Poem - i can feel the happiness of others

i feel angry
it settles in

then i see
two little boys
with their father

gosh look
at those kids
they are shouting

they are stamping
in the rain puddles

dad lets them
shout excitedly and splash

they are so happy
and excited to be
jumping in the water
as it is raining

they are alive
and in the moment
and all there is

rain boots and a prefect
afternoon

i've turned my life
into something i don't know

but i can find my way out
of this by seeing things

and being grateful
i can feel the happiness of others

---

Irvine
end of feb 2014

Poem - The Golden Gate Bridge Prayer

make me a channel of thy
golden gate bridge

where there is darkness let me bring
san francisco golden gate bridge

oh master grant that I may never seek
golden gate bridge

and in dying we are born to eternal
san francisco golden gate bridge

or Alcatraz island

---

Poem - The Wish Fufilling Tree

a whole mighty tree that dispenses anything you want was moved in
and then was also simultaneously moved out
with stars twinkling and music being played
and a thousand dancers
with paper lanterns and party favors
snacks drinks lovers raised from the dead
.
.
.
but the time limit was hit
with some strong reverb and feedback
on to other things


----

Winter 2014

Poem - THIS NOW

to love without attachment
and make it possible to have compassion
without being taken up my momentary anger or disappointment

seeing all things as momentary
in transition from one revived (or unperceived thing)
THIS NOW like pops from pop corn or bubbles from a squirt gun

a waterfall of jewels and magic tricks and people and animals
all together in a waterfall of of


----

for Jñana

Poem - Just a Memorable Fancy

it is insane to look for saints in only one house or tree or field
where a saint appeared before and nimbus

angles and mahasiddhas are not herded and when they speak
the virtuous ignore them

so if you want to find the saviors at work this day today
the high ones your grandchildren and their children will pray to

go somewhere that turns your stomach and you feel angry
give your life away to people who seem useless
radically fritter away your promise and your talents
pour your treasure down the toilet for others
slave in the name of  others and have not a grain of thank you
work work work with no imagination of reward
die every day and live again for the next day helping
keep dying by helping others
kill all your ideas by washing dishes mopping slopping
pick yourself to the bone by giving

* * * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * * *
* * * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
* * * * * *
* * * * *
* * * *
* * *
* *
*

amen
om mani pademe hung
thank you
amen


----

For William Blake

Quail Meadow
Winter 2014

Poem - Buddha or a Bodhisattva in an AA Meeting

i.

he's a buddha
he is upsetting
he stinks

people recoil
disgusted
even angry

if he isn't a buddha
he's a bodhisattva
dirty and laughing

with a backpack and
a odious blanket

he smiles
and sips coffee

out of the rain
in an AA meeting

ii.

then i remember
the stinking gypsies
in venice

on the vaparetto
angels

and the maniac
meditating on
market street

in SF
mahasiddha

i have been
wrong about it all
my vision

my outlook
my seeking comfort

desire for
pleasantness

iii.

are you
resolved with me
to gain enlightenment

and bend a nail
or be hungry

or even smell
funny




----

Canyon Club
Laguna Beach
2.27.14

Poem - jñana / before it rained

jñana
before it rained
the atmosphere was dark and hovering
all these crows started calling calling calling

then it was bright




---

Quail Meadow
2014

Poem - i wished to/ they said

i wished to

forget and then forget
the forgetting

mind it in dreams
only occasionally

never with regret or
with sorrow

they said

your heartbreak
and remembrances

keep you from
being in endless ignorance

without real courage
or any faith


---

to Jñana
just before it started raining

Poem - so / thank you / i have no complaints

\ when it comes
it seizes me

with gentle hatred
i settle into contemplating

i catch myself

i need to pray
or hate some more

so i choose prayer

will it make a difference
 i don't know

i've been told it does

so

 thank you
i have no complaints



---

for Jñana

Quail Meadow
Irvine

 

 

 

in memory or remembering offhand
or when it comes
.
when i settle into contemplating
with gentle hatred
.
this is when i catch myself
with some regret
.
i need to pray or hate some more
so i choose prayer
.
will it make a difference i don't know
i've been told it does
.
so here i go
thank you i have no complaints
.
.
.
---
.
for Jñana
.
Quail Meadow
Irvine

Poem - blinded by waywardness / by stupidity

blinded by waywardness
by stupidity

but the fool in foolishness
is so holy

when truly a view innocently
spontaneous

---

to Jñana

Poetry 2

"People who think Poetry is a toy, or harmless...these people are also immune to irony, they're unconscious of beauty -- as far as I can tell, they believe they will live forever in the body of a porn star."

    -- CP Straube

Poetry

"Many are motivated to write poems broadly about love and flowers, when the vehicle of poetry can carry anything else -- particular are pointed things, like menace, or fear. Poems can thrill your sense of beauty or the ideal, but also introduce to the reader subtle suggestions of disquiet, horror. The best poems do this double-take at the same time, or introduce to the mind opposing concepts, and you don't know it."

      -- CP Straube

Poem - none lost that wasn't gathered

I am the straining
I am the tears
I am
the inconsequential fears

You are the fading
You are the light
You also
walk inside the night

Like a bird that knows it way
or a word when right to say

Free from separate or together
none lost that wasn't gathered



----

2.25.14

Poem - Higher Up

feet mark the snowy field
you can see where you walked

how you held the gun
where you met the sunlight

how the rays slashed
into the blue shadows

halting from the treeline
and making the ridge stand out

there you opt to cross the fenceline
by bowing under the wire

in white winter sunlight
mixed with a gust of cold air

higher up you look back
to the valley of trees and field

and barely remember
how you got up here in the light


---

Bennett Valley

Poem - where a deer hopped

the river plunging cold
no words

water silver see through
fingers of ice

reflections beautiful and deadly
gem like white snow

black branches mark a spot
where a deer hopped

slipped and drowned



----

Poem - silly to think

there is an urgency in the hush
of a moment before
when the clock ticks or strikes
but it does not as expected

and after that time the mind
wonders will time keep going
or have i died and not know it

you might look and wonder
then the tick happens
or the timepiece chimes

silly to think
you were hearing and dead

but are you


----

Poem - by appearances appearing

universe lampooning itself
by appearances appearing

see a bubble or a house
flitting aimlessly or fully in flames

the moon or a hubcap
shining all night or shining in the light

referring to the referring
in that endless endless in turned way

see the softness of the fury
of each miniature perfect snow flake


-----


to Jñana

poem - flame looking for fire

if you look for it
you will never find it

in looking
it is like a flame

looking for a thing
called fire


---


to Jñana
2.23.14

TONIGHT ONLY - POETRY IN PAPER BOATS

Who does not like a little poem in a nifty paper boat? Especially if it is raining, like it was last night. I passed out all of them last night. Not one left. Now I go fold 15 - 20 more paper boats. Then next week, hand them out, with a poem in each for Free Poetry Night, Laguna Beach.

I Wave at Her

It rains in Laguna Beach. People aren't used to the rain. A lady almost runs me over in a crosswalk, while I am crossing with the walk signal. She is turning left, and she did not look.

She stops in the nick of time. At first I want to be angry, but I see she is so pale with horror, I wave at her. I can't be unkind to a lady like that.


----

Cleo n PCH
LB

Writing: Thank You for Asking

He writes every day.

Some days, someone asks him a question, "How is the writing going?"

He thinks about all the crazy writers out there, who scribble on old napkins or in the library with notebooks. Rooms, cold rooms, over-heated rooms, dark hotel rooms. He thinks about drunk writers in flop-houses and dive-bars, or even a nice bar on the Sunset Strip -- but never with much money. Some bars have a fishtank in them, where you can watch metallic blue and silver fish swimming around decorative multi-colored coral. He thinks about all the writers who never get asked this question. Cold big cities. Alleys. One way streets. Blank sidewalks. He thinks about writers who write, and nobody knows or cares if they write. He gets grateful.

"The writing is going good." he says. "Thank you for asking."



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