (Poem)

    I open the closet to shine a flashlight on the interior.

    What do I see? It depends upon where I focus the light.

    I can see the clothes and other items,

    To be grateful for what I have.

    I can find dirt and dust,

    To be motivated to clean.

    I can see disorganization and poor design,

    To be inspired to reorder.

    I can find empty holes and disliked objects,

    To feel suffering and lack.

    Whatever I discover, whatever I feel, whatever I do…

    All depends upon where I focus the beam and how I choose to respond.

    The closet itself is simply a space with things.

  • Origination Tea Cup (Poem)

    steam rises from the tea. consider these things

    how did this cup come to be?

    a skilled artisan learned from skilled potters who learned from their teachers and so on

    a ceramic with multiple sources, and also the celadon glaze

    a kiln in which it was fired; wood that provided heat

    a building itself that housed this all

    thus it is with the tea

    tea farmers, masters all, helped by family and community and so on

    (Only a village produces fine tea.)

    trees dependent upon rain, earth, and light

    countless different elements interconnected

    change one, and the whole transforms

    each lift of the cup and sip of the tea,

    the entire world is joined

  • Chimerical Home (Poem)

    We all abide in temporary dwellings; none of our houses do we own.

    Whatever contract we established; whatever money we paid;

    Our residence remains ephemeral and always subject to sudden change.

    No matter what we devote to maintenance and decoration,

    We leave in the end for another transient domicile.

    Another moves in to change all our endeavors.

    Consider carefully where we place our time and effort.

    Wherever we go, we take only ourselves. Where then should be our attention?

  • Reality Tea Cup (Poem)

    Steam rises from the tea.

    Consider these things.

    When I lift the tea cup, I do so with wonder.

    I do not think, “oh, if only I had a different vessel!”

    When I sip the tea, I do so with appreciation.

    I do not think, “oh, if only this were a different drink!”

    This is the cup; this is the tea.

    Right here; right now; where I am in this moment.

    I drink with gratitude and enjoyment.

  • Death Is My Friend (Poem Regarding Yamantaka)

    Death sits with me, my faithful companion.

    We have known each other since my birth.

    Sometimes I have ignored their presence,

    To be startled once more when I noticed them again.

    I remember over and over

    That this is merely my familiar friend.

    Their fierce visage is meant not to frighten,

    Only drive away my aspects which prevent a meaningful happy life.

    When finally we walk away from this existence together,

    I will not be alone but with my dearest guide.

  • Losar Reflection (Poem For the New Year)

    Let me grateful.

    For when I awaken in the morning.

    If I do so with relative ease and comfort,

    This is a joy.

    If I do so with suffering and pain,

    This is also a joy.

    Whatever happens, I have enormous opportunity.

    Whether the day brings a chance to actively study and reflect;

    Whether the day brings time to pause and rest.

    Each provides an expedient time to practice.

    May I seize every occasion possible

    To act with kindness, compassion, and patience.

    Towards myself; towards other beings; towards the world.

  • Mise En Scene (Poem For Feb 27-PouncePunk22)

    Consider your landscape and your place therein:

    How do you move within this tableau?

    A masterful stride that crushes underfoot, unheeding and careless?

    A mindful walk that considers terrain, thoughtful and considerate?

    Are you owner of all or simply another piece of this whole?

    The answers we give delineate and determine our surroundings.

    Interior and exterior, these are intertwined and essentially the same.

    Trample unseeing the grass and insects; build without ceasing regardless of cost.

    This befouls your very air and your indifferent heart. Death comes in many forms.

    Remember other denizens have equal claim; think upon the welfare of earth, sea, and sky.

    Understand this enables all to breathe with comfort in concert.

    Easy? No. Your replies, my replies, our replies shape the common ground.

    Think. Be aware. Transform your mind.

  • For Ukraine (Poem For Feb 25-PouncePunk22)

    Let us gather chrysanthemums

    For mourning in these perilous times.

    Weave them into crowns of sorrow

    For grief at lives taken in brutal war.

    Scatter their petals on the wind

    For sympathy with those who remain.

    These are but the slightest gestures,

    Tiny funereal floral tributes.

    Do more where we can.

  • Kintsugi Dreams (Poem For Feb 24-PouncePunk22)

    I walk on debris,

    The detritus of expectations.

    I gather fragments to make kintsugi dreams,

    Toss them in the air, and watch them come crashing down.

    They add to the rubble underfoot.

    Thus it has always been. Thus it continues.

    I laugh with delight.

  • Integument (Poem For Feb 23-PouncePunk Art Challenge)

    This fragile skin encloses us all.

    A tender veil of different hues shelters each from harm.

    Pierce it, and the results come regardless of appearance.

    A common membrane ensures our well-being.

    And yet. This also defines us.

    We do not see another living being that is just like us.

    We focus on the myriad manifestations of this mortal wrap.

    You are this because. I am that because. We are not alike.

    Judgement and separation. We have built our world hence.

    Can we learn to undo this? To realize our selfsameness?

    Remake the swords of disconnection into ploughshares of compassion.

    Remove the veil of ignorance that prevents clear sight.

    Everyone and all things shine with the same pure light.

    Teach your children well.

  • Abstractus (Poem For Feb 22-PouncePunk22)

    What do we take from our daily experience?

    The constant barrage of information, be it correct or not,

    Loudly demands we pay attention.

    Rather than fostering any noetic pause for processing,

    This noise by design fuels ongoing addiction

    To strong emotion, usually of a negative character.

    We need regulation to combat this, both societal and individual.

    Let us learn to become responsible, not merely responsive.

    We are both curators and creators of our inner world.

    This cannot be separated from the outer.

    How then shall we choose to live?

  • Body (Poem For Feb 20-PouncePunk22)

    I once disdained my corporeal being,

    Viewing it as just an unfortunate shell.

    The important me, the real me, was solely my mind.

    As I’ve gotten older and perhaps a bit wiser,

    I’ve come to appreciate this tangible form.

    No mere vehicle to house my essential nature,

    But a vital and requisite necessity for identity and action.

    The body gives rise to the mind; the mind informs the body.

    I no longer despise what it offers, including sensations of pain.

    Instead I embrace all I experience, for this constitutes who I am.

    And with gratitude, I offer thanks.

  • Messenger (Poem For Feb 18-PouncePunk22)

    Dark aspect and terrifying mien.

    Wings of skin and bone with barbed points.

    Grey-scaled limbs with daggered claws.

    Fiery eyes with glaring stare.

    Chilling voice with harrowing words.

    Speaking thus:

    “You are responsible for your own enlightenment.

    You are also responsible for all other beings.

    Hear these words and open yourself.”

    Are you sure you want to meet an angel?

  • Stillness & Movement (Poem-PouncePunk Art Challenge)

    How to find a still mind?

    Try being aware of movement,

    The ever-flowing change that is always occurring.

    Take the body, for example.

    Even in the midst of the deepest meditation or dreamless state,

    There are infinite shifts taking place.

    Cells replace themselves; breath moves in and out; the heart beats; and so on.

    Similar processes happen across the physical world,

    From the most minute particles all the way to vaster aspects of slow relentless geologic change.

    Accepting this impermanence with equanimity

    And relinquishing the notion that this will stop in any way

    Provides a space to relax and rest with a sense of ease.

    This will also evolve but observe with detachment.

    Nothing (and everything) lasts forever. This need not cause suffering.

    Find the path to peace and joy.

  • A Horror Story (Poem-PouncePunk Art Challenge)

    This is a true story. It actually happened to me.

    I was much younger at the time, which is neither here nor there.

    Bedbugs invaded my residence. How? I never knew.

    This is still a mystery, as my home adjoined no other abode.

    I suspect I unwittingly imported them via mail but don’t know.

    While I had the house treated, I went to a cheap motel.

    I awakened the next morning with familiar bites.

    The room (and the entire motel) was similarly infested.

    Wherever you go, there you are. Changing places doesn’t always change circumstances.

    A valuable lesson, indeed.

  • Glitch (Poem-Feb 13 PouncePunk Art Challenge)

    Start. Stutter. Stop. Start again. Stutter. Another stop.

    This is how we live, with bardos all around.

    We try to build bridges between all the gaps,

    Seeing them as problematic malfunctions.

    What if we relate them as opportunities instead,

    Learning to explore them and what they offer?

    We might trade considerable anxiety for a more spacious mind,

    Relaxing our many intermittent frustrations into playful curiosity.

    Breathe. Now begin.

  • Drink Me (Poem-Feb 12 PouncePunk Art Challenge)

    I sat in deep meditation and then.

    I fell through a rabbit hole.

    When I opened my eyes, I saw a bottle labeled “DRINK ME.”

    I noted the beautiful label and examined it.

    It smelled of cherry-tart, custard, and hot buttered toast.

    I was tempted by this intriguing offer but hesitated.

    A fierce rabbit appeared with a ticking watch and a mala.

    I heard the deep tone of a singing bowl and awakened.

    I see through the delusions of Mara.

    Poisons often come in pleasant forms.

  • Power & Light (Poem- Feb 9 PouncePunk Art Challenge)

    How do you survive when the power goes out?

    Thus: During the frigid night, I piled up every blanket I owned on the bed

    While Miss P and I shared our warmth underneath.

    The next morning my taxi driver knocked on my door unannounced

    To buy us both breakfast in a restaurant that somehow had restored function.

    When we returned home, I found someone had shoveled snow from my door.

    Finally the electricity was restored. But I had learned that light

    Does not depend on wires or current. It shines continuously and all around.

    Power is not a utility; power is community. Thank you all for opening my eyes.

  • Punk At 61 (Poem-PouncePunk Art Challenge)

    Newer Docs now and grayer hair.

    The attitude and a flash of swagger still there.

    You don’t like my clothing? Or perhaps what I write?

    I really don’t care…and I’m being polite.

    Now my marching is done on largely virtual streets

    Where connections are formed with astounding speed.

    (We relied on the mail once to distribute zines, music, and merely to FIND one another.

    The underground owes homage to the U.S. Postal Service.)

    But we continue and intermingle with those who followed,

    Still able to sing and draw and write.

    Make it loud; make it subversive; make people think.

    Question authority and question yourself.

    Be who you are without fear, rocking on to the rhythms of change!

  • Give Me Shelter (Poem-Feb 5 PouncePunk Art Challenge)

    Where do I find my home?

    If external and anchored to a particular place, persons, or circumstance,

    I always live in a temporary abode, a shifting unstable shelter.

    Eventually I will be homeless, as will we all.

    If internal and built with sturdy foundations shored by constant reinforcement,

    I have a much different type of dwelling, a flexible steady residence.

    If you place your happiness in that which can be taken from you,

    You will lose your happiness.

    Love where you are; love those around you; love what you love, in any way.

    I do so and find comfort in all of these.

    They will change and even pass away,

    So I cherish them for their fleeting presence.

    My hearthstone is placed in another realm,

    Connected to all around, until it crumbles also,

    Impermanent as I am.

  • The Game (Poem-Feb 4 PouncePunk Art Challenge)

    Here is the game:

    I give you a rock, large and heavy.

    You get to carry it up this mountain.

    I’ll meet you at the top ridge,

    Take your rock, and hurl it back down the mountain.

    We’ll repeat this process over and over and over.

    Are you tired yet?

  • What Is Simple? (Poem-Feb 3 PouncePunk Art Challenge)

    Life used to be so simple.

    Really? Or does blinkered memory make it so?

    Just being alive, no matter your situation, entails mess.

    Complications always arise,

    And our control is often more limited than we imagine.

    If we learn to handle the uncertain ground that is existence,

    Then we can find meaning and connection.

    We can let go of fear and instead face change

    With openness, resoluteness, and acceptance.

    What if we turn the fight into a dance?

    Hear songs of kindness, joy, and community rather than tunes of cruelty, misery, and division?

    The hard road of suffering is our common path, but how we travel it depends on us.

    Pay attention. The choice is mine and yours and ours.

    It can begin with a single breath.

  • Emotion (Poem-Feb 2 PouncePunk Art Challenge)

    You are neither my definition nor my master.

    I have learned to consider you thus:

    Shades of color passing through transparent glass,

    Washes to be examined with curiosity and intent.

    I see you vividly in your depth and complexity

    And experience whatever you bring to the moment.

    But always I remember that you are temporary

    And leave no lasting impression.

    I can choose not to embrace delusion and attachment.

  • Can You? (Poem)

    ask for words

    for script

    pour this into a cup

    drink slowly

    let meaning slip into the heart

    then

    scrape letters from the dregs

    eat them one by one

    bitter and sweet

    tasting of wisdom

    tasting of tea

  • Bigger Windows, Different Trees (Poem)

    hours watching the sky

    light that changes every second

    summer weave of branches

    textured movement of clouds

    illusory drive of time

    underlying these fluctuations a stillness

    the pause within the flicker of a leaf

    the infinite moment between exhale and inhale

    the ever-present calm of the gap

    no one that sees, nothing to be seen

    only seeing

  • The Dead Whom We Honor (Poem)

    those who came before us

    whoever we are, whoever they be

    do they mourn the current destruction

    or rejoice in the smaller joys

    do they care, the ancestors, the revered ones

    the sainted and the destroyers

    they who change roles depending on view

    will the little happinesses that anchor our lives be enough

    and if we call out in desperation

    these having ceased to hold, will they answer

    all their wrath, all their wisdom

    what becomes of them unheard

    the forgotten gods and the abandoned elders

    now crumbled remnants in the dirt

  • Receptacle (Poem)

    in order to contain the day

    this day, the only day we have

    build it carefully around each breath

    each heartbeat each blink of the eye

    the respiratory exchange the cadenced pulse

    the pupillary response to light

    these indicatory of physical life the structured body

    the corporeal manifest all for naught

    unless we construct with intent

    know where we begin and end

    always always let both these be

    compassion and wisdom

  • If Memory (Poem)

    can remake the past

    change concrete actions so

    turn emotions inside out

    why fear what waits ahead

    time before and after a Mobius strip

    twisting so that it returns to now

    always now, the present moment

    the only ground where we can stand

    itself the firmest mirage, illusory

    the moon reflected in a pond

  • The Chair, Vacant (Poem)

    except for faint greasy smears from late night conversations

    residual ashes of cigarettes, circled marks of coffee cups

    we played at weary knowledge then

    told stories we had not yet lived

    considered ourselves futile actors in some imaginary play

    one by one we all left the kitchen

    the door hanging half ajar

    seats pushed away from the table

    as we went out into the years

    and all we didn’t know

  • Beach Shell (Poem)

    translucent in the bright noon sun

    warm from the summer-baked sand

    containing stories pulled up by the waves

    tumbled upon the shore

    hold it up so that they flow out

    to be carried by the gulf salt wind

    there to rest on the fanned palmettos

    and the serrated dagger leaves

    so beautiful with wonder

    sharp enough to make you bleed

  • Fear and Love (Poem)

    how many words for fear do you know

    how many for love

    I have called fear by a personal name

    I have seen its face

    likewise I encounter love

    far more often in embodied form

    I cannot number its labels

    do not ask me terms for fear

    the world will furnish these enough

    gladly will I provide for love

    begin with this

    you

  • Always Leaving (Poem)

    one foot out the door

    the other on the threshold

    a pause to look back

    only but a caesura

    a space where I had rested

    these four walls this roof

    a temporary shelter

    longer than some but never mine

    every home that inhabits me

    any home that I can claim

    I carry with me

    abiding in the steadfast of love

  • If Only (Poem)

    to awaken from this dream

    into bare rooms and vacant walls

    with every step the floorboards crumble

    falling away into ash and dust

    light streams in from the morning sun

    as the roofing joins the cumulus array

    even this body discards form

    skin and flesh slough off for varmint food

    bones fragment to pebbles in the dirt

    ragged filaments of dreams and desires

    left for claim by spiders and beetles

    finally self itself drifts apart

    like the parachute wisps of dandelion seeds

    perhaps of use by birds for a nest

    happiness indeed