To exhausted to open
door this morning,
I found this note
getting swept up
from the kitchen floor:
Aug. 10th 2020: Quar
Politics has grounded up the idea that the ignorant can become morons without learning un-biased information, even when their lives are in chaos, it comes to them through a Piper’s flute, jumping off the cliff of the true principles they all believe in… whether PhD., GED, home school, or on the job, life and work experience. They have nested termites under the floor of our Great Experiment. Good grief!
Then, there are the American Patriots, rarely ever accepting a label other than they are Americans and believe in the same things all Americans agree on, and pledge Allegiance to our Constitution; without embellishment. They believe in the equality of our neighbor that makes a hood a home-town community; that excels in growth, in principle, that becomes a State with a balanced opinion by democracy and Justice. It has prospered, as a United States, the successful American Experiment that other’s said would fail. (They ask to silence the anger, demeaning slurs to our neighbor and live the American Dream, with logical dialogue. “…to the Republic for which it stands: one Nation indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all…”
Only an enemy of these principles, of this Awesome Country, can divide us into strife; systematically, until it implodes. Leaving the spoils for them and to enslave the people, for basic necessities. There will be no time to mourn luxury.
The time needs to be reminded that “the times (as usual) are a changin’ …”; to correct our mis-steps going forward into the American Dream.
fog lifting the field
Tags: Existenlism, Growing up, Haiku, Notes Found On The Refrigerator, Quarantined, Zen
April 17, 2020
i have no place to be going to
and with no hurry to get there
it seems, i have been here before.
there is no place to go
other than where i was going.
i am caged within the parameters
of whom i am.
my walk is slow and secure—
as I find where i am going;
with wisdom, compassion, and the knowledge
of understanding of who i am.
17 days in Q [Haibun]
Friday afternoons are a strange time of the day for me. Sometime I skip the mornings and late-night dishes; then go out to the safest places I know. Usually to the local grocery store and buy things I’ve never bought before.
It doesn’t take long to go about short business before I’m back in my “cave”; 4 o’clock and I’m lost on what to do. I hear the cuckoo clock in my head, telling me to go do the dishes then make myself something to eat. Again. I’m coming 😊
Wheels turn when moved
Birds fly from perch of safety
Rain shelters us all
Tags: Existenlism, Haibun, Notes Found On The Refrigerator, Tea, Zen
after winters’ welcomed visit
in fall’s final embrace
life arises from a warm colorful quilt.
ever so bright
a glitter of rain
against the bark of a tree
—colors glowing in its prism—
is the same light
seen in all life.
—and its source—
has been made known,
for all that look.
—is all they can see—
Photo: R.K.Garon ~The Night Before Breakfast~
Tags: Growing up, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Mother's day 2019, Notes Found On The Refrigerator, ~The Night Before Breakfast~
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
Tags: Existenlism, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Notes Found On The Refrigerator, Zen
Dawn flirts the tips of yawning waking leaves.
My eyes catch sunlight, rising from an open window.
A hundred morning creases peak through the linen
above smooth sheets. I light a cigarette from across the room,
watching you sleeping, bathe in the first morning’s sunbeam.
I saw you, still smiling, rumpled and stretching out last evening’s dream.
Tags: http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Love, Zen, ~The Night Before Breakfast~
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: Children...who would shoot sleeping birds?, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, Wake up!, ~The Night Before Breakfast~
[Children all over the world are being slain without an enemy, other than ours.]
Each evening puts tears in our eyes
as we watch the world
with arrogance, stupidity, and greed
carnage souls and minds.
I know we are getting old.
But, what did we teach them?
Are they awake? What have they learned?
I thought we buried the sword!
If we have left the handle above the ground
—place it back on the slain bodies deep,
and shatter it where it was found.
Kneel and be still.
Then rise, as the new day, with bright eyes.
And, continue to teach each other;
why we all, see the beauty of each sun set
—and why we all, look forward to each sun rise.
“Children are our second chance to have a great parent-child relationship.”
Tags: Crying for Children, Love, Notes Found On The Refrigerator, Peace
I burnt my breakfast with brown butter and garlic.
It rose above the perfumed oiled scent of progress;
—creeping through the cracks of my window sills
wafting silently, carrying the day’s
chain-linked smog…breaking in with
—my paycheck’s upcoming arena.
Oops, I meant, aroma.
For a moment I choose to linger
asking for only a cherry tree.
I welcome the reservation that you
have set aside for me.
No need to build me a fence—
I am locked inside.
Do I talk to myself? Me and him?
Of course! Who else would listen?
How would I know when to stoke the wood stove
and make coffee, home fries, and scramble eggs?
I always tell myself what to do.
I am vetted by my soul,
The web, trickling inadvertently behind me, as I walk through space
Connects me to another square that I had left!
Never touching the ground, I wait with patience
in silk expectation —for a life, now to be defined.
The thread of your existence is never behind!
Nor could it manufacture a web to connect
to illusive time!
Shake off that wiggle… trickling inadvertently behind!
Hey! Anyone up for coffee, home fries, and scramble eggs?
Tags: https://dversepoets.com/2018/02/08/open-link-night-213/, Pine Cone Diaries, spirituality, Zen
I never know where you are —In the Alps, Himalayas’, Europe, or in the mountains of New Hampshire? I miss you, your stories, and the personal footnotes of the un-condensed adventures;how you accepted them, good or bad, and passed through them. So quiet and shy in your beautiful observations —yet bold and independent in your actions.
I hope you are well, happy, and peaceful in India; a beautiful country made more beautiful —welcoming your presence.
Your grace continues
to precede you as lady
pink slippers follow
Tags: Haibun, Haiku, ~The Night Before Breakfast~
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.
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
Tags: Ambiguity, Existenlism, Happy New Year!, http://omukuvah.org/, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/, ~The Night Before Breakfast~