RSS

Category Archives: prose

Notes found on the refrigerator October

Contemporary Poetry has un-cuffed many creative minds

As the tide washes the shore with an ever-changing sea

As the ships sail away with Shakespeare and Yeats

Leaving us with Ferlinghetti*

“… Ferlinghetti,  felt strongly that art should be accessible to all people, not just a handful of highly educated intellectuals”.  

*****

A storm is coming! What shall we do?

Where should we go?

“Go home!

Take care of things.

 –Then safely and honorably leave.

—Settle in where you are now

Away from the path of the storm”.

A path we both have weaved

Crumbling—  flooding— grabbing

 The unborn, above the Holy indiscriminate stream.

 

A storm is coming! What shall we do?

Where should we go?

Let us follow our hearts

And mind

With the light of our soul.

*****

 

When your heart and mind are in tune*

being Holy is being human.

*Tuning is the experiences between right and wrong

Celebrated and balanced without guilt or animosity.

  *****

Advertisements
 
14 Comments

Posted by on November 19, 2017 in New light/New life, Poetry, prose, Sittting still, thoughts, Zen

 

Tags: , , ,

A Lady In The Mirror

      It was a great race between Reflection and Essence; running through the mountains and across the lakes of New Hampshire. They crossed the border through Pittsburg into Canada, where only shadows could follow.

       Chasing each other or being chased they finished their race in the old City of Quebec; drifting into a boarding house up one flight of stairs— across from the Château Frontenac. And, there on a rooming house mirror— they caught up.

 

She is the reflection— that is, in essence, what becomes ~A Lady in the mirror~

Reflection’s true Essence? Perhaps what we are like, before we are born.

 

Photo by RKG: Quebec City, Quebec Canada late 1970’s

Written; 10/30/2017

 
 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Dump Days— Wednesday and Saturday New Hampton, NH 03256

People, who have a lot of things
use them, and have a lot of things still left over.

People, who, have a few things,
use them, and have no left over’s.

People, who have no things, who seek many things,
end up using only a few things, and, have nothing left over.

All, who have things,
become one thing.

My things, became empty from use,
They were dug from the earth, and made in a factory
through creation, imagination and mistakes.
Useless now, worn, exchanged, or sat on a flea market table where even gypsies refused to take
are now ready to be disposed of—
on this pleasant day, at the New Hampton dump,
at 12:15 P M. on a bright and sunny Saturday.

 
21 Comments

Posted by on July 23, 2017 in New Hampshire, Pine Cone Diaries, prose, Zen

 

Tags: , , ,

Metaphor Notes About “Involvement”

Where ever you started or finished,

First or last, the game was won.

It all began when you dressed for them all.

Starting positions? Often left opened.

But, acknowledging there were better players on the team

That you should have passed to, when your ass

Was about to get massive grass stains

For failed fancy footwork and tripped by your own feet,

Flying in the air praying a Holy Mary,

For no broken bones.

*****

               Oh, shit! At 70, I wake up having to remember all this again?

 Start the bus!

*****

               Hey! I am on my way out of here, a shot of Vodka, V8 juice and a note on the chalkboard thanking all the players   

                               That dressed for them all.

 

 
14 Comments

Posted by on May 20, 2017 in New light/New life, prose, thoughts, Zen

 

Tags: , ,

Holderness Rd. Center Sandwich, NH

    I looked out my window this morning slowly moving towards the door… smiling, I saw the first snowfall lightly covering the back yard and exposing at its edge, new white paths into an open woods.

     (It was usual autumn foliage, sensuous in its finale. Out doing summers delightful green crescendo. Very colorful introductory and passing of those two seasons can never negate spring’s promising return with greater lovers that give them birth and death. They still, however, tease her about her promiscuity).

I was delighted to see, winter keeping his engagement.

    Kitchen is brewing, filling the room with the aroma of bold roast coffee. I can hear the kicking off of boots… the stocking pitter-patter of feet, of the artist, above me; carrying wood from the woodshed’s wheelbarrow, and scratching and scraping, stoking the cooling wood stove.

Our winter season has begun.

Seasonal borders

Between sun and snow falling

The line is lovely

 
28 Comments

Posted by on December 10, 2016 in Haibun, Haiku, Pine Cone Diaries, Poetry, prose, Zen

 

Tags: , , , ,

Emma-Rose

Silent spring moon branch

 Father tree mother budding

 On evening breeze

Emma-Rose girl1

(She thought she would become a Princess    

until  —  she met the Queen).

****

   Twin birches destined to divide each other. Each rooted in One Sacred seed. How can they grow in plurality? Who, will make the decision to face the sun?

   Embraced at the base with one heart, they both grow shading a small green meadow, beside an all season stream.

   Shy — they bend slightly, so she can listen to what they say — holding her sandwich in silence.

    She is doing it more often now, learning — to hear.

Two summer birches

Outside her morning doorway

Glowing Sacred white

Twin Birches 2

 
16 Comments

Posted by on April 3, 2016 in Beginnings, Children, Haibun, New light/New life, Poetry, prose

 

Tags: , , ,

Blameless Hurried Follies

Sins and whims follow swift currents.

            (errors in delight move faster than light)

Skipper and passenger, in myriad murmurs,

            (Mind and heart argue and fight)

blame the sinking of the soul, in all events,

            (each acknowledging neither is right)

On their leaning, to close to the brim.

            (capsizing the balance of each other’s sight)

 

Their voyage unable to transcend the peak of the waves,

            (oh, but their argument will not let them sleep)

float to the bottom in lifeless bubbles;

            (with promises and assurances unable to keep)

seeking passage without having to pay.

            (Feeling blameless, wolf’s victim as sheep)

For neither the price, nor for the rescue or salvage.

               (follies, human salvation, shallow as deep)

****

“…Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.” 

A Psalm of life

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

 

Tags: , , ,

 
%d bloggers like this: