30 November 2014

First comes the rain
Then comes the rainbow
After the rain 
To hang by a thread
Silk so gentle
A fine death bed. 


To be sure, I wrote this after playing shakuhachi to a spider and watching it recycle its web by eating it!

28 November 2014

27 November 2014

The breath 
   beyond the sky
Where my heart
   cry fly


In the forest of an unknown melody
I play
To an endless unsung song


Heaven has 
   many gates
But one
   is enough
To get in. 


O My Lord

I have no prayer
I have no prayer
I only breathe
This sacred air



Summer flies
Polishing their
Knives and forks
In the lazy heat. 


Evening's golden-glow
Makes a bow
And draws the stillness
of the day
Into night. 


The golden-bow
   of evening
Draws a
   note from

18 November 2014


Peace is perfect
Perfect is peace
Peace is perfect
Perfect is peace

16 November 2014


When sun sets
The yearn of the day
Breathes a sigh of relief
And my heart takes up
The orange-gold-refrain
Of endless dream. 


To play the song of peace is a privilege. 


If beauty takes you for her lover,
You may find yourself a slave,


As the ways of
   your goodness
   are beyond count,
So to the means
   of your worship
   are measureless,
And why
   human souls
   are endless. 


Waiting for the gentle rain
The gentle rain does not come. 


Inside the living reaching green
Of all garden things
I passed an age,
And a moment in reflection. 


The night is very dark
All the night long. 
Keep lighting candles 
So the dawn can find its song.


I walk into the forest of night
Listening for the temple bell. 
Perhaps it will only ring
When it meets my damn thick skull. 

10 November 2014

The large moon
Will grow larger,
Or smaller.
But neither.

My flute is being serviced and will be back in a few days and I miss it a lot. Having it around to play is the difference between feeling sad or happy and being sad or happy, which is to say, music is for me a bridge between feeling and being and then, most importantly, releasing. However, I also have a shakuhachi now which I got a few weeks ago. It is radically different, if not difficult. My technique has improved a little due to my lips not being distracted by the flute. I like walking and playing it, although it didn't come with a head basket. And now reading about it, it looks like I actually have a hotchiku!

Crickets are rehearsing and cicadas are waking which all makes for fine summer sounds. The wasp returns to last year's nest and seals the door with the dream of another year inside. Somewhere a spider mourns.

Here are some poems from lately.

What do I know
about Peace?
Only, if I
know Peace,
I am.

My heart's song
Trembling of
butterfly wings

A poem for the morning birds,
What foolishness,
Just wake up your ears!

The beauty of the dawn
Is not for the dreamers,
But the wakers.

Who knows the sky?
Not the cloud.
Cling not to mind.

Time is a stranger
When I swim in ecstasy

Saturday evening
Despairing cry
Of a hungry cat