awakened, we see
forward and back—pages turn,
chapters shine in light
**
—family gathering
trust resides in genes
passed along as such—
nurturing works too
**
jet lag lurks
edges, crevices,
reveals its fullness
in wide stretches
of unyielding darkness
and scattered hillside lights
not noticed by those asleep
**
the song I hear
sings me
morning skies
tell no lies
**
sometimes I find myself
writing essays of one kind
or other—then grab
my ears, listen for musics
humming among the words there
**
I’d forgotten how
rain drops feel on eyelids, sound
on flapping panchos
**
deeply drinking, more
deeply drinking, the rain
never saying enough
**
why do you suppose
rain drops glisten on leaves,
not on the street
**
salt on the cashews
washed away by coffee washing thoughts
of sweetness away
**
there’s something itself
evident when haiku dream:
counted words waken
senses to what they’re sensing
and the world speaks for itself
**
the jay, then the crow,
each at their end of the line
me below equals we
**
energies return
or are re-found—I don’t know
but take what I get
**
timeless, placeless sangha,
breathed connections remembered—
refuge simply is
**
the feather, the grass,
open sky—hills
taking my steps too
**
like Thoreau,
no need
to go
there
is here
**
breathing footsteps,
gauze-like moon
hill top morning sky
**
winds wake us to grey
sky day light
rested
**
—my buddhism
a thin volume,
mimeographed
stapled cover
sketched with flowers
kitchen tables
living room chairs
temple social halls
time-to-time
together chanting
**
do words written need wind
or have it at their heels
all ready
**
the best
questions
mark time
**
in dry grass
among bracken fern
at sun rise,
earth watching
with me
**
getting older
we learn
every departure
is practice
**
Buckeye Canyon’s May
stream trickles, trail turns hard-pack,
grasses crack and rattle
**
deep drift fogs lay
rounded drops—spider webs
test the weight
**
planting vegetables
this morning—beans and squash
excite the birds
**
plumber on his way,
ridge line fog ready to leave,
old man back from his walk
coffee still hot in the cup
**
—ji-nen
whatever purpose
we propose, nothing
but added icing
**
a bit edgy
after a walk
grey skies blowing
Bolick blowing
**
the famous poet
zen master ego
runs no checks—he laughs
his poems make no sense
to us he knows,
laughs again
**
mustard means flavor,
buns before burgers, licked fingers,
fields of yellow-green
**
I never
ought never
be uttered
by lips
not bending
a smile
*
fractured
routine
heals in
breathing
*
poem-prose
moves in waves
we know best
in silence
**
some mornings run
like spring waters over rocks,
glittered sun telling
of breathtaking drinks
**
we’ve two stone Buddhas
in the garden, two saints,
a gold painted monk
and a multitude of leaves
reaching into the praying sun
**
sitting, pen to page,
I see I’ve been right—things speak
when ears wait to hear
**
the bird on the line
will have its turn—come dusk
friends gather to sing
**
first jacaranda
light purple curls under grey
June skies
**
poetry’s way hears
pauses of peace in chaos,
nods hello to storms
**
the breathing body
light bulb light, window light
quivering petals
**
keep writing he says,
connections don’t stop, we shouldn’t
everything counts
**
lights shine through closed blinds,
dark hills saying nothing
a night’s rest won’t cure
**
me, the door,
distant dogs and
the Sunday paper
**
each time haiku
rediscovers me,
something new
**
palm fronds wave
at the bird
in the wind
**
the Indian poet
writes
English haiku
translated
to Galic
**
printer re-inked,
a long sigh
of clicking
satisfactions
**
grey sky, grey rabbits
shadowed underbrush
disappearing tails
**
memory, but one
strand in the weave of now—
let it be
whatever colors
its light
**
among the oaks,
clusters of hummingbird sage
signal open sky
**
trail scat says
the oaks and I
are not alone
**
deep morning fogs
dripping limbs
wet boots
**
browning grasses hold
to the mountain’s shape—seedlings’
white puffed shapes just hold
**
sluggish morning walk—
the never-sluggish tree-guy
extends calloused limbs
**
lingering layers
of fog define morning light
possibilities
**
to wait is a verb,
observation active,
to write, dynamic
**
bamboo leaves shadow
the window, lean toward light
inside—on or off
**
the industrial park
lots of private property,
fences—weeds both sides
No comments:
Post a Comment