Category Archives: Beginnings
Offspring’s
I watched:
Fall leaves flutter and swirl —raised to dance in the arms of a Spring wind;
settling them down at the base of the trees, where they were born.
Father Winter has gone.
I saw:
His summer’s mistress awaken in moist dawn, not giving a damn.
Cuddling her offspring’s with sunshine –she sang them lullabies.
Coloring them with a promising growing up, with their Father’s pride.
photo: R.K. Garon
Five Verses From a Brief Visit This Solstice With Ch’an
On Judgment:
“If we didn’t see things fine and coarse
How could prejudice exist?”
~Relying on Mind~ Ch’an master Seng-Ts’an (J., Sozan)
~~~~~
I practiced non-discrimination
and had smiled often at my gestures—
until I was slapped by a whisk.
~~~~~
I understand how wrong I’ve been
and the shame I have brought to the other—
Each day wakes me quieter —clearer than ever.
~
Moments may be still –yet moves forever.
~~~~~
Causes are great —equal to the clouds
one may be greater than the other.
Dew is clear as no sound is loud.
~~~~~
What is it that I see— to bench myself in judgment?
Opinions are statutes!
Saddle my horse—
Giddy-up! I shall ride with the outlaws.
~~~~~
How does one heal from history
With its invisible scars and drooping eyes?
Thatch a new roof— and shush the flies.
“Jesus said:
If two make peace with each other
In this single house,
They will say to the mountain
“Move away”
And it shall move.””
~The Gospel of Thomas~[48p n] presented by Huge McGregor Ross
~Pine Cone Diary~ -proof 2018
A Tale of The Weathered Sundial’s Ever-Moving shadow
Years have passed:
when we were young, we could tolerate physical pain,
emotional blizzards, and blinding rain.
We sought recognition, fortune, and sometimes illusions fame.
We chased stars in glittering summer nights keeping sentry for sunrise,
celebrating each dawn with a brand new name.
We could even cry, winning or losing, without forcing a fight.
We could talk, discuss, and compromise.
We recognize the beauty in unsuspected surprise.
We were always able to light a candle in the wind
Finding our way back home on sad dark nights.
We often laughed at ourselves. Believing that pennies
we flipped, fluttering to the bottom of wishing wells
We’d became Peter Pan and Wendy
never growing old. And, totally ignoring Tinkerbell,
we watch our directions flow.
Following our hearts and the work of our hands
we traveled roadways, highways, and paths;
where distance seemed far and time immeasurably fast.
We floated above concrete, soft tar, and beaches with ankle deep sand.
Even paths that were crooked and twisted in shallow water or on solid land.
We were always on each other’s map!
We frolicked in spaces that love only knows
where time, never existed;
along with places, where sadness, was only a short visit.
Eventually, I suppose, age and Peter Pan eclipses
those days, when we are young.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
There is only time now:
when we are old. We sit with aches and pain.
Confused, misunderstanding,
we complain.
Our clothes begin to slip or are frayed or they just don’t fit;
along with our recognition, fortune, and the reality of expected fame.
We wear sweaters and warm cotton hats on cool summer nights,
seeing only darkness as a distant fading light.
We Sleep uneasily on worn, thin but forgiving linen.
We, sometimes, forget ourselves with mixed memories,
stuttering on birthdays, which have evaporated in wishing wells.
We try to avoid being stubborn— guilt ridden for actions mistaken,
poor mathematical intelligence, slips of jealously, pride,
and recognize that we, as we knew, is we that is forgotten.
From steel to rust, from rock to gravel,
from coal to diamond
and back to dust.
The sound of muted bells tick off the clock, like muffled thunder
under the hoofs of deaths’ mercenaries; some from heaven,
and maybe one or two from hell.
We may shed a warm small tear, becoming a prism, to glitter
In the sliver of a waning moon; signaling with joy—
tomorrow’s brand new day,
with its bright sun chasing
A weathered Sundial’s ever-moving shadow
~The Night Before Breakfast~ Vol. I Another Draft Revision
Turn The Light Back On
Sundown was sinking from a ridge on Holderness road
Inviting me, or so I thought, to turn off –my one light on.
(The one I had turned on, when darkness was creeping along).
I could see as I stared out from my large window—
the only one in my cave— a dimming invitation
for a quick evenings celebration; honoring a season’s resignation.
I wanted to meet her –to greet her,
Before the winter moon rose to extinguish
her completed season’s accomplishments.
I left the house in a goose down vest,
donning my formal Pendleton— wide brim’s best.
Without a thought, I walked many steps
going about my way.
Until I opened my eyes
on an illuminated path of autumn amber pine needles
glowing from the rising moon and sunlight’s sunset.
They met and greeted me with giggles and mutual song.
I caught their transition between darkness and dawn.
They kissed each other… as the moon
asked me— to go inside
and turn the light, back on.
Photo by RKG… Holdernes Rd. Center Sandwich NH
PoPo Teaches Grandpa A Lesson [rev2]
How stupid am I?
Well it starts out like this—
My Grandson, leaving a summer math class
carrying a piece of folded paper
—Followed by his gracious and grinning teacher
I asked, “What is that?”
Pointing to his hand holding the paper,
Hoping it wasn’t a note from the “warden”
Being shot by one of his righteous and never wrong Heroes.
He handed it to me—
It was a bunch of math problems
He needed to solve before tomorrow’s class.
Looking at it with a quick glance,
Spotting the first problem to be solved—
I asked, “What’s 9 times 3?”
Looking at the sky,
As we were going towards the car
Quietly said, “27”
Hmmmm!
Then he turned towards me and asked,
“What’s 9 times 0?”
I said “9”! Quite proudly—
Both he and his teacher burst out laughing
As she patted my grandson
On the back, saying, “see you tomorrow.”
Opening our car doors, he said,
“Grandpa, you know what ever number times zero
Will always be zero.”
Driving off
I looked in the rear view mirror
And saw him wearing my baseball cap
Usually left in the back—
He was wearing it backwards
And giving me this shit eatin’ grin.
It was a long ride back
Thinking how smart I really am.
On A Sacred Day’s Accounting
Whatever day we set aside
At the end of, or, beginning of our week,
Will always be a spiritual— personal day.
Regardless of religion, or non-religion—
Somehow, that day, in our lives, has survived
As One day— to be set aside.
Reflection, repentance, acceptance;
Encouraging us to continue living
In mutual peace— for the rest of future
Day’s— accounting.
Sand Dollar:
Sketch in charcoal.
A Pilgrim’s Egress In A Hundred Words
One leg dragging, the other —behind bended knee
I reverently balance. Wavering from doubt,
I fall prostrate, head on the ground…
Toes need a shoeshine.
I pay homage in acknowledgment, in humility;
Everything is greater than I am.
Womb of essence; ignition of light to life,
Great Lover in wisdom and without gender—
Give me a Faith free of guilt
Through this chaos of doubt.
Plume my wings
In my ascent. Unravel my bondage
From this self
In transgression.
The moon waxing,
Reveals an awakening without history.
Greetings soul! Spirit and spark of truth!
Oh, transition in created to creator.
1st. draft posted 2014
Rev. 2016
Companion
We are (all) personal care attendants
Attending to each other—
But, most of all,
In that relationship—
We become companions.
Perhaps that is what happens—
After love’s personal illusions
Dissipate—
As we accept
Mutual understanding.
Maybe we can just skip the step of love
And go right into companionship!
Ms. Holly complains after eating pizza,
Which, she thoroughly enjoys.
“Too much salt!
I can feel my legs swelling up,
And it hurts to walk.”
I tell her to put her feet up,
She does not have to talk—
I remind her,
That I, cannot remember
what I forgot.
–It takes awhile
Before we turn to each other
Returning discreet smile—
Accepting what we do
And what we do not.
Companion: Notes on a Paper Bag
ZoralinQ 