Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

O’ That muse, an intriguing beast she is.  Apparently coming and going at Her own will, like a summer breeze or a winter flood.  What mortal could know her ways?  I am always happy to feel her around and miss her exquisite presence during the always too long absence.  But i suppose, if she were around all the time, the sheen of her magic may fade into pastels – so I won’t complain.

We’ve been friends for so long now, though i think she was beside me long before i was aware of her.  I think she liked to lurk like a shadow, ducking away if i might turn to see – maybe she is shy.  But with time, we’re more intimate now, she will reveal her feathers more fully . . . her translucent beauty, like sunlight reflecting on water.

Honestly, I don’t know how i could get by without her.  cold and dark and colorless this plane might be if there were no fireflies amidst crimson bamboo.  Yet, i’m certain she is invisible to those not of a Poet’s Heart; how parched it must be.

Sometimes when she is away I try to muster a call out to her, but she never listens – she is stubborn that way.  Maybe it is that I have to share her and that she is out wiggling her bemusing wand with another – that is fine, i’m happy to share even though i know she has many sisters.

Once i thought i found her little hideout cave, but i can’t be sure.  She wouldn’t say either way.  she is a bit elusive like that, somewhat ambiguous.  i think she likes mysteries, secrets, and things hidden just out of sight – only hints and peripheral sensations, never quite revealing anything directly.  so you have to listen very carefully to glipse her offerings.

aMusing indeed, and grateful i am.  how else could it be?



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might still be

what the hell?
i mean
all this coming
and going,
yet never leaving
this same place.
how can that be?

it would all be something
if it weren’t for capitalism
or so-called
“private property”
that keeps me moving
all the time, rent you know . . . .

it’s hot.
the garden beckons,
these empty buckets
call me to the creek
now that the spring
has gone dry.

oh yes,
and some wood to chop.
it might all seem quite zen-like
if it weren’t spoiled by now,
all this talking about it.


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“It is not clear how many people were arrested. All of the main streets have been blocked by military. The soldiers have been checking for everybody’s ID. Specially, people who were wearing Tibetan clothes were searched thoroughly. Soldiers forced their way in civilian homes to arrest people. They were using stick to beat those who have been arrested, and teargas to drive away onlookers

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Silence, they say, is the voice of complicity.
But silence is impossible.
Silence screams.
Silence is a message, just as doing nothing is an act.
Let who you are ring out
& resonate in every word & every deed.
Yes, become who you are.
There’s no sidestepping your own being or your own responsibility.
What you do is who you are.
You are your own comeuppance.
You become your own message. You are the message.

In the Spirit of Crazy Horse –

When from our better selves we have too long been parted by the hurrying world, and droop, sick of its business, of its pleasures tired, how gracious, how benign, is Solitude. -William Wordsworth

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Everything is clapping today,

All movement.

A rabbit I pass pulls a cymbal
>From a hidden pocket
Then winks.

This causes a few planets and I
To go nuts
And start grabbing each other.

Someone sees this,
Calls a

Tries to get me
Being too

Listen: this world is the lunatic’s sphere,
Don’t always agree it’s real,

Even with my feet upon it
And the postman knowing my door

My address is somewhere else.

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