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Category: Uncategorized
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Dangerous Things (Poem)
when I was young, I knew so many dangerous things
boys risk their lives for chance
in brief suicidal encounters with other boys
girls buzz their hair in swagger
for langorous forbidden dances with other girls
bodies hide different meanings
with changes and revisions often unseen
words and stones hurled from car windows
are equally capable of inflicting bloody wounds
queer fag dyke tranny used on us like knives
to carve their imagined shame into our very being
but
the most dangerous thing I knew is what I still know
we are here, have always been, will never not be
our risk brave, and we pay love’s cost
our swagger pride, and we openly embrace
we have taught each other magic
made our scars into marks of beauty
transformed their scornful terms into rallying cries
when we look at you with clear unafraid eyes
we see who you really are, so that you turn away
because you know, have always known:
we are the dangerous things
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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
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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.