Hallway to Nowhere

  • 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.

  • Emotion (Poem-Feb 2 PouncePunk Art Challenge)

    She looked at me with cold blue eyes,

    Empty of feeling like glittering ice.

    She lifted her hand and drew down her sleeve.

    With her other, she pointed and said:

    You want to cut here and thus for this to work.

    Next time make sure you get it right.

    Still showing no emotion,

    She left me lying in the strange bed

    With all the wreckage I had wrought.

    I also displayed no emotion.

    But grief bled from my bandaged arms.

  • Bowing To The Bones (Poem-Feb 1 PouncePunk Art Challenge)

    These days I live close to the bone.

    This is no mere phrase.

    The face that looks at me from the mirror

    Is ever older and gives a glance of skull;

    The body that moves or not

    Is ever thinner and juts with skeletal outline.

    I could say this be not my choice,

    Citing illness and age.

    But we all face this end,

    Whatever the appearance.

    No amount of flesh or care or luck will spare us.

    So I cherish my circumstance as valuable,

    A visible reminder not to waste my time.

  • She Wanted My Heart (Poem)

    Once, long ago, she wanted my heart.

    I gave her a cup of tea and a poem.

    She tied a cord of red thread around my wrist

    And wept before she left.

    What did that mean?

  • Bodhichitta Heart (Poem)

    Do not ask for my heart; I have already given it.

    Freely; willingly; with abandon. To you, yes, but also to:

    The friend who calls from a distant land;

    The neighbor who visits over the fence;

    The postman who offers a friendly wave;

    The stranger who walks down the street.

    For these and many others, I have cast my devotion and regard,

    Wanting each to be happy, at ease, free from suffering, and joyful.

    So again, do not ask for my heart.

    Know that you have it already and help spread it through the world.

  • The God of the Doorway (Poem)

    Now is a good time to reflect upon deities

    And who we will decide to worship, and why?

    We all have idols, numerous ones,

    Acknowledged or not,

    So it behooves us to choose wisely.

    I would suggest liminal beings,

    For we are on the threshold in many ways,

    Looking backwards and stepping forward.

    We need divinities that speak to transition,

    Enable us to handle change and be not afraid,

    And move from warring with each other to peace,

    Gods and goddesses that do not compete for supremacy,

    Nor encourage us to do so,

    But instead work for the betterment of all existence

    And inspire us to do likewise.

    I know who I think upon: to whom do you pray?