Monday, April 26, 2010

Oxalis, free ranging spring poems...

Over and again,

pressed and trampled grasses

pulled back into the sun.


This body, healthy

in old age, complaints passing

like yesterday’s gas.


true haiku, others

may do—I enjoy the pose,

absent any real work


I tire quickly these days,

of formalities

with no obvious center.

Friends inquire, but all I can do

is point to the cloudless sky.


The make-shift altar

in the dining hall, they strain

to follow this hakujin,

chanting ancient sounds of joy.


Three red cabbages

from winter’s garden; give one

away, one we keep

and the last, too loose,

we add to spring’s efforts.


Sounds of spinning wash

from behind the garage door

—morning clouds gather.


Heron’s Point, Bear Dance

April 17th

Gulls and geese clearing the sky

of the last of daylight,

raise a collective call to witness

the silence of coming stars

and the waiting drums.


This spring afternoon danced

with hailstones,

lingering recollections

of winter

demanding one last look.


Borrowing sun tones

from an early sky, the bay

whispers salmon-pink.


Light bounces from feet

unrestrained by gravity

—girl cousin-grand daughters.


Morning pours blue light,

horizons humming rain free,

full breathed songs of spring.


The sun casts light to east facing slopes

cast light through west facing windows

throwing shadows of flowers

on the wall

above the stove.


It’s not that each word is pearl pure,

but the source

behind the impetus

is just that.

Prayer resides here,

in the quiet sweep of attention

before words.

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