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An October Morning

Leaves are dancing in rhythm with the wind.

Frost embraces its partner —holding Fall within.

Colorful chaos prances through woods and on soil.

 

I kick dust-up behind me —before it settles cold.

I go forward alone, remembering an old friend,

humming those ole “dirt road blues” again.

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Posted by on October 21, 2018 in Existential, Friendship, Love, Poetry, Zen

 

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Page 97 of 122 ~Pine Cone Diary~

[1st. Draft Dec,2017 rev: Sept,2018 ] 

A weathered Sundial

 

When we are young,

We can tolerate physical pain,

 emotional blizzards and blinding rain.

      We seek recognition, fortune, and elusive fame.

We chase glittering stars on summer nights

and keep sentry for sunrise to celebrate dawn with life.

 

We even can cry without forcing a fight.

     We can talk, discuss, and compromise.

We recognize beauty in a surprise.

We are able to light a candle when the fire dies.

 

When we are young,

we can laugh at ourselves. We believe in pennies

flipped fluttering to the bottom of wishing wells.

We become Peter Pan and Wendy

ignoring pouting Tinkerbelle.

 

We watch directions flow through heart than through mind.

     We travel distances immeasurably fast;

roadways, highways, and paths. We float

above chipped concrete, soft tar, and beaches

with ankle-deep sand.

     Even paths that are crook and twisted

in shallow water or on solid land.

     We are each other’s map.

 

We frolic in spaces where time never exists;

     along with places, where sadness, is just a visit.

When we are young,

eventually those days, I suppose, age eclipses.

 

**********

When we are old,

we sit with aches and pain. Confused and misunderstanding, we complain.

     Our clothes begin to slip or do not fit.

Along with our acceptance of expected fortune

 and absence of fame.

     We wear sweaters and warm cotton hats on cool summer nights

watching the sunset fade into rising moonlight.

 

(Having bitten Eve’s apple, once forbidden

     We become stubborn —guilt ridden with indigestion

and slow in healing. We sleep uneasily on thin frayed

but forgiving linen. We forget ourselves in mixed memories,

forgetting our birthday in evaporating wishing wells).

 

 

The sound of muted Tocks

Tick off the clock, like muffled thunder

under the hoofs of approaching mercenaries;

Angels from heaven and perhaps one or two

from hell’s monastery.

 

We shed a small tear, becoming a prism, a glitter

     in the sliver of a waning moon. We let it fall with joy

on another evenings shadow,

cast upon a weathered sundial, praying for the ‘morrow;

     when we are old.

(It all subsides from youth to age.

From steel to rust, from rock to gravel.

From coal to diamond and back to dust.)

 
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Posted by on September 29, 2018 in AARP, Life, Love, Pine Cone Diaries, Poetry, Zen

 

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Notes Found on the Refrigerator September 2018

Gossip vs Truth   [Koan]

Some sort of melodic minor,

the only note a hummingbird leaves;

fluttering away with the nectar

before the buzz of the bees.

*****

Oh quite down Fido!

You’ll have a heart attack.

*****

A Peaceful Exhale

Sometimes when I deeply inhale,

my body stands still to hear

the soft distant sound of chanting voices,

tuning in rehearsal

for their first and last symphony.

I, as the conductor, seem to arrive late.

However, each time I do the chanting stops

as I search for another apology.

A perfect crescendo in all voices

breaks out exclaiming,

“Stand still,

free refreshments are on the way!”

I take the podium asking all to rise

on the other side, in a peaceful exhale

In tuning. 

Epilogue:

Each time when I may disagree,

 I take a deep breath and cross over to the other side… another place to go

 to understand, to stand, and to carry my thoughts from compromise to truth;

I have  found myself on a mutual  side, having discarded ego .

 

 
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Posted by on September 22, 2018 in Existential, Life, Poetry, Prose Poetry, Sittting still, Zen

 

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Garner-Jane’s 1st. Birthday 2018

Sweet Garner-Jane

I sat outside by the fire, occasional adding a log or two,

keeping it ready for s’mores; for Crosby and Garner-Jane’s crew.

I listened to the chatter along with laughter, coming from the porch and throughout the house,

listening as it mingled with the campfire smoke floating to the sky.

I could hear celebration of her future announced in love,

As Loud As Bright Could Be.

 

**********

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on September 19, 2018 in Grandchildren, Love, Poetry, Prose Poetry, Zen

 

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Understanding Love [Haibun]*

     The screech of a bird on a nearby tree alerted me, that their prey was at my feet. I saw nothing but my heart beating, which through my shirt, slipped and fell at my feet, among the weeds.

     The bird screeched louder, followed by small chirps before landing on a branch next to me. I could see its eyes focused on my eyes.  

     I reached down and picked up my heart, tried to force it into my wallet, but it would not fit. So, I tried to stuff it into my pockets. Naw, that wasn’t it! I had no choice but to reconnect to my body, speech and mind. By the time, it was done…

summer bird is gone

leaving me with fall’s bright colors

quilt for winter snow

 

 

*Haibun (俳文, literally, haikai writings) is a prosimetric literary form originating in Japan, combining prose and haiku.

 

 
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Posted by on September 15, 2018 in Haibun, Love, Pine Cone Diaries, prose, Zen

 

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Love’s Fond Heart

[The Fairy tale of Kathryn from Franklin, NH. She continues to flutter throughout the foothills of the White Mountains and the Lakes Region]

At even-tide,

leaving with last light of dusk,

I watched her silhouette fade

into the dark tree line.

Ferns lean

to mark and soften her path.

Trees in the forest bend their branches

to shed moonlight on the walkway

for an old friend.

She returns

with her straw-basket beaming bright.

Not only for me, but for all she greets.

Sharing evenings shedded 

—morning’s light.

 

*[Edited from original draft]~

 
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Posted by on August 24, 2018 in Existential, Love, New Hampshire, New light/New life, Poetry, Zen

 

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Notes found on the refrigerator August 2018

a wonderful rain

as the mist behind sun dries

enemies of peace

 

so as the song goes

why do our heads hang so low

down in a valley

 

rising with a Love

as spring does resurrection

“We shall overcome”.

 

let’s get up with Joy

and show them our example

life goes back and forth

 

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