RSS

Category Archives: Spiritual

The Soul of Maurice J. *[A dedication to Paul Lenzi]

*( written 5 yrs ago with another of my family’s  Patriarch’s Passing)

 

 It was three days

And three nights

Before he could rise again.

 

Death invites itself

Long before we receive

Its invitation.

 

The Soul with grace

And poise

Accepts the moment.

 

Who then is preoccupied

With judgement

Of this one;

 

Of this mist

That is dried by the sun

And returns as the pond?

 

The passage

Is insignificant

If balance has been achieved.

 

Only the witnesses

Are important

As another soul is freed.

 

Advertisements
 
17 Comments

Posted by on July 14, 2018 in Existential, Friendship, Life, Love, Prose Poetry, Spiritual, Zen

 

Tags: , , ,

The Legend of the Last Tribe at Little Pond (Center Sandwich, NH)

An angel flying closer to land and seeing, from its view, a better direction

for completing their mission —continued with more traveling

for the possibility to land in the space of extinction,

where new growth can sprout.

 

The tribe, now down to only the chiefs, children, and wives,

trudged in complete innocence, as in birth,

towards ZoralinQ. Carrying with them this incredible link.

 

When suddenly, they found on the path, their feet on an edge

holding the link at arm’s length above an abyss.

Questioned among them, received no answers.

 

Nothing new, What possible course?

So, they all decided to grab the existing link

To become the angel landing,

 

for the possibility to land in the space of extinction,

where new growth can sprout.

 

“To this day, I often hear their chant,” an old fisherman says,

“usually in the twilight of a waning moon”.

photo and wood carving R.K. Garon

 
 

Tags: , , , , ,

Notes Found On The Refrigerator June, 2018

~Five Short Haibun(s)~

   

   1.

     She swam naked with her friends; I sat on the shore haunted by “Original Sin”. I watched fully dressed, as summer would allow, watching her swim.

Eve in confidence

allowed spring to leave and bow

to summer solstice

 ***

2.

     I’m following a long lineage of incompetency that has gotten lucky at times. But, most times, mistakes were flown over my head and wondered, “what the heck was that?’ Then, those lucky times, what I wanted to do, seem completed, with what I did.

sit dandelion

the mower has yet to come

enjoy the green grass

 ***

Dandelion comp

        

 

 ***

3.

(Last Night’s Lover)

     She deferred her last glass of wine to what she felt, before passing out in a warm summer evening sleep.

     Awaking before sunrise, she looked and found the keys to her car that she had illegally parked on the curb, between two maple trees.

     Leaving her underwear between the sheets and without a parking ticket, she smiled as her tires chirped with a happy squeal and went south for the winter.

spring rain on lush greens

drips on dandelion weeds

loving what it feels

***

4.

      Who puts a half piece of toast with jelly and peanut butter in the frig at midnight, after eating the first half ten minutes before?

 

lightning bug shines

in the dark of yesterday’s

story still untold

 ***

5.

     So, you told me that life never ends. yet… you want me to sign a contract in blood, with my soul; nailed to a post of my past —as you fiddled with us in Rome and roasted us silently in hell.

     You promised us redemption and angels as brides! And they, would receive us into life ever after. But, what are you doing for us now? Without anger or flood to keep our heads above the waters.

what season is light

when darkness seems to prevail

in hearts without love

*photo by R.K.Garon in his cave and his "barn".
A Special Thanks to Björn Rudberg for introducing me to Haibun and Bashō.
 
22 Comments

Posted by on June 23, 2018 in Haibun, Haiku, Love, New Hampshire, Spiritual, Zen

 

Tags: , , , ,

Redemption Dove ~>

     Oh mourning dove, sing to me this evening in the last glow of sunset —so clear and so resound in song —with hope for me to remember what was lost, now if sought, could be found. You echo through the forest, on the edge of fields, sidewalks, and across the parks.

      I open my window wrapping myself in my sheet and blanket as I sink into my pillow. I close my eyes to hear your song. Falling asleep, I understand your repetitive melodic low-high pitched notes, as I move through age.

      I listen to sounds about my life; with its many ups and downs. Finding in your chorus, a gift of an early morning spirit, that has forgotten yesterday —woo,  WOO, wooing, into a ‘morrow, without the cloak of fear.

Large black crows in flight

carnivorous in their plight

                               landing —find new life.

 

*Please Note: …By virtue of their melancholy call, mourning doves have been fittingly named. Their distinctive “wooo-oo-oo-oo” sounds may evoke a feeling of grief over the loss of a dearly beloved.

But far from representing death, the symbolism of mourning doves gives us optimism with its spirituality. Beyond their sorrowful song is a message of life, hope, renewal and peace.

 

Tags: , , , ,

Easter in Center Sandwich NH

Lent 2018

Sound is muffled in lovers ears

With the pounding of their hearts

Racing from all their fears.

 

We hear life’s music in its hustle and shuffle

And become doubtful of the truth.

 

Never deciding on what our hearts are to wear;

or, we should go naked, as we should go, before You

—accepting my knee.

     *****

 

Blossoms are near, as well as the seed catalog.

Winter supplies are low.

We discuses what we liked and what we will not sow.

Of course, not because of taste or preference,

But, what our garden could not grow.

     *****

Spring light*

The mountains are responding

to the spring sun. Awakening the deep valleys below.

Streams are slowly filling from the melted snow,

As we in Center Sandwich NH

Open our windows and open our doors.

 

*Photo by R.K. Garon outside Kathleen’s cottage on Holderness Rd. Center Sandwich, NH

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on March 28, 2018 in Easter, Lent, Love, Prose Poetry, Spiritual

 

Tags: , ,

Garner’s Guardian Angel’s Disguise

The first glitter of sunrise caught through your bedroom window

will awaken you also. With smiles of joy,

declaring you are a spoon and I Am the chimes

—That will echo throughout the day,

forever in your house.

 
2 Comments

Posted by on March 14, 2018 in Grandchildren, Love, Poetry, religion, Spiritual

 

Tags: , , , ,

Releasing Illusions From The Shore

Creation’s sand sifted from our hands—

clutched for a moment by gravity

as it flowed, streaming silently,

to settle —in small scattered piles within us.

 

Thought and mood changes from grain to grain.

Perils and adventures rise and fall—

again and again from one position to the next.

 All things change us—

All pleading for illusions un-hooded truth—

 

 Only a mindful soul in peaceful acceptance

Prepares the meeting room table

for each sunset, for each full moon, for each new sunrise—

Guests are encouraged to speak

with innocence and understanding

as they… the children are;

where they become the sand—

Released from the creation of their hands.

 *****

(In silence, I mourn Creation’s loss, from above…

there is not a child born, that does not —seek our love).

   ~~~~~

From sand to diminishing pottery, my soul pours out the last of life.

It’s existence to non-existence, in remembrance

—of holding its last grain of sand.

 

Tags: , , ,

 
%d bloggers like this: